When I first got engaged, I spent months scouring bridal magazines for the perfect dress. I had absolutely no idea what a sweetheart neckline was or how taffeta was different from satin. I was doomed.
In my quest for the dress, I discovered what I thought was 'the one' online. It was an ivory strapless gown with minimal foof and a small silk flower at the waist. I envisioned myself walking down the aisle in this dress. Kissing my husband in this dress. Dancing with my Father in this dress. Twirling in this dress. It was perfect.
The first time I went to the bridal store, I chose this dress along with others to try on. I wanted to twirl in this dress. I knew it was perfect. When I tried it on, my dress dreams were shattered. The dress the sales lady pulled was not the right size. It was too small. It didn't zip. It didn't fit. I couldn't get a feel for the dress. My dress. The sales lady was too shy to get the dress in a bigger size so I could see how it might actually fit. I was too embarrassed to fight for the dress. My dress.
My self esteem crushed, I gave up. I wanted to feel beautiful and she made me feel hideous. Ugly. Fat. To end the misery, I chose a lesser dress. It was...meh. But, it was closer to my actual size and it didn't look too bad. I was too traumatized and humiliated to keep looking lest I be reminded of my hideousness. My ugliness. My fatness.
The dress hung in my closet until the day of my first fitting. Occasionally, I would unzip the garment bag and peek at it, trying to come to terms with the fact that this was my wedding gown. This was what I would be wearing on the day I vowed to spend forever with the man I loved.
Occasionally, I would wear the dress and twirl in front of the mirror. Trying to envision myself walking down the aisle in this dress. Kissing my husband in this dress. Dancing with my Father in this dress. Trying to make it feel perfect.
My family at the time consisted of myself, my future husband and our elderly Siberian Husky, Skye. She had been diagnosed with a urinary tract infection on a Friday, two days before I was to have my first fitting in the dress. When Sunday came around, Skye was sick. We attributed it to the infection. Thought it was something that would pass. I rescheduled my fitting to tend to her. Monday would be the day I would tend to the dress.
Sunday night was awful. Skye was up all night, pacing the house and experiencing what seemed to be neurological issues. I was heartbroken, exhausted and afraid. Monday morning, the vet told us this may be the end for our girl. We spent the day trying to keep her comfortable and hoping it was all still attributed to the infection. Hoping she would come around. Hoping we wouldn't have to face the end just yet. Wouldn't have to say goodbye.
Monday afternoon, I had a dress fitting to attend. Things seemed to be stable with Skye at that moment, so I decided to keep the appointment. As I left the house, she stopped pacing long enough to look at me as I told her I'd be right back and I loved her. I have never forgotten that last look.
I spent the next hour or so on the pedestal in the back of the bridal store as the Russian seamstress pinned me and spinned me and tried to make small talk. Looking in the mirror, I tried very hard to focus on the dress and how it was going to look on the big day. How beautiful it was going to be. How beautiful I was going to be.
Unfortunately, all I could think about was how I hadn't slept and how I may have to make the most difficult decision of my life thus far. All the pinning and spinning in the world couldn't change what I was about to face.
As she neared the end of the fitting, I could hear my cell phone ringing in my purse. I knew it was either my Mother calling to check on Skye or it was my future husband calling to tell me to come home. Telling me that it was time. When it continued to ring again and again, I knew it was my husband. I knew. It was time.
I fought back tears and tried to explain to the Russian seamstress that I had to leave. I tried to explain that it was time. She didn't understand so I hurriedly got out of the dress, shoving the pins back in her hands. I dressed quickly and left, driving home to face what I desperately didn't want to face. What I dreaded to even think about. To say goodbye.
By the time I got home, the dress was long forgotten. The tears flowed as we loaded our sweet Skye girl into the car and carried her to her peaceful end. We kissed her and held her as she left us, knowing she would never leave our hearts.
That was the day I was fitted to the dress. My dress. Each time I put it on after that day, it never felt quite right. It didn't fit right. It seemed heavy. Cumbersome. On the big day, it needed lots of work. There was last minute pinning and adjusting. Throughout the day, there was fidgeting. Pulling. Fixing.
The day was perfect. The dress was...meh.
Two and a half years later, Skye's ashes remain on the bookshelf with her collar. Two new dogs have joined our family. My husband and I are happy and in love. The dress hangs in the closet. Occasionally, I unzip the garment bag and think about the day I was fitted to the dress. The day I became a wife in the dress. My dress. What I should do with the dress.
I still don't know. It just hangs there. Heavy. Cumbersome. Meh.
Showing posts with label love of my life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label love of my life. Show all posts
Thursday, March 13, 2014
Monday, February 17, 2014
MB will be a very busy man.
A friend and I were discussing ice dancing, as friends do in the time of the Olympics. Naturally, the conversation turned to curling. In sharing my only knowledge of the Olympic events (as I have not watched any of it thus far), I told her another friend had commented on the hotness of the women of curling.
She reminded me that, of course, they are still hot. The sport of curling does not result in any blows to the face resulting in an unfortunate but also hardcore awesome loss of teeth. One's beauty tends to remain intact.
I wish that curling was more of a high impact, injury inducing sport. It might be the only legitimate excuse I would have to permanently remove sweeping from my chore list.
"Sorry, MB. There is no way I can sweep up all that dog hair and chewed up underwear. It's way too dangerous."
Of course, I could always tell him that I've decided to fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming an Olympic curler and I must therefore remove all other chores from my list, focusing only on my sweeping and forcing him to cook, clean and do laundry.
Then, it would seem perfectly normal for me to be shouting out "hurry", "die" or "right off" as I was skating around the house chasing after mounds of dog hair and debris.
Of course I would be on roller skates. My floors aren't made of ice.
She reminded me that, of course, they are still hot. The sport of curling does not result in any blows to the face resulting in an unfortunate but also hardcore awesome loss of teeth. One's beauty tends to remain intact.
I wish that curling was more of a high impact, injury inducing sport. It might be the only legitimate excuse I would have to permanently remove sweeping from my chore list.
"Sorry, MB. There is no way I can sweep up all that dog hair and chewed up underwear. It's way too dangerous."
Of course, I could always tell him that I've decided to fulfill my lifelong dream of becoming an Olympic curler and I must therefore remove all other chores from my list, focusing only on my sweeping and forcing him to cook, clean and do laundry.
Then, it would seem perfectly normal for me to be shouting out "hurry", "die" or "right off" as I was skating around the house chasing after mounds of dog hair and debris.
Of course I would be on roller skates. My floors aren't made of ice.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Outsmarted. Again.
So, I had a discussion with MB recently about the spider infestation in our home and he actually agreed that it was a problem.
I know!
For those of you who are new to the Bitz, I'll give you the low down. We have a spider infestation and I have severe, SEVERE arachnophobia. It makes me do very bizarre things like this. You should totally go read that and then decide if you want to continue reading on or if you want to get as far away from the crazy lady as you can.
Go ahead. I'll wait.
Doobie, doobie doo....
Sticking with me? Well, thank you. I appreciate that.
So, our infestation seems to have reached epic proportions. Partly because I am too much of a lily livered, yellow bellied, chicken shit to actually tackle the problem. Okay, that's the only reason.
Our laundry room/tool storage area is the most neglected area of our home. I despise doing laundry and MB isn't all that handy. What can I say? We have other strengths.
Due to our neglect of that room, the spiders have decided to take over. The entire ceiling is covered in a layer of cobwebs. Whenever I do venture into the room, which is when we both run out of clean underwear, it's a nightmare.
I have to wear head gear and a protective suit that may or may not be made of tin foil. I tried to convince MB to get me some haz mat suits from the firehouse, but apparently they are very expensive.
Tin foil isn't all that cheap either. But, whatever.
Once I get all geared up, I am still on high alert as my biggest fear is that the spiders will drop from the ceiling and envelope me in cobwebs. MB will come home to my fat ass strung up to the ceiling, spiders sucking all the fat out of my...well, everywhere.
I don't think it's an irrational fear. It could totally happen. I have a lot of fat.
Today, my dear hubby actually decided to tackle the cobweb ceiling. This was after he called an exterminator, was told it wasn't worth it to spray for spiders and decided we should attack them on our own. Then, I told him I was absolutely, positively, under no circumstances going to have any part whatsoever in tackling that particular room.
I must have made myself clear because he agreed to go in there and take care of it.
Armed with the long handled thingy that you use to clean ceiling fans, he began to knock down the cobwebs. I stood at a safe distance, close to the exit and watched him with tears in my eyes.
Not tears of joy or pride. Tears of fear. He thought it was hilarious that just watching him do this sent me into hysterics.
God, I love that man. He's so supportive.
He finished the job and it actually doesn't look like a labyrinth in there. Now, I have no excuse to avoid doing laundry.
Wait...I may have been duped on this one. Dammit!
I know!
For those of you who are new to the Bitz, I'll give you the low down. We have a spider infestation and I have severe, SEVERE arachnophobia. It makes me do very bizarre things like this. You should totally go read that and then decide if you want to continue reading on or if you want to get as far away from the crazy lady as you can.
Go ahead. I'll wait.
Doobie, doobie doo....
Sticking with me? Well, thank you. I appreciate that.
So, our infestation seems to have reached epic proportions. Partly because I am too much of a lily livered, yellow bellied, chicken shit to actually tackle the problem. Okay, that's the only reason.
Our laundry room/tool storage area is the most neglected area of our home. I despise doing laundry and MB isn't all that handy. What can I say? We have other strengths.
Due to our neglect of that room, the spiders have decided to take over. The entire ceiling is covered in a layer of cobwebs. Whenever I do venture into the room, which is when we both run out of clean underwear, it's a nightmare.
I have to wear head gear and a protective suit that may or may not be made of tin foil. I tried to convince MB to get me some haz mat suits from the firehouse, but apparently they are very expensive.
Tin foil isn't all that cheap either. But, whatever.
Once I get all geared up, I am still on high alert as my biggest fear is that the spiders will drop from the ceiling and envelope me in cobwebs. MB will come home to my fat ass strung up to the ceiling, spiders sucking all the fat out of my...well, everywhere.
I don't think it's an irrational fear. It could totally happen. I have a lot of fat.
Today, my dear hubby actually decided to tackle the cobweb ceiling. This was after he called an exterminator, was told it wasn't worth it to spray for spiders and decided we should attack them on our own. Then, I told him I was absolutely, positively, under no circumstances going to have any part whatsoever in tackling that particular room.
I must have made myself clear because he agreed to go in there and take care of it.
Armed with the long handled thingy that you use to clean ceiling fans, he began to knock down the cobwebs. I stood at a safe distance, close to the exit and watched him with tears in my eyes.
Not tears of joy or pride. Tears of fear. He thought it was hilarious that just watching him do this sent me into hysterics.
God, I love that man. He's so supportive.
He finished the job and it actually doesn't look like a labyrinth in there. Now, I have no excuse to avoid doing laundry.
Wait...I may have been duped on this one. Dammit!
Sunday, April 7, 2013
Feverishly funny.
Yesterday, my dear MB was stricken with the sickness, and I am considering some level of quarantine. I have to protect myself, people.
The onset of said sickness occured mere moments after he consumed the delicious smoothie I had made for our breakfast. It consisted of 1 fresh banana, 2 cups of ice, 2 scoops of protein powder and 2 cups of a very healthy green juice containing fruits and veggies.
Even though MB will argue otherwise, it did not contain any sort of poison. I would like to make that clear as he spent the entire day, writhing and moaning in pain between hurried trips to the bathroom, feebly pointing his finger at me and saying "J'accuse!". At one point, he said "If I can just get to Facebook, I can get help." That's when I put his phone in an undisclosed, safe location.
Each time I would ask him if he needed anything, he would answer "less poison" or some equally accusatory version of the same thing. Someone less accustomed to his comedic ramblings would've called 911 and had him commited for a psychiatric evaluation due to his persistent paranoia.
After surviving the alien pod incident of 2010, I am no longer alarmed by any of his rantings. This is why I still refused to call 911 when he began waving at a butterfly named Gary who was flying away to freedom via our bedroom ceiling fan.
Fevers can affect people in very strange ways. Thankfully, they do not affect my husband's sense of humor. It's the only way he survived after calling me on my cell phone multiple times from the bedroom (before the phone was taken away), to 'test the system'. Poor, dear thing. And he was surprised that I wouldn't get him a bell.
Things seem to be less feverish today. There have only been a couple hurried trips to the bathroom and Gary seems to have left the building.
In an effort to avoid becoming a victim of the sickness, I have taken certain precautions. I may or may not have sprayed my husband with Lysol while he was sleeping and I'm currently working on measurements for a plastic bubble to encase him in.
Unfortunately, I only have aluminum foil. This may not bode well for his sanity defense, should someone happen to stop by and see him wearing said aluminum foil suit. Let's just hope he doesn't start accusing me of poisoning him again.
I can't stand the thought of MB being commited. There is yard work to be done.
The onset of said sickness occured mere moments after he consumed the delicious smoothie I had made for our breakfast. It consisted of 1 fresh banana, 2 cups of ice, 2 scoops of protein powder and 2 cups of a very healthy green juice containing fruits and veggies.
Even though MB will argue otherwise, it did not contain any sort of poison. I would like to make that clear as he spent the entire day, writhing and moaning in pain between hurried trips to the bathroom, feebly pointing his finger at me and saying "J'accuse!". At one point, he said "If I can just get to Facebook, I can get help." That's when I put his phone in an undisclosed, safe location.
Each time I would ask him if he needed anything, he would answer "less poison" or some equally accusatory version of the same thing. Someone less accustomed to his comedic ramblings would've called 911 and had him commited for a psychiatric evaluation due to his persistent paranoia.
After surviving the alien pod incident of 2010, I am no longer alarmed by any of his rantings. This is why I still refused to call 911 when he began waving at a butterfly named Gary who was flying away to freedom via our bedroom ceiling fan.
Fevers can affect people in very strange ways. Thankfully, they do not affect my husband's sense of humor. It's the only way he survived after calling me on my cell phone multiple times from the bedroom (before the phone was taken away), to 'test the system'. Poor, dear thing. And he was surprised that I wouldn't get him a bell.
Things seem to be less feverish today. There have only been a couple hurried trips to the bathroom and Gary seems to have left the building.
In an effort to avoid becoming a victim of the sickness, I have taken certain precautions. I may or may not have sprayed my husband with Lysol while he was sleeping and I'm currently working on measurements for a plastic bubble to encase him in.
Unfortunately, I only have aluminum foil. This may not bode well for his sanity defense, should someone happen to stop by and see him wearing said aluminum foil suit. Let's just hope he doesn't start accusing me of poisoning him again.
I can't stand the thought of MB being commited. There is yard work to be done.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
I just threw up a little.
So, I finally read Fifty Shades of Grey, because I am so current and all.
I hated it. It may be the worst book I've ever read, even though I couldn't stop reading it. It's like I had to finish it, just so it could be over and I could move on with my life. Plus, I really wanted to see what all the hype was about since so many people are so madly in love with this book.
I still don't get it. Yeah, some of the sex was hot. Mostly, it was just awful and borderline battering and I wanted to vomit. Not in a good way. Is there a good way? I don't even know what's normal anymore after reading this book.
Thanks to The Beast, MB can attest to the un-sexiness of vomiting. He has had to endure my retching on many occasions. Trust me, it never makes his palm twitch or his inner goddess swoon.
If my husband had any interest in trying out some Fify Shades shenanigans, he would probably tie me up and blindfold me. Then, he would release an army of spiders and giggle away while I screamed for my life.
I'm pretty sure that would backfire on him because I would vomit. Just the thought of all those spiders makes me a little nauseous now.
Yeah. We won't be acting out anything Fifty related anytime soon.
Also, for any of you Fifty Fanatics out there who may come to my house someday, please take note that my bedroom has always been painted red. It has absolutely nothing to do with these atrocious books.
The balls on the floor? Those are dog toys, assholes.
Gross.
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Life is meaningless without tickles and cupcakes.
When I inquired about a possible accident or other road closing catastrophe, he again replied that I was not allowed to go that way. He wasn't going to let me, for the good of our marriage.
Sardines in the ceiling fan? Brilliant! Thank you again, google, you evil geniuses.
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Lint Flickers and Reckonings.
Holy sh*t, have I ever been neglecting my bitz. I just logged on and a piece of tumbleweed rolled gently over my keyboard.
Also, I'm pretty sure my dear husband just disposed of his belly button lint by throwing it on my desk.
He watched Hatfields and McCoys not too long ago and now says we are feuding. He also keeps saying "I reckon". It's not annoying at all.
I'm not sure how belly button lint became part of the feuding tactics. I'm not sure I want to know.
I don't even know why we're feuding. It probably has something to do with the fact that I have been seriously neglecting my wifely duties.
Not those wifely duties. (Hi MB's Mom!) The wifely duties of laundry and having dinner on the table every night and other such household chores. Yes, I do hold myself to the standards of Mrs. June Cleaver. So does MB.
You're probably thinking that I'm some anal weirdo who has to have everything in it's place with a nice neat label. To that, I guffaw!
If you came to my house right now, you'd probably be more apt to call me a hoarder. There are no dead cats in my freezer (that I know of) and none of my yogurts have expired (that I know of).
However, there are several piles of laundry that may or may not be clean (I have completely lost track) in various locations throughout the house. One is next to our bed and within reach of the puppy. This means we occasionally have to chase him around to retrieve semi-clean pairs of underwear because hell if I know where the clean ones are.
If you aren't lucky enough to save the underwear from Atticus' jaws, you just may have to go commando.
MB keeps reminding me that it wouldn't be so overwhelming if I would just do a little bit of it each day. I pretend to listen as I try to wrangle my last unsweaty bra from the puppy of doom.
He has an appetite for destruction. Can't you see it in his eyes?
I know it wouldn't be so overwhelming if I did a little each day. I'm not mentally impaired. I didn't suffer a brain injury while chucking wet bath towels down the stairs into the family room/laundry chute. I'm just lazy. And it's hot. And there are spiders in the laundry room.
Most importantly, I just don't like doing laundry. I never have, but it's gotten worse since we got Atticus. Laundry becomes a challenge when you have to keep all of the clothing above Atticus level. Who needs the extra challenge?
Not this newlywed.
I guess the feuding will just continue. I'm going to go hide a honeysuckle soap in MB's man cave.
Take that, you belly button lint flicker!
(Love you!)
Also, I'm pretty sure my dear husband just disposed of his belly button lint by throwing it on my desk.
He watched Hatfields and McCoys not too long ago and now says we are feuding. He also keeps saying "I reckon". It's not annoying at all.
I'm not sure how belly button lint became part of the feuding tactics. I'm not sure I want to know.
I don't even know why we're feuding. It probably has something to do with the fact that I have been seriously neglecting my wifely duties.
Not those wifely duties. (Hi MB's Mom!) The wifely duties of laundry and having dinner on the table every night and other such household chores. Yes, I do hold myself to the standards of Mrs. June Cleaver. So does MB.
You're probably thinking that I'm some anal weirdo who has to have everything in it's place with a nice neat label. To that, I guffaw!
If you came to my house right now, you'd probably be more apt to call me a hoarder. There are no dead cats in my freezer (that I know of) and none of my yogurts have expired (that I know of).
However, there are several piles of laundry that may or may not be clean (I have completely lost track) in various locations throughout the house. One is next to our bed and within reach of the puppy. This means we occasionally have to chase him around to retrieve semi-clean pairs of underwear because hell if I know where the clean ones are.
If you aren't lucky enough to save the underwear from Atticus' jaws, you just may have to go commando.
MB keeps reminding me that it wouldn't be so overwhelming if I would just do a little bit of it each day. I pretend to listen as I try to wrangle my last unsweaty bra from the puppy of doom.
He has an appetite for destruction. Can't you see it in his eyes?
I know it wouldn't be so overwhelming if I did a little each day. I'm not mentally impaired. I didn't suffer a brain injury while chucking wet bath towels down the stairs into the family room/laundry chute. I'm just lazy. And it's hot. And there are spiders in the laundry room.
Most importantly, I just don't like doing laundry. I never have, but it's gotten worse since we got Atticus. Laundry becomes a challenge when you have to keep all of the clothing above Atticus level. Who needs the extra challenge?
Not this newlywed.
I guess the feuding will just continue. I'm going to go hide a honeysuckle soap in MB's man cave.
Take that, you belly button lint flicker!
(Love you!)
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
MB helps me with my self esteem issues.
My converstion with MB earlier today:
Me: I have such a headache right now.
MB: I have a headache too. It's about this tall (starts measuring me)...
Me: (cutting him off) ...and looks like a petite super model...
MB: (cutting me off) ...who got into the ice cream carton.
Isn't he just the sweetest little thing?!
Me: I have such a headache right now.
MB: I have a headache too. It's about this tall (starts measuring me)...
Me: (cutting him off) ...and looks like a petite super model...
MB: (cutting me off) ...who got into the ice cream carton.
Isn't he just the sweetest little thing?!
Thursday, January 12, 2012
I'm not very good at this.
On December 30, I promised to return the next day to tell you all about a very important event in my life. I hope you haven't been holding your breath waiting for that to happen.
Yikes.
So, what was the big, important event that I have now waited two weeks to share with you? Well, I'll tell you. It's the Annual Bitz Birthday Bar Hop! Woohoo!
You see, MB and I share the same birthday. I know, it's sickening. We are both born on the same day, just 5 years apart. Yes, I'm the older one. No, that does not make me a deviant. I already looked it up.
Our birthday is a little weird. It's 3 days after Christmas. It's kinda cool because you're a Christmas baby. There are lots of pictures of yourself as a baby shoved under the Christmas tree with all the other presents.
Sometimes I wonder if my Mom planned ahead just for the photo ops. It is ridiculously cute.
MB never had such cute memories. According to him, his birthday never got acknowledged until around February. Someone would have one of those 'oh sh*t' moments and then out came the leftover Valentine's Day candy and gift wrapped socks from behind the dryer.
He paints a bleak picture of his childhood.
When I heard this, I was very sad for him. My mom always made an effort to have a separate birthday celebration. I always had a party with cake, silly hats and at least a few friends whose parents just wanted them the hell out of the house already so they could enjoy Christmas break too.
Good times.
I started the Birthday Bar Hop when MB turned 30. I decided it was time for him to have his very own birthday celebration (that he also shared with me). We got all of our friends together and hit Main Street to partake of all the local bars.
It was a huge hit and has since become an annual tradition. This year, we started the day with lunch at Fogo de Chao. It's an authentic Brazilian steakhouse where they continue to bring you meat as long as your coaster is turned to green. It's pretty much a meat paradise. If you ever get the chance to go, GO! Just remember to pace yourself. And wear loose fitting pants.
I had already been warned not to wear my Spanx and I'm glad I didn't. Containment would not have been a good idea. Bacon wrapped filet mignon vs very tight spandex? Hmmm. I'm pretty sure my Spanx would've met their demise that day.
After a very uncomfortable drive home, we began the night with a few friends and a very hyper puppy at our house. Drinks were consumed. The floor was peed on. It was all very high class.
We continued on to our first stop where we met the rest of our friends for drinks and some food. Well, they ate. MB and I were still on a meat high from lunch. At this point, I had managed to stuff myself into my Spanx, but it wasn't pretty. No nachos for me, thank you very much.
Then a homeless man wandered into the bar for a beer and they tried to kick him out. He still had over half a beer left. That's a party fowl that can not be overlooked. So, MB did the honorable thing and gave him $10. I'm not sure how that helped his situation. It was really more of a 'screw you for your party fowl behavior' to the bartender. The same bartender who happened to be ignoring us all night.
I think we showed him. Or something.
Most of our friends abandoned us after that bar. Apparently they don't support the homeless. Whatever. Our party became a party of four, but we soldiered on anyway. We were good and drunk by that time and wanted some food. The meat high had worn off and our bellies were ready for seconds.
IHOP was closed. The diner was closed. The guy selling pretzels from a cart was nowhere to be found.
We found ourselves wandering the street, tripping over tumbleweed, until we stumbled into a pub that looked open. It was an oasis. The bartender welcomed us with open arms and offered us sanctuary in the form of cheese fries, cold beer and the dessert tray.
It was a Birthday Bar Hop paradise!
As we began to dive into our chocolate bread pudding and peanut butter bombs (just as heavenly as it sounds), our paradise was invaded. By a gaggle of 21 year old sorority girls.
Nothing reminds you how old you are like a group of 21 year olds downing girly shots and screeching with drunken glee about how drunk they are as they prance around in their skinny jeans and glittery tops.
Holy crow's feet! They probably didn't even know what Spanx were. Those little hussies. How I longed for those days again. Sigh.
Then, the gaggle got kicked out because one of them decided to go behind the bar and help herself to another shot. My longing went away.
I decided to just enjoy my Spanx contained beer belly, my Dark Golden Brown #47 graying hair and the ability to hold my liquor. That's what really matters, right?
That and getting to spend your birthday with your awesome hubby and your closest friends, who can also hold their liquor. That's what life is all about.
Holding your liquor so you don't get kicked out of the bar.
That's the wisdom of my 37 (gulp) years, right there. You're welcome.
Here's to a year of appreciating what I have and not doing dumb things that will get me kicked out of any establishment! Especially ones that serve peanut butter bombs. Oops, I'm drooling. I should probably wrap this up.
Later, peeps.
Yikes.
So, what was the big, important event that I have now waited two weeks to share with you? Well, I'll tell you. It's the Annual Bitz Birthday Bar Hop! Woohoo!
You see, MB and I share the same birthday. I know, it's sickening. We are both born on the same day, just 5 years apart. Yes, I'm the older one. No, that does not make me a deviant. I already looked it up.
Our birthday is a little weird. It's 3 days after Christmas. It's kinda cool because you're a Christmas baby. There are lots of pictures of yourself as a baby shoved under the Christmas tree with all the other presents.
Sometimes I wonder if my Mom planned ahead just for the photo ops. It is ridiculously cute.
MB never had such cute memories. According to him, his birthday never got acknowledged until around February. Someone would have one of those 'oh sh*t' moments and then out came the leftover Valentine's Day candy and gift wrapped socks from behind the dryer.
He paints a bleak picture of his childhood.
When I heard this, I was very sad for him. My mom always made an effort to have a separate birthday celebration. I always had a party with cake, silly hats and at least a few friends whose parents just wanted them the hell out of the house already so they could enjoy Christmas break too.
Good times.
I started the Birthday Bar Hop when MB turned 30. I decided it was time for him to have his very own birthday celebration (that he also shared with me). We got all of our friends together and hit Main Street to partake of all the local bars.
It was a huge hit and has since become an annual tradition. This year, we started the day with lunch at Fogo de Chao. It's an authentic Brazilian steakhouse where they continue to bring you meat as long as your coaster is turned to green. It's pretty much a meat paradise. If you ever get the chance to go, GO! Just remember to pace yourself. And wear loose fitting pants.
I had already been warned not to wear my Spanx and I'm glad I didn't. Containment would not have been a good idea. Bacon wrapped filet mignon vs very tight spandex? Hmmm. I'm pretty sure my Spanx would've met their demise that day.
After a very uncomfortable drive home, we began the night with a few friends and a very hyper puppy at our house. Drinks were consumed. The floor was peed on. It was all very high class.
We continued on to our first stop where we met the rest of our friends for drinks and some food. Well, they ate. MB and I were still on a meat high from lunch. At this point, I had managed to stuff myself into my Spanx, but it wasn't pretty. No nachos for me, thank you very much.
Then a homeless man wandered into the bar for a beer and they tried to kick him out. He still had over half a beer left. That's a party fowl that can not be overlooked. So, MB did the honorable thing and gave him $10. I'm not sure how that helped his situation. It was really more of a 'screw you for your party fowl behavior' to the bartender. The same bartender who happened to be ignoring us all night.
I think we showed him. Or something.
Most of our friends abandoned us after that bar. Apparently they don't support the homeless. Whatever. Our party became a party of four, but we soldiered on anyway. We were good and drunk by that time and wanted some food. The meat high had worn off and our bellies were ready for seconds.
IHOP was closed. The diner was closed. The guy selling pretzels from a cart was nowhere to be found.
We found ourselves wandering the street, tripping over tumbleweed, until we stumbled into a pub that looked open. It was an oasis. The bartender welcomed us with open arms and offered us sanctuary in the form of cheese fries, cold beer and the dessert tray.
It was a Birthday Bar Hop paradise!
As we began to dive into our chocolate bread pudding and peanut butter bombs (just as heavenly as it sounds), our paradise was invaded. By a gaggle of 21 year old sorority girls.
Nothing reminds you how old you are like a group of 21 year olds downing girly shots and screeching with drunken glee about how drunk they are as they prance around in their skinny jeans and glittery tops.
Holy crow's feet! They probably didn't even know what Spanx were. Those little hussies. How I longed for those days again. Sigh.
Then, the gaggle got kicked out because one of them decided to go behind the bar and help herself to another shot. My longing went away.
I decided to just enjoy my Spanx contained beer belly, my Dark Golden Brown #47 graying hair and the ability to hold my liquor. That's what really matters, right?
That and getting to spend your birthday with your awesome hubby and your closest friends, who can also hold their liquor. That's what life is all about.
Holding your liquor so you don't get kicked out of the bar.
That's the wisdom of my 37 (gulp) years, right there. You're welcome.
Here's to a year of appreciating what I have and not doing dumb things that will get me kicked out of any establishment! Especially ones that serve peanut butter bombs. Oops, I'm drooling. I should probably wrap this up.
Later, peeps.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Wet spots, body hair and evil farts. Also, snot.
So, it's a little after midnight and I have forsaken my cozy, warm bed for the icy cold living room full of slobbery dog toys and wet spots that may or may not be puppy pee (they usually are).
Why? Because I'm awake. Fully awake. Also, I'm full of snot. Have you missed my glamour and lady-like-ness? I thought you might.
I'm not full of snot because I have a cold. Although, that would be a logical conclusion, considering that MB keeps the house at a nice, comfortable arctic temperature in the winter. Just because he has a lot of...you know, I was going to make a body hair joke here but I thought better of it.
Love you, MB.
Anyway, I'm full of snot because I was kinda crying in bed. Not because of the cold. It's because today is December 29 and exactly 4 months ago, we put our Skye girl to sleep.
I know. Here she goes blabbering on about her dead dog again. Blah blah blah. Well, just shutup. I miss my dead dog. Considering how much of a sniveling sentimental crazy person I am, I think I've dealt with the death of my girl in a very healthy manner.
I've maintained my status as a functioning member of society and everything. There are just those little moments where all of the emotion of those last two days with her just creep up on me. When that happens, I get a little weepy.
It also happens when I dust. I have to gently pick up her little box of ashes in order to clean the bookshelf and it always ends in tears. I've told MB that I need a maid for this very reason (and many others), but he's not buying it.
It's like he's made of stone.
Which he isn't. Those last days with her were just raw and emotional for both us. We both have those weepy moments. Mine are more frequent, but there's no judgement here people.
So, tonight I started replaying that final day in my head as I was trying to fall asleep to dreams of George Clooney...I mean, my handsome hubby.
Love you, MB.
Flashes of that day just kept invading my brain, resulting in tears on my pillow and snot in my nose. The sniffling became more like snorting and I decided to relocate for the sake of my marriage. No one wants to be married to a snorter.
Plus, my new Kindle (Christmas present from my awesome hubby!) was on the shelf and it makes this weird noise randomly. By randomly, I mean approximately every 17 seconds. It sounds like it's hissing. Wtf?!
I left it for MB to enjoy and plopped myself on the sofa. Of course, Atticus follows me absolutely everywhere (even the bathroom - it's awkward) so he is here beside me. He is now making weird noises. Maybe I have this effect on things.
Usually it's some sort of gassy noise with Atticus. Either he is farting or his tummy is rumbling and preparing to fart. He's all boy, that one. .
By the way, he's getting really big.
See? He's almost too big for me to pick up and spoil. Almost. My chiropractor would argue that he's past that point, but what does she know. Crooked schmooked.
Is it wrong that I want to gorge myself on peanut butter cups? I totally just typed bups because my glasses are so effed up. Atticus got to them and now I have to view the world through teeth marks.
I love puppies.
Maybe I'll just indulge in some ice water. I am still recovering from our Annual Birthday Bar Hop that took place last night. MB and I share a birthday (gag me, I know) and we have hosted this event every year since he turned 30. I'll have to come back tomorrow and tell you about that debauchery.
For now, I'm going to hide the peanut butter bups, grab some ice water and watch Bones episodes on netflix until I fall asleep. I might also slip Atticus some antacids. Holy hell! Whatever is coming from his rear is just evil. Pure stinky evil.
Good night, peeps. We'll talk tomorrow. :)
Why? Because I'm awake. Fully awake. Also, I'm full of snot. Have you missed my glamour and lady-like-ness? I thought you might.
I'm not full of snot because I have a cold. Although, that would be a logical conclusion, considering that MB keeps the house at a nice, comfortable arctic temperature in the winter. Just because he has a lot of...you know, I was going to make a body hair joke here but I thought better of it.
Love you, MB.
Anyway, I'm full of snot because I was kinda crying in bed. Not because of the cold. It's because today is December 29 and exactly 4 months ago, we put our Skye girl to sleep.
I know. Here she goes blabbering on about her dead dog again. Blah blah blah. Well, just shutup. I miss my dead dog. Considering how much of a sniveling sentimental crazy person I am, I think I've dealt with the death of my girl in a very healthy manner.
I've maintained my status as a functioning member of society and everything. There are just those little moments where all of the emotion of those last two days with her just creep up on me. When that happens, I get a little weepy.
It also happens when I dust. I have to gently pick up her little box of ashes in order to clean the bookshelf and it always ends in tears. I've told MB that I need a maid for this very reason (and many others), but he's not buying it.
It's like he's made of stone.
Which he isn't. Those last days with her were just raw and emotional for both us. We both have those weepy moments. Mine are more frequent, but there's no judgement here people.
So, tonight I started replaying that final day in my head as I was trying to fall asleep to dreams of George Clooney...I mean, my handsome hubby.
Love you, MB.
Flashes of that day just kept invading my brain, resulting in tears on my pillow and snot in my nose. The sniffling became more like snorting and I decided to relocate for the sake of my marriage. No one wants to be married to a snorter.
Plus, my new Kindle (Christmas present from my awesome hubby!) was on the shelf and it makes this weird noise randomly. By randomly, I mean approximately every 17 seconds. It sounds like it's hissing. Wtf?!
I left it for MB to enjoy and plopped myself on the sofa. Of course, Atticus follows me absolutely everywhere (even the bathroom - it's awkward) so he is here beside me. He is now making weird noises. Maybe I have this effect on things.
Usually it's some sort of gassy noise with Atticus. Either he is farting or his tummy is rumbling and preparing to fart. He's all boy, that one. .
By the way, he's getting really big.
See? He's almost too big for me to pick up and spoil. Almost. My chiropractor would argue that he's past that point, but what does she know. Crooked schmooked.
Is it wrong that I want to gorge myself on peanut butter cups? I totally just typed bups because my glasses are so effed up. Atticus got to them and now I have to view the world through teeth marks.
I love puppies.
Maybe I'll just indulge in some ice water. I am still recovering from our Annual Birthday Bar Hop that took place last night. MB and I share a birthday (gag me, I know) and we have hosted this event every year since he turned 30. I'll have to come back tomorrow and tell you about that debauchery.
For now, I'm going to hide the peanut butter bups, grab some ice water and watch Bones episodes on netflix until I fall asleep. I might also slip Atticus some antacids. Holy hell! Whatever is coming from his rear is just evil. Pure stinky evil.
Good night, peeps. We'll talk tomorrow. :)
Wednesday, November 23, 2011
Giving thanks.
Well, hello there peeps! I hope you are all doing well. I've been trying to keep up with everyone during my little honeymoon hiatus.
Now, I'm back. Yay!
Life has been extremely chaotic for me over the past few months. I have so much to share with all of you.
For today, I'd like to just focus on giving thanks. I have recently found myself struggling to remember all the blessings in my life. Stress and frustration have taken over my brain and I need to gain a little perspective.
I have so many things to be thankful for. So, here we go...
First and foremost, I am thankful for MB. My rock. My partner. My love.
My husband.
I'm also thankful for my family. I was truly blessed with a wonderful, loving family and I will always be grateful for their love and support.
I've also been blessed with some pretty amazing friends. I'm so lucky to be surrounded by such smart, funny, kind and beautiful people.
I'm thankful for the newest addition to our little family.
He drives me nuts. He makes me laugh. He has filled our grieving hearts and shown us that we can move on.
There are many other things I'm thankful for in these difficult times. My job. My home. My sense of security, no matter how fragile it may be.
I'm also very thankful that it's my off year for the holidays. This means I get to be off tomorrow to enjoy a delicious turkey dinner with my hubby.
Yummy!
I wish you all a very Happy Thanksgiving! May your bellies and your hearts be full.
Now, I'm back. Yay!
Life has been extremely chaotic for me over the past few months. I have so much to share with all of you.
For today, I'd like to just focus on giving thanks. I have recently found myself struggling to remember all the blessings in my life. Stress and frustration have taken over my brain and I need to gain a little perspective.
I have so many things to be thankful for. So, here we go...
First and foremost, I am thankful for MB. My rock. My partner. My love.
My husband.
I'm also thankful for my family. I was truly blessed with a wonderful, loving family and I will always be grateful for their love and support.
I've also been blessed with some pretty amazing friends. I'm so lucky to be surrounded by such smart, funny, kind and beautiful people.
I'm thankful for the newest addition to our little family.
He drives me nuts. He makes me laugh. He has filled our grieving hearts and shown us that we can move on.
There are many other things I'm thankful for in these difficult times. My job. My home. My sense of security, no matter how fragile it may be.
I'm also very thankful that it's my off year for the holidays. This means I get to be off tomorrow to enjoy a delicious turkey dinner with my hubby.
Yummy!
I wish you all a very Happy Thanksgiving! May your bellies and your hearts be full.
Saturday, October 1, 2011
Butterflies and body odor.
So, I'm going to be a married woman tomorrow.
It's a weird feeling. I'm nervous, but not really. I'm anxious, but not really. I'm hungry, but not really.
I guess you could say I'm discombobulated.
I'm not nervous about getting hitched. I truly love MB and there is not a doubt in my mind about that part of this whole thing.
I'm more nervous about the ceremony of it all. I'm really more of a sideline type of girl. Being front and center all day long makes me very sweaty. Like butterflies in my stomach, why aren't there any cupcakes in the house but I can't even eat cupcakes because my stomach is in knots kind of sweaty.
Which I fear will then turn into oh my god, who let the skunk into the reception hall kind of sweaty.
You know?
No? No one else is a sweathog? Seriously?
Whatever. Just own it, people.
Anywho, this is officially my last night as a single woman. So, what the hell am I doing? Obviously, I'm sitting in bed, wired as hell, blogging about my sweat problem.
Classy, I know.
It's going to be an awesome day tomorrow and I need to quiet all of the butterflies in my belly so I can get some rest. I have to be ready for the poufy dress and open bar.
This soon to be hitched woman is going to try and get some sleep.
Pray that I get through the big day without tripping on the dance floor or spilling lobster bisque down the front of my dress.
It's a weird feeling. I'm nervous, but not really. I'm anxious, but not really. I'm hungry, but not really.
I guess you could say I'm discombobulated.
I'm not nervous about getting hitched. I truly love MB and there is not a doubt in my mind about that part of this whole thing.
I'm more nervous about the ceremony of it all. I'm really more of a sideline type of girl. Being front and center all day long makes me very sweaty. Like butterflies in my stomach, why aren't there any cupcakes in the house but I can't even eat cupcakes because my stomach is in knots kind of sweaty.
Which I fear will then turn into oh my god, who let the skunk into the reception hall kind of sweaty.
You know?
No? No one else is a sweathog? Seriously?
Whatever. Just own it, people.
Anywho, this is officially my last night as a single woman. So, what the hell am I doing? Obviously, I'm sitting in bed, wired as hell, blogging about my sweat problem.
Classy, I know.
It's going to be an awesome day tomorrow and I need to quiet all of the butterflies in my belly so I can get some rest. I have to be ready for the poufy dress and open bar.
This soon to be hitched woman is going to try and get some sleep.
Pray that I get through the big day without tripping on the dance floor or spilling lobster bisque down the front of my dress.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
The one where I find old lip balm and lose my dignity.
So, I discovered that I am completely unprepared for cougar attacks and the zombie apocalypse.
MB and I decided to go bike riding yesterday. He suggested we go trail riding. I suggested we ride around the neighborhood because it's been 3 years since I've even ridden my bike. He suggested I just suck it up and stop being a girl.
I made some other suggestions but ultimately lost the battle. Apparently, reason and common sense have no place in our relationship.
Anywhowearsthepants, we loaded up the bikes, filled up our Camelbaks and headed to the trail.
While gassing up the Jeep on the way there, MB checks to make sure I'm ready for the ride.
MB: Are you prepared for cougar attacks?
Me: Cougar attacks? Is that really a concern?
MB: Well, yeah. Cougars are a real threat out there in the wild. Are you prepared?
Me: (checking the pockets of my Camelbak which hasn't been used for 3 years) Uh...I don't know. I have half a pack of gum, 2 tampons and...ooh, there's my carrot lip balm! I was wondering where that was.
MB: So, I guess you aren't ready for a bear attack either. Great.
Me: (applying lip balm and dancing to the gas station musack) Uh huh. Whatever.
When we get there, we gear up. This means strapping on the Camelbaks, puttinghttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif on our bike gloves and adjusting the bike shorts that conveniently have extra padding in the seat area. It feels like you're wearing a pillow between your legs.
I'm sure it looks like that too, but I try not to think about that. It was enough drama just buying the damn shorts.
As we head off to the trail, I get nervous. When we head into the woods, I get more nervous. When we start to traverse very large and gnarly tree roots and other such terrain, I start freaking out.
Me: Baby, I don't know if I'm ready for this. You know I've never been biking on a trail like this before.
MB: You're fine. Just remember to down shift when you...(trailing off as he speeds ahead of me)
Me: Wtf!?!
As we continue on, the roots get gnarly and the terrain gets more difficult. I'm in full on panic mode at this point. I'm basically forgetting how to ride a bike, because I find myself barreling down the trail at full speed without any control whatsoever. Then, I freak out and slam on the brakes, propelling myself forward off the seat. As I'm standing there cursing and mumbling about how much I hate this and how MB never listens to me, I'm getting seriously freaked.
MB encourages me to keep going, reminding me about shifting and whatnot. At one point, I'm walking next to the bike. I decide that's not a good way to spend the next 7 miles so I hop back on.
We go through an area that requires a machete because it's so overgrown. Conveniently, we are without machetes and have to use our faces.
It's like exfoliation by thorn.
As I'm barreling down one section, I see this little bridge over a crick. We have already crossed a few of those and I was fine. This one looks a little narrow, but I should be okay. Of course, I'm flying down the hill towards the bridge at top speed but I should be fine. Right?
Not so much.
As soon as I hit the little bridge, I go just a little too far to the left and that's it. I'm tumbling over the side, into the muddy crick.
Awesome.
When MB comes to my rescue, I'm crawling out of the muck, cursing and crying and laughing. My legs are covered in mud. My ass hurts. My arm is a little banged up and my bike is in the weeds.
That's the resulting bruise on my arm. I would take a picture of the bruise on my ass, but I do have some standards. I will tell you that my ass bruise is five times the size of the arm bruise and currently contains all the colors of a rainbow.
We decided today that it looks like a portal through space and time.
I wish the colors in this image (courtesy of google images) weren't so accurate. Seriously.
It's also very uncomfortable to sit. I may need to get one of those plastic donut thingys.
Anywaytoosexyformyowngood, I gather my pride, wipe off some of the mud and resume the ride. After all, I'm rough tough. Or something.
I'm wishing I had filled my Camelbak with whiskey when I notice that my bike seat is not quite right. Actually, it's pretty effed up. So effed up that it won't even stay on.
I alert MB to this and discover that he has no duct tape in his little tool kit. Who's not prepared now?
We are forced to ditch the ride and walk back to the jeep. Defeated.
Thankfully, we didn't encounter any cougars or zombies.
Today, we went to the bike store to get a new seat for my bike. MB felt it was vital that we also get me a bike helmet. Apparently he's concerned that I may somehow fall and harm myself while riding my bike.
Imagine that.
As you can see, I'm thrilled about the helmet idea.
Our next biking adventure? Around the neighborhood. I'll be wearing my helmet, a plastic donut strapped to my ass and strategically placed bubble wrap.
MB and I decided to go bike riding yesterday. He suggested we go trail riding. I suggested we ride around the neighborhood because it's been 3 years since I've even ridden my bike. He suggested I just suck it up and stop being a girl.
I made some other suggestions but ultimately lost the battle. Apparently, reason and common sense have no place in our relationship.
Anywhowearsthepants, we loaded up the bikes, filled up our Camelbaks and headed to the trail.
While gassing up the Jeep on the way there, MB checks to make sure I'm ready for the ride.
MB: Are you prepared for cougar attacks?
Me: Cougar attacks? Is that really a concern?
MB: Well, yeah. Cougars are a real threat out there in the wild. Are you prepared?
Me: (checking the pockets of my Camelbak which hasn't been used for 3 years) Uh...I don't know. I have half a pack of gum, 2 tampons and...ooh, there's my carrot lip balm! I was wondering where that was.
MB: So, I guess you aren't ready for a bear attack either. Great.
Me: (applying lip balm and dancing to the gas station musack) Uh huh. Whatever.
When we get there, we gear up. This means strapping on the Camelbaks, puttinghttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif on our bike gloves and adjusting the bike shorts that conveniently have extra padding in the seat area. It feels like you're wearing a pillow between your legs.
I'm sure it looks like that too, but I try not to think about that. It was enough drama just buying the damn shorts.
As we head off to the trail, I get nervous. When we head into the woods, I get more nervous. When we start to traverse very large and gnarly tree roots and other such terrain, I start freaking out.
Me: Baby, I don't know if I'm ready for this. You know I've never been biking on a trail like this before.
MB: You're fine. Just remember to down shift when you...(trailing off as he speeds ahead of me)
Me: Wtf!?!
As we continue on, the roots get gnarly and the terrain gets more difficult. I'm in full on panic mode at this point. I'm basically forgetting how to ride a bike, because I find myself barreling down the trail at full speed without any control whatsoever. Then, I freak out and slam on the brakes, propelling myself forward off the seat. As I'm standing there cursing and mumbling about how much I hate this and how MB never listens to me, I'm getting seriously freaked.
MB encourages me to keep going, reminding me about shifting and whatnot. At one point, I'm walking next to the bike. I decide that's not a good way to spend the next 7 miles so I hop back on.
We go through an area that requires a machete because it's so overgrown. Conveniently, we are without machetes and have to use our faces.
It's like exfoliation by thorn.
As I'm barreling down one section, I see this little bridge over a crick. We have already crossed a few of those and I was fine. This one looks a little narrow, but I should be okay. Of course, I'm flying down the hill towards the bridge at top speed but I should be fine. Right?
Not so much.
As soon as I hit the little bridge, I go just a little too far to the left and that's it. I'm tumbling over the side, into the muddy crick.
Awesome.
When MB comes to my rescue, I'm crawling out of the muck, cursing and crying and laughing. My legs are covered in mud. My ass hurts. My arm is a little banged up and my bike is in the weeds.
That's the resulting bruise on my arm. I would take a picture of the bruise on my ass, but I do have some standards. I will tell you that my ass bruise is five times the size of the arm bruise and currently contains all the colors of a rainbow.
We decided today that it looks like a portal through space and time.
I wish the colors in this image (courtesy of google images) weren't so accurate. Seriously.
It's also very uncomfortable to sit. I may need to get one of those plastic donut thingys.
Anywaytoosexyformyowngood, I gather my pride, wipe off some of the mud and resume the ride. After all, I'm rough tough. Or something.
I'm wishing I had filled my Camelbak with whiskey when I notice that my bike seat is not quite right. Actually, it's pretty effed up. So effed up that it won't even stay on.
I alert MB to this and discover that he has no duct tape in his little tool kit. Who's not prepared now?
We are forced to ditch the ride and walk back to the jeep. Defeated.
Thankfully, we didn't encounter any cougars or zombies.
Today, we went to the bike store to get a new seat for my bike. MB felt it was vital that we also get me a bike helmet. Apparently he's concerned that I may somehow fall and harm myself while riding my bike.
Imagine that.
As you can see, I'm thrilled about the helmet idea.
Our next biking adventure? Around the neighborhood. I'll be wearing my helmet, a plastic donut strapped to my ass and strategically placed bubble wrap.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Keeping the love alive since...wait, how long have we been together?
While eating Indian food yesterday, MB and I were discussing what to do if Skye ever needed a doggie wheelchair. I'll spare you the details, but it was a heartbreaking conversation.
Of course, I had tears in my eyes by the time we were standing at the counter, paying our bill.
MB: Oh my God. You're crying.
Me: I am not. I'm fine.
MB: Just put your sunglasses on. I don't want to see you cry.
Me: Nice. And, I'm not crying. I'm fine.
MB: Oh yeah? Marley and Me.
Me: You're the devil! (putting sunglasses on as tears now stream down my face)
..................................................................................
Today, MB was trying to be funny by going into the spare room, where my wedding dress happens to be hanging. He thinks it's hilarious to pretend he's going to go look at it. It drives me crazy. The secrecy of the dress is one tradition I'm holding on to.
MB: I think I need to go in here and take inventory.
Me: (running to block him) WHAT?!?!? There is nothing you need in this room.
MB: I just need to take inventory. What's in this closet?
Me: (shoving him back out the door) Nothing is in there. Why don't we go in the hallway?
MB: But I have OCD. I have to know what's in there. See, I'm getting the shakes. You have to let me in there.
Me: You don't have OCD. You're not shaking and you don't need to go in there.
MB: Fine. How do you plan on stopping me when you're at work?
Me: It's called trust.
MB: That's just stupid. I made the pup wear your dress last night.
Me: Uh...that's weird.
MB: What? I like to make her wear your clothes. Then, I take pictures of her. It's cute.
This is where I roll my eyes and walk away.
..................................................................................
Last week, we had an argument about a band saw that MB used to own.
MB: You owe me a band saw.
Me: Why would I owe you a band saw? That's dumb.
MB: Because I went to use my band saw today and those stupid squirrels destroyed it. The squirrels you told me not to get rid of. You owe me a band saw.
Me: I told you those squirrels had made a nest in your band saw box and that you couldn't disturb them because they may have babies in there.
MB: Uh huh. What was I supposed to do if I actually needed to use my band saw?
Me: Borrow one.
MB: BUT I OWN ONE!!!!!
Me: Not anymore.
................................................................................
MB just came in the room as I was writing this post. Skye is lying on the floor beside me.
Me: Hey baby. What are you doing?
MB: Coming to tickle you and also pet my new best friend.
Me: Your new best friend?
MB: Yeah. The pup and I are bonding. Remember our walk yesterday, pup? That's right. Mommy's out. Daddy's in.
Me: Mommy isn't out. I'm still her favorite.
MB: Mommy's boring and vanilla. Daddy's exciting and caliente.
This is where the pup rolls her eyes and walks away. That is why she's Mommy's girl.
Of course, I had tears in my eyes by the time we were standing at the counter, paying our bill.
MB: Oh my God. You're crying.
Me: I am not. I'm fine.
MB: Just put your sunglasses on. I don't want to see you cry.
Me: Nice. And, I'm not crying. I'm fine.
MB: Oh yeah? Marley and Me.
Me: You're the devil! (putting sunglasses on as tears now stream down my face)
..................................................................................
Today, MB was trying to be funny by going into the spare room, where my wedding dress happens to be hanging. He thinks it's hilarious to pretend he's going to go look at it. It drives me crazy. The secrecy of the dress is one tradition I'm holding on to.
MB: I think I need to go in here and take inventory.
Me: (running to block him) WHAT?!?!? There is nothing you need in this room.
MB: I just need to take inventory. What's in this closet?
Me: (shoving him back out the door) Nothing is in there. Why don't we go in the hallway?
MB: But I have OCD. I have to know what's in there. See, I'm getting the shakes. You have to let me in there.
Me: You don't have OCD. You're not shaking and you don't need to go in there.
MB: Fine. How do you plan on stopping me when you're at work?
Me: It's called trust.
MB: That's just stupid. I made the pup wear your dress last night.
Me: Uh...that's weird.
MB: What? I like to make her wear your clothes. Then, I take pictures of her. It's cute.
This is where I roll my eyes and walk away.
..................................................................................
Last week, we had an argument about a band saw that MB used to own.
MB: You owe me a band saw.
Me: Why would I owe you a band saw? That's dumb.
MB: Because I went to use my band saw today and those stupid squirrels destroyed it. The squirrels you told me not to get rid of. You owe me a band saw.
Me: I told you those squirrels had made a nest in your band saw box and that you couldn't disturb them because they may have babies in there.
MB: Uh huh. What was I supposed to do if I actually needed to use my band saw?
Me: Borrow one.
MB: BUT I OWN ONE!!!!!
Me: Not anymore.
................................................................................
MB just came in the room as I was writing this post. Skye is lying on the floor beside me.
Me: Hey baby. What are you doing?
MB: Coming to tickle you and also pet my new best friend.
Me: Your new best friend?
MB: Yeah. The pup and I are bonding. Remember our walk yesterday, pup? That's right. Mommy's out. Daddy's in.
Me: Mommy isn't out. I'm still her favorite.
MB: Mommy's boring and vanilla. Daddy's exciting and caliente.
This is where the pup rolls her eyes and walks away. That is why she's Mommy's girl.
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Angel soft awakenings and chomped wedding tackle.
This was my view on Saturday...
Nice, huh?
MB decided we were going to go canoeing.
He decided to tell me this as I was all snuggly and snoozy in bed Saturday morning. Late Saturday morning - but whatever.
I think we all know of my love of sleeping in on my days off.
MB got home from his 24 hour shift at the fire house around 10 and basically pounced on me to say that we were going canoeing.
He will tell you that he woke me gently and with butterfly kisses and angel wings and other such nonsense.
LIES!
I was pounced on and awoken from a very nice dream that may or may not have involved Timothy Hutton.
Anyrudeawakenings, I continued to sleep until MB just gave up and joined me. Then, I got up a little later and he was sound asleep.
Our canoeing got postponed until late afternoon.
I decided to take some pictures of our little adventure.
Obviously I am not skilled in the photographical area.
Let's try this again...
Meh. We can do better. One more time...
I think you can tell that MB was less than enthused with the picture taking by this point. It's a little fuzzy, but I think I recall him yammering something about a tree and will you put the phone down and paddle for crying out loud before we die of a branch impaled to the face.
Something like that.
We saw quite a few turtle heads in the water, but they were wiley. I desperately wanted to catch a snapping turtle and toss it gently to MB, but it didn't happen.
Plus, given his seated position in the canoe, the turtle probably would've latched right on to the boy bitz. The wedding tackle, if you will.
If I ever want to go fishing in the future, that stuff has to stay intact.
We did encounter some gorgeous blue herons. At one point, there was a heron very close and in prime photographic range. It was kind of a jerk though and took off at the last minute, leaving me photoless.
MB said I shouldn't call the heron a jerk.
I searched for more turtles to fling as we continued on.
Then, MB spotted the jerk nearby and told me to stop paddling so he could get us close to it. He also told me to shut up, which I didn't appreciate. It was all in the interest of art though.
If you can call CrapBerry photos art, that is.
Here is the jerk...
I took like a hundred pics of him and this was the best one. We really need to get an actual camera.
The jerk was getting pretty annoyed and started giving me the evil eye. Then, he cocked his leg up (giggity) into karate kick position. You can sort of see it here...
If you squint really hard and imagine yourself watching Karate Kid, that is. The real Karate Kid. Not the remake. Blasphemy.
So, the jerk got pissed off pretty quickly and flew off. I tried to get a nice flight pic, but CrapBerry doesn't believe in capturing the beauty of things. They pretty much hate us all.
I think the Jerk is giving me the finger as he flies over. Or would it be the talon?
A little further down, we saw a much friendlier bird.
He was trying desperately to gulp down some unlucky little pond critter who had become lunch.
Nature is pretty.
Nice, huh?
MB decided we were going to go canoeing.
He decided to tell me this as I was all snuggly and snoozy in bed Saturday morning. Late Saturday morning - but whatever.
I think we all know of my love of sleeping in on my days off.
MB got home from his 24 hour shift at the fire house around 10 and basically pounced on me to say that we were going canoeing.
He will tell you that he woke me gently and with butterfly kisses and angel wings and other such nonsense.
LIES!
I was pounced on and awoken from a very nice dream that may or may not have involved Timothy Hutton.
Anyrudeawakenings, I continued to sleep until MB just gave up and joined me. Then, I got up a little later and he was sound asleep.
Our canoeing got postponed until late afternoon.
I decided to take some pictures of our little adventure.
Obviously I am not skilled in the photographical area.
Let's try this again...
Meh. We can do better. One more time...
I think you can tell that MB was less than enthused with the picture taking by this point. It's a little fuzzy, but I think I recall him yammering something about a tree and will you put the phone down and paddle for crying out loud before we die of a branch impaled to the face.
Something like that.
We saw quite a few turtle heads in the water, but they were wiley. I desperately wanted to catch a snapping turtle and toss it gently to MB, but it didn't happen.
Plus, given his seated position in the canoe, the turtle probably would've latched right on to the boy bitz. The wedding tackle, if you will.
If I ever want to go fishing in the future, that stuff has to stay intact.
We did encounter some gorgeous blue herons. At one point, there was a heron very close and in prime photographic range. It was kind of a jerk though and took off at the last minute, leaving me photoless.
MB said I shouldn't call the heron a jerk.
I searched for more turtles to fling as we continued on.
Then, MB spotted the jerk nearby and told me to stop paddling so he could get us close to it. He also told me to shut up, which I didn't appreciate. It was all in the interest of art though.
If you can call CrapBerry photos art, that is.
Here is the jerk...
I took like a hundred pics of him and this was the best one. We really need to get an actual camera.
The jerk was getting pretty annoyed and started giving me the evil eye. Then, he cocked his leg up (giggity) into karate kick position. You can sort of see it here...
If you squint really hard and imagine yourself watching Karate Kid, that is. The real Karate Kid. Not the remake. Blasphemy.
So, the jerk got pissed off pretty quickly and flew off. I tried to get a nice flight pic, but CrapBerry doesn't believe in capturing the beauty of things. They pretty much hate us all.
I think the Jerk is giving me the finger as he flies over. Or would it be the talon?
A little further down, we saw a much friendlier bird.
He was trying desperately to gulp down some unlucky little pond critter who had become lunch.
Nature is pretty.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Things I have discovered about myself (and the cruel, cruel world) as I plan my wedding...
I am terrified of tulle, taffeta and all things foofy.
The idea of an open bar for 5 hours both excites me and frightens me.
I am equally terrified of all things related to make up, cosmetics, etc.
The word 'wedding' attached to any word, phrase or sentence automatically adds an extra charge of $792. For each time the word is repeated or implied, the price goes up by 78%.
My mother is probably going to drive me into the loony bin. Seriously. She cried at Michaels when we bought the invitations. Then she called me two days after buying the invitations to tell me which stamps the post office had. She repeatedly tries to sneak a preacher into my ceremony, refusing to accept that fact that our friend is officiating. She...I have to stop before I explode.
My mother is also going to be salvation through all of this. She may drive me crazy, but I feel blessed to have her here to help me.
The pup is not cut out to be a ring bearer. Don't ask how we ruled her out. Just trust me.
MB and I have very different ideas of what an appropriate first dance song should be. Right now, it's Metallica vs Alison Krauss. Yeah.
I desperately want to try caramel apple flavored candy corn. Did you know they make such a thing?
I'm probably going to turn into a complete crazy person trying to organize, plan and budget all the crap that needs to organized, planned and budgeted. There's already a wedding section in my day planner, a notebook full of random ideas, notes, pictures and brain spewage and a pile of magazines and catalogs full of wedding crap. This doesn't include all the wedding crap running through my brain 24/7.
Why did I agree to all this nuptial nonsense?
Oh yeah. Love. (teeheehee)
The idea of an open bar for 5 hours both excites me and frightens me.
I am equally terrified of all things related to make up, cosmetics, etc.
The word 'wedding' attached to any word, phrase or sentence automatically adds an extra charge of $792. For each time the word is repeated or implied, the price goes up by 78%.
My mother is probably going to drive me into the loony bin. Seriously. She cried at Michaels when we bought the invitations. Then she called me two days after buying the invitations to tell me which stamps the post office had. She repeatedly tries to sneak a preacher into my ceremony, refusing to accept that fact that our friend is officiating. She...I have to stop before I explode.
My mother is also going to be salvation through all of this. She may drive me crazy, but I feel blessed to have her here to help me.
The pup is not cut out to be a ring bearer. Don't ask how we ruled her out. Just trust me.
MB and I have very different ideas of what an appropriate first dance song should be. Right now, it's Metallica vs Alison Krauss. Yeah.
I desperately want to try caramel apple flavored candy corn. Did you know they make such a thing?
I'm probably going to turn into a complete crazy person trying to organize, plan and budget all the crap that needs to organized, planned and budgeted. There's already a wedding section in my day planner, a notebook full of random ideas, notes, pictures and brain spewage and a pile of magazines and catalogs full of wedding crap. This doesn't include all the wedding crap running through my brain 24/7.
Why did I agree to all this nuptial nonsense?
Oh yeah. Love. (teeheehee)
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
I'd probably remember making out with a Smurf.
I'm posting this from quarantine. Don't tell MB.
He has me quarantined to the family room futon due to my sickness. My throat is scratchy and raw. My nose won't stop running (and I can't catch it, HA!). I just feel overall icky.
I took a nap earlier and woke up to MB wanting to know what was for dinner. That's not entirely fair. I was kinda up already because of the tap tap tapping of the pup's feet across the floor upstairs. She might as well have been tap tap tapping on my face.
Anyway, when I woke up, MB told me my lips were blue.
Odd. I wasn't sleep-eating cotton candy again that I know of.
He said I was probably feverish. Then, he left me in my feverishness to go finish his computer game.
I'm so lucky to be living with a paramedic.
He's been making comments all day about how sexy it is when I blow my nose or start hacking up a lung.
I know how to bring it.
You're welcome, MB. You lucky dog, you.
Anyway, I'm returning to the futon to continue blowing my nose and moaning pitifully until MB brings me more ginger ale.
Later, peeps.
He has me quarantined to the family room futon due to my sickness. My throat is scratchy and raw. My nose won't stop running (and I can't catch it, HA!). I just feel overall icky.
I took a nap earlier and woke up to MB wanting to know what was for dinner. That's not entirely fair. I was kinda up already because of the tap tap tapping of the pup's feet across the floor upstairs. She might as well have been tap tap tapping on my face.
Anyway, when I woke up, MB told me my lips were blue.
Odd. I wasn't sleep-eating cotton candy again that I know of.
He said I was probably feverish. Then, he left me in my feverishness to go finish his computer game.
I'm so lucky to be living with a paramedic.
He's been making comments all day about how sexy it is when I blow my nose or start hacking up a lung.
I know how to bring it.
You're welcome, MB. You lucky dog, you.
Anyway, I'm returning to the futon to continue blowing my nose and moaning pitifully until MB brings me more ginger ale.
Later, peeps.
Monday, March 21, 2011
How many heads can I put in there?
MB and I went refrigerator shopping today.
As you may or may not be aware, our fridge is on the fritz. It's basically making things way too cold. My freezer is like the arctic. You have to wear a parka and mittens to get out the fat free ice cream.
Fat free ice cream just isn't worth all that hassle.
The fridge side of my fridge is also a little arctic like. My baby carrots are frozen solid and could be considered weapons.
Just ask the cat hoarding neighbor's cats. HA!
So, fridge shopping is super overwhelming. There are rows upon rows of fridges at the Sears outlet. Of course, we went to the outlet. We are cheapos, after all.
MB and I have different ways of shopping. I have this natural instinct to go directly to the clearance rack. When shopping for fridges, this would be the back wall of the store where no one really goes. It's dark and dusty and there's an eerie echo, but everything is under $400.
I feel safe there.
MB heads right for the front row. He tends to look for features. Ice makers. Bottom freezers. Water filters. Working doors.
These things are important to him.
I could easily walk out of there with a $300 fridge that looks like it's been on the sidewalk waiting for the trash men for 2 weeks. The door is duct taped and there may or may not have been a human foot in the freezer at some point. But, for the love of the Maytag Man, it doesn't freeze my baby carrots.
However, MB had me in the front row and I think I've been swayed over to the dark side.
Did you know that refrigerators can make ice?! Seriously. They make ice! It's like magic.
It's also about $200 extra.
If you want the magic of water and ice straight from the door, it'll cost you another $350.
The fancy freezer drawer costs you another $400.
If you want the special lock feature, it's another $750.
MB says we need the locking feature to keep me out of the fridge. I'm not sure he understands the lengths I will go to in order to get to the ice cream, fat free or not.
By the time I busted into the locked fridge, it would need duct tape and MB's foot would be in there along with his entire chopped up body.
Sorry, baby. You know how strong my sweet tooth is.
I now have to go online and research the cheapest fridge with french doors, a bottom freezer, ice maker, in door water and ice dispenser and secret human appendage compartment.
Wish me luck!
As you may or may not be aware, our fridge is on the fritz. It's basically making things way too cold. My freezer is like the arctic. You have to wear a parka and mittens to get out the fat free ice cream.
Fat free ice cream just isn't worth all that hassle.
The fridge side of my fridge is also a little arctic like. My baby carrots are frozen solid and could be considered weapons.
Just ask the cat hoarding neighbor's cats. HA!
So, fridge shopping is super overwhelming. There are rows upon rows of fridges at the Sears outlet. Of course, we went to the outlet. We are cheapos, after all.
MB and I have different ways of shopping. I have this natural instinct to go directly to the clearance rack. When shopping for fridges, this would be the back wall of the store where no one really goes. It's dark and dusty and there's an eerie echo, but everything is under $400.
I feel safe there.
MB heads right for the front row. He tends to look for features. Ice makers. Bottom freezers. Water filters. Working doors.
These things are important to him.
I could easily walk out of there with a $300 fridge that looks like it's been on the sidewalk waiting for the trash men for 2 weeks. The door is duct taped and there may or may not have been a human foot in the freezer at some point. But, for the love of the Maytag Man, it doesn't freeze my baby carrots.
However, MB had me in the front row and I think I've been swayed over to the dark side.
Did you know that refrigerators can make ice?! Seriously. They make ice! It's like magic.
It's also about $200 extra.
If you want the magic of water and ice straight from the door, it'll cost you another $350.
The fancy freezer drawer costs you another $400.
If you want the special lock feature, it's another $750.
MB says we need the locking feature to keep me out of the fridge. I'm not sure he understands the lengths I will go to in order to get to the ice cream, fat free or not.
By the time I busted into the locked fridge, it would need duct tape and MB's foot would be in there along with his entire chopped up body.
Sorry, baby. You know how strong my sweet tooth is.
I now have to go online and research the cheapest fridge with french doors, a bottom freezer, ice maker, in door water and ice dispenser and secret human appendage compartment.
Wish me luck!
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
I have a new love in my life.
Sorry MB.
I am in love with Bonnaroo Buzz and it's the real thing.
photo credit
Bonnaroo Buzz is a new flavor from Ben and Jerry's and it is fantastic. I think it is by far the best ice cream flavor I have ever had and I've had a lot.
It combines two of my favorite things in life: ice cream and whiskey.
Seriously.
I didn't even know of it's existence until I saw it at the local Wawa last night. I was craving ice cream after work and stopped to get something. My eyes happened upon Bonnaroo Buzz and it was love at first sight.
"Coffee and Malt Ice Creams with Whiskey Caramel Swirls & English Toffee Pieces"
Whiskey caramel swirl.
"whiskey-tickled caramel" is the line they use on the website. It's what I've been looking for in an ice cream flavor all my life.
I know some of you are going to remind me about the BLitz and ask me how many points that little pint of heaven was.
Points Schmoints!
"Whiskey-tickled caramel"
How the hell can you expect me to resist that?!
I know it was off track but it was totally worth it. I'll be hitting the trails tomorrow to walk it off before consuming some actual whiskey for the St. Patrick's Day celebration.
I already know that 1 jigger (1 1/2 fluid ounces) of whiskey is 2 points.
Knowing is half the battle.
Happy St. Patrick's Day peeps! :)
I am in love with Bonnaroo Buzz and it's the real thing.
photo creditBonnaroo Buzz is a new flavor from Ben and Jerry's and it is fantastic. I think it is by far the best ice cream flavor I have ever had and I've had a lot.
It combines two of my favorite things in life: ice cream and whiskey.
Seriously.
I didn't even know of it's existence until I saw it at the local Wawa last night. I was craving ice cream after work and stopped to get something. My eyes happened upon Bonnaroo Buzz and it was love at first sight.
"Coffee and Malt Ice Creams with Whiskey Caramel Swirls & English Toffee Pieces"
Whiskey caramel swirl.
"whiskey-tickled caramel" is the line they use on the website. It's what I've been looking for in an ice cream flavor all my life.
I know some of you are going to remind me about the BLitz and ask me how many points that little pint of heaven was.
Points Schmoints!
"Whiskey-tickled caramel"
How the hell can you expect me to resist that?!
I know it was off track but it was totally worth it. I'll be hitting the trails tomorrow to walk it off before consuming some actual whiskey for the St. Patrick's Day celebration.
I already know that 1 jigger (1 1/2 fluid ounces) of whiskey is 2 points.
Knowing is half the battle.
Happy St. Patrick's Day peeps! :)
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Yeah. It's officially an Incident.
Just an update on the domestic front...
MB and I still have not settled the Visual Barrier Incident.
The vote is 4 - 0 in my favor and he still won't accept his loss.
I didn't even poll any of our IRL friends because the victory is so blatantly mine. I figured he would just accept it and move on.
Nope.
He's planning some sort of second test run involving baby gates and video cameras. I stopped paying attention after he said he wasn't going to do the dishes.
Actually, we already had a second test run. We tried moving the loveseat that is downstairs and using it as a barrier. We pushed it over so it blocked the bottom of the steps coming down. There was a gap on one side that MB filled with a laundry basket. The other side of the loveseat was up against the dvd rack and there was no room between the two.
Or so we thought.
We came home to discover dvds strewn across the floor and a fresh pee stain on the carpet.
Yep.
Our dog is something else.
Hopefully the third test run will be more successful and won't result in the loss or damage of any property.
Thanks for your votes! ;)
MB and I still have not settled the Visual Barrier Incident.
The vote is 4 - 0 in my favor and he still won't accept his loss.
I didn't even poll any of our IRL friends because the victory is so blatantly mine. I figured he would just accept it and move on.
Nope.
He's planning some sort of second test run involving baby gates and video cameras. I stopped paying attention after he said he wasn't going to do the dishes.
Actually, we already had a second test run. We tried moving the loveseat that is downstairs and using it as a barrier. We pushed it over so it blocked the bottom of the steps coming down. There was a gap on one side that MB filled with a laundry basket. The other side of the loveseat was up against the dvd rack and there was no room between the two.
Or so we thought.
We came home to discover dvds strewn across the floor and a fresh pee stain on the carpet.
Yep.
Our dog is something else.
Hopefully the third test run will be more successful and won't result in the loss or damage of any property.
Thanks for your votes! ;)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
