An Early Christmas Tale

I hate to do this because I am afraid it will create a monster, and yet I do it anyway.

H is not what I would call patient when it comes to receiving presents. His birthday is just four days after Christmas, so on December 1, he starts to go present crazy. He will go through every closet and look in every crevice in the hopes of finding his presents. When he finds a wrapped present (this has never happened with me, but he used to do this at his parents' house), he will use a knife to slit the tape, unwrap the present, and then rewrap it. And then he will brag that he knows what he is getting for the holidays, so I don't know why he bothers to rewrap his presents. I guess because his parents would have taken them away from him if they knew he had found them.

Our first Christmas living together, I kept everything at work until the day we were opening presents. Our second Christmas, we had access to each other's bank account statements, so of course H figured out where his present was from, even though I didn't bring it home from work again until the day before Christmas. Last year, I took out cash from the ATM and gave it to my friend and had him buy H's birthday present for me and keep the present at his apartment. This year, my friend and I have the same game plan, except that the friend is now in charge of both Christmas and H's birthday, and H knows the birthday present was stored at my friend's apartment last year, so now my friend will keep the presents at his office since we go to my friend's apartment from time to time.

The reason I am telling you all this is that I already wrote my friend a check this year because I thought that since it was September, H wouldn't notice. But of course, H did and assumed that I had loaned our friend money without talking it over with H first. So I had to tell H that the money was not a loan, and I couldn't come up a cover story for the money fast enough, and H figured it out. Aargh.

It is cute and sweet that H gets so excited about getting presents, but it is so much work! I must admit though that it is kind of fun for me to figure out how to keep the presents a secret from H every year.

We Are Old

We started off the weekend with a bit of Mystery Science Theater 3000.





Then this morning we watched part of the show Clean House on the Style network and were inspired to go through our clothes and get rid of a lot of things we don't wear anymore.


My 5 bags of things.


H and the t-shirt he refuses to give up. Also, I should note that, as usual, H asked me to take this picture but then posed as though he didn't want to be in the picture.

Awkward = Me

Remember my nemesis? We are not best friends or anything, but we are actually pretty friendly to each other these days. I guess he either got over his secret love for me or just toned down a little on his social awkwardness.

So today he stopped by my office at the end of the workday to see if I wanted to go to an impromptu happy hour with a group of coworkers. I couldn't go because I had dinner plans with Stefanie. So I told "John" that I had dinner plans but that I would be interested in going out with coworkers another time.

And then something bad happened. You guys, I can't believe I did this. I winked. Inappropriately. And largely. And involuntarily. John smiled and said he would definitely let me know next time. I am scared.

What if this is my new quirk and I can't stop winking?!

Lists

What I Did This Weekend:
fall asleep at 8:30 pm on Friday
not wake up until 9:30 am on Saturday
read a book outside on my back porch
make s'mores around a campfire
read another book while H watched some UFC fights
go to church
buy $207 worth of work clothes for only $107 - woo!
eat dinner at a new (to me) Mexican restaurant with friends
watch my husband swoon over Clive Owen


TV Shows I Will Watch This Season:
House
The Office
30 Rock
Friday Night Lights
Project Runway, if it ever comes back on


Books I Read Last Week:
Certain Women by Madeline L'Engle
Meet the Austins by Madeline L'Engle (yes, this is a "juvenile book"- what is your point?)
Drunk, Divorced, and Covered in Cat Hair by Laurie Perry


Questions:
Should I try to find time to watch Ugly Betty? I have seen a few episodes, and it looks good.
What should Stefanie and I do when we meet up later this week?
Who does H love more: me or Clive Owen?
Do you have any questions for me?

Mmmm... Donuts

When I was in first grade, I made a little book about jobs.

Page 1: My dad works for a telephone company.

This was technically true. I remember that on this page I drew a picture of my dad talking on a rotary phone. Why do I remember that?

Page 2: My mom is a stay at home mom.

True. She also worked part-time at the library of a grad school, which meant that twice a week we had a crazy old lady babysitter who was obsessed with The Price Is Right.

Page 3: My Grandpa D. is a retired barber.

True.

Page 4: My Grandpa E. is a retired donut salesman.

WHAT THE HELL? My mom laughed so hard when she read this. She asked me why I wrote that, and I said, "Duh. Because he was a donut salesman."

First of all, what the hell is a donut salesman? Does he go door-to-door with a briefcase full of donuts? Does he wear plaid suit coat and stand at the counter and ask customers, "What's it gonna take to get you to walk out of here with a donut today?"

Second, my Grandpa E. was a retired farmer.

I think I got him confused with the guy on the commercial who had to wake up early and said, "Gotta make the donuts!" I was such a weird child.

Did you have any odd misconceptions when you were younger?

The Flamingo of Regret

You will have to excuse my nonsensical ramblings tonight because I am excited. I have been putting off two projects for a really long time because they are hard. But then I finally sat down tonight and just did them, and I didn't even take breaks to check my e-mail or Go Fug Yourself. I just sat down and did the projects, and now I feel like a huge weight is lifted off my shoulders, as I won't have to have nightmares about my boss secretly being in the mob and hunting me down because of the lateness of these projects. Wooo!

I have a big bug bite on my neck. I am afraid that it looks like a hickey. But it is not a hickey! It is a bug bite! I don't even think it really looks like a hickey. But I do have a puffy pink area on my neck. Attractive!

What other random exclamations can I share with you? I watched Hot Fuzz on Sunday night. It was super good, right up there on my scale with The Sound of Music. But not anything like The Sound of Music. It was a really funny murder mystery movie by the same people who did Shaun of the Dead. Two thumbs up! Also, in random exclamation news, Liz got a tattoo for her birthday!

Have I ever told you about my college roommate's tattoos? During our freshman year, she thought for several months about what kind of tattoo she wanted to get on the inside of her ankle, and one night when she was bored, we went to the tattoo shop and she got it. It was a Chi-Rho and looked very cool. But she didn't want her parents to know about it, so she wore a couple of band-aids on her ankle every time she went home for at least the next four years. In a hot, swampy suburb of Houston. Her mom actually saw the tattoo once, but my friend just told her mom that it was just a doodle she had drawn on her ankle with a pen and the mom didn't question it.

Then during our sophomore year, my roommate decided she wanted another tattoo. So we went to the tattoo shop one night when we were bored, and my friend really wanted to get this tattoo of a devilish teddy bear holding a football. My friend hated football and was not really a fan of devilish teddy bears, as far as I knew, so I tried to change her mind. She would not listen to reason. She wanted the devilish teddy bear. I suggested other religious symbols, but she wanted the scary teddy bear. Somehow I convinced her to get a tattoo of a flamingo. She got it on her right shoulder blade. And then a few hours later, she regretted it and blamed me. She continued to blame me for the flamingo for the rest of our college careers, but I do not feel bad. I actually think the flamingo is kind of cool, though random. And MUCH better than the scary football teddy bear.

I do not have any tattoos because (1) it hurts to get a tattoo and (2) I do not trust myself not to get the equivalent of The Flamingo of Regret.

Important Update

While I was in Maine, I got a call from the eye doctor that my glasses were ready. But I couldn't find time to drive all the way to the eye doctor's office and pick them up until Tuesday morning, before my lawyerly presentation. Would you like to know which glasses I picked?

Option 3!

When you helped me to decide which glasses to pick, options 1 and 3 were neck in neck. But what you did not know was that the glasses I chose were $100 less than both other options, so that was really the deciding factor. The other thing you did not know (except for Stefanie) was that these glasses were actually the ones that I already owned (thus explaining why they are so much cheaper - I only had to pay for lenses). I didn't want to tell you that I already owned them so that you would feel free to criticize them if they were ghastly. But I am keeping them for another year at least, so please pretend to like them.

In other news, I saw a work-friend as I was leaving a coffee shop yesterday morning. I said hi to him as I walked past, looking over my shoulder. And I walked right into a big column. It was very smooth.

Prepare Yourselves Before Reading Any Further

I had what I thought was a great idea for a blog post. I was going to post pictures of the guys I had crushes on in high school so that you could see what a fool I was in the mid 1990s. I don't know what the hell I was thinking when I was in high school. In order to do this, I went through some old photo albums to see what pictures I had. I found one guy that I actually still think is quite cute, and I see why I was interested. But the others? Oh, man. I was pretty pathetic. But then I started thinking about how I would feel if some guy I went to junior high with posted a picture of me in junior high and wrote about what a loser he was for liking 13-year-old me. To be honest? I don't think it would hurt my feelings because I think if someone liked me in middle school, there was probably something wrong with them. Exhibit 1 is the picture below, which was taken during the summer between 7th and 8th grade. This picture makes me laugh SO HARD. Seriously, why did my parents let me be seen in public like this?! And that is my sister on the left. OMG. I have no words.


Hello, seventh grade -R-! I really enjoy your crazy, flyaway bangs; your gigantic, plastic framed glasses; your plaid shorts; and your GREEN socks!

Hold Me Now

I am very nervous because I have to do a lawyerly presentation type thing tomorrow. And I am speaking in front of people who know a lot more than I do about the subject. So good times will be had by no one. I am praying that I don't make a fool of myself, which is always a good goal, I think.

This past weekend, H and I went to one of his friend's house for a pig roast. I can't say I had ever been to a pig roast before. It was fun to pig out (I am hilarious!) and hang out with H's friends. H's friend lives in a really nice neighborhood in St. Paul that we have never been to before. H and I both loved the neighborhood, so when we got home, I spent the night looking up real estate info for the area. I found a few houses that H and I both really liked, and we started talking about visiting open houses and calling realtors. And then a few hours later I thought about the fact that we only have $200 in savings. I don't think that will quite cover the down payment or even the closing costs. Not to mention the fact that we can't actually afford any of the houses that H and I fell in love with. But it was fun to think about for a few hours. Much more fun to think about than this presentation I have to do in 11 hours. Aaaargh.

Shoe Emergency!

Sent: Friday Morning
From: Me
To: Coworker

IT IS A SHOE EMERGENCY. I wore my flip-flops on the bus this morning (as usual), but I brought brown shoes to change into at work. And I am wearing black pants. I do not think this will go well. I am going to Macy's at 10 am.


From: Coworker
To: Me

I would love to come, but I got a really bad haircut last night, so I shall be hiding in my office all day.


From: Me
To: Coworker

Ok. I will stop by after my shoe extravaganza to show off the new shoes and to make fun of your hair.


From: Coworker
To: Me

Sounds good. Please bring some Kleenex, as you will cry after seeing my hair. Also, please wear your flip-flops so that I can laugh at your stupidity.

---------------------------------------------

Having good friends at work makes my life so much better.

PS I bought these (on sale at Macy's for $40). They are much cuter in person. I feel like my feet are wearing little tuxedos.

Nostalgia

When I was in Boston on Sunday, I saw a lot of fresh-faced college freshmen driving around U-Hauls and carrying big boxes into their new dorms. And it made me feel sad. I'm out of chances to start all over. I wished that I could go back to college and figure out my life again. I would go to a different school, be more confident, look better, care less what other people think of me, and take classes just because they sound interesting. I could move to new cities, travel to exotic places, and try new jobs. But really, what I was nostalgic for is the opportunity to define myself.

I thought that going to college meant I could reinvent myself. When I was in high school, I narrowed my choices to four colleges: a tiny, liberal arts college in Maine; a large university in Boston; a small-ish school in Tennessee; and a medium-sized school in Texas. I think that I saw four new visions of me: a sporty, outdoorsy liberal; an outgoing city woman; a preppy Southerner; or ... I'm not sure what I imagined at the last one. But that's the school that offered me a full scholarship, and that's where I went.

I realize now that college didn't define me; I defined myself. Maybe if I'd gone to school in Maine I would have a different accent or have a different job, but I would be the same essential -R- that I am today. And I really don't want to go back to being 18 and having the old issues about confidence and fears about What Am I Supposed To Be Doing With My Life. (Not that I don't still occasionally have those fears, as this whole entry is pretty much just a reflection of last week's minor 1/3 Life Crisis.)

So I'm feeling better now about being old and having already made a lot of the major choices in my life. And I realize that if I did want to move across the country, I really could. H and I aren't being forced to stay here. We live in Minnesota because we like it. And if I want to have a new career, I can. I could go back to school or apply for new things, if I wanted to, but I don't. (Although my current job is taking up a ton of time lately, which is why I have not been blogging much.)

There's another part of me that always thinks my life would be better if it were more like [insert name of other person here]'s life. I am always comparing my situation to others' and deciding that the other person has it better. So I got to hang out with my friend in Maine, and then I thought that I should move to Maine because he and his family love Maine, and he has a great job, and he probably has more friends than I do. And I see people hanging out at the beach, and I think they seem so much happier than I am, so I should move to New Hampshire, and then I could be as happy as them. Why do I do this? I don't know what people's lives are really like. And moving would not necessarily make me happier. Plus I'm not even unhappy now! But I can't stop comparing, and it is kind of a sickness. Ugh.

I think I am over my nostalgia now and am remembering how happy that I am day to day. I really wouldn't trade my life for anyone else's right now. Well, maybe Melinda Gates. But only if H could be Bill Gates. And I could still be 28. And H could still be 29.

Happy Anniversary to Me

Two years ago today, we got married.

One year ago today, we celebrated with a little casino action.

Today, we came home after five days of this:







We stayed at Chapman Cottage, the yellow house pictured above. Our room was the one on the top right. The place was fantastic. Do you know who else stayed there (though not at the same time as us)? Dan Brown, who wrote The Da Vinci Code, and Ian Maxtone-Graham, who is a writer/producer of The Simpsons.

I know what you are thinking. Nice try, -R-. That is not a real celebrity encounter. But I am just warming you up for the good story. H and I were just innocently having lunch at an inn by the beach, when in walked a man that I thought was former President Bush. But I didn't want to look dumb by announcing that it was former P.B., so I said, "H, doesn't that man look a lot like former P.B.?" And H said, "Yes, but that is because that is former P.B." And then in walked Barbara. And one of their granddaughters. And a contingent of "undercover" secret service agents. So, yes, I had lunch with George H.W. Bush, Barbara, their granddaughter (the brown-haired twin), and the granddaughter's boyfriend or fiance. I wanted to take a picture but wasn't sure if it was allowed. I did not want to be tackled by the agents. I considered asking the agents if I could take a picture, but I didn't know if it was ok to talk to the agents, since they were "undercover" and all. I considered going over to the table where the agents were sitting and announcing, "I would really like to take a picture right now. I hope it's ok. If it's not ok, I hope someone will tell me. Ok, now I'm taking out my camera. And now I'm taking a picture. I really don't want anyone to confiscate my camera." But instead, I did what I always do, which is wuss out and not take a picture.

So our trip was fantastic. Maine was very similar to how I remembered it and was really everything I hoped it would be.

A Referral

Lawyerish wants to hear about your worst (or most hilarious) date. So please go to her site and share your story. You do not know how much I love this kind of thing. If you guys leave her some good comments, I promise to share the humiliating things that I will inevitably say and do during interview season (starting next week, I think) this year.

Words Cannot Explain

Can I tell you how much I love this little spray bottle that I found in my mother-in-law's kitchen?

Can anyone explain how this label might be helpful? I love my mother-in-law, but there are just some things I'll never understand.

Who's the Boss

I had to walk through the middle of this drinks and hors d'ouevres thing going on today in the middle of a public space downtown. Most people looked pretty normal, but one woman startled me. She was probably in her early thirties, but it was hard to tell because all I could see was her glasses. Because she looked like this:

She was wearing seriously huge Angela Bower glasses. It was like a really bad costume. I don't get the whole dressing ironically thing (at least I hope that's what she was doing). She just looked like a fool.

But anyway, I went to the eye doctor today. I am going back to contacts for most days, but I need to get new glasses too because my old prescription is just not cutting it. I already got contacts with the correct prescription, and it is scary how much better I can see now. Also, I learned that I do not have very good depth perception. Which explains why I am always running into door jambs. And is also a new good excuse for why I am bad at sports. I'm not slow and uncoordinated; I just have bad depth perception! Yes, that is what I tell myself.

So my new eye doctor is super cool, and I love him in a non-romantic eye doctor kind of way. When I was checking out frames, I mentioned that I would like to have H and a friend or two see how I look in them because I am not a good judge of these things, so the glasses-selling lady said, "Let's pick out a few that look the best on you, and you can take them home with you to try out. Just bring them back when you come in to pick up your contacts." Dude! I get to test drive my glasses! So here they are. Which pair do you prefer?

[Option 1]
[Option 2]
[Option 3]

Tidbits

How I Rate Movies

Fantastic: Knocked Up, The Sound of Music, The Bourne Identity, Elf
Great: Superbad, Clueless, Talladega Nights
Good: 40 Year Old Virgin, Mallrats, Anchorman
Eh: American Pie
Horrible, Do Not Go See This: Wedding Crashers, Two and a Half Men*

*I had to throw this in, so great is my vendetta against this show.


Your Craziness Inspires Me

Laurie wrote recently that she is such a worrier, she used to make sure her (now ex-)husband knew what pictures he should use in case she went missing or died. And I instantly thought of the "run-away bride." Remember? When she went missing, her family supplied the craziest, googley-eyed photo of her to the media. I cannot let that happen to me!

So I asked H if he needed a picture of me for a Missing poster or for my obituary, what would he use? And he said this:
[me holding a box of Peeps while making a face of disgust]

Ummm... no. He seriously loves that picture and even had it as his screensaver at work for a while, but do I want that picture all over CNN? No. So he suggested this:
[a close-up of me looking super-smiley]

I admit it is better, but I don't know why H can't select a normal picture, like this one of my uncle and me.
[picture of my uncle and me]

So I asked H what picture he wanted if he goes missing or dies. Without even pausing, he said, "My drunk David Hasselhoff picture!"
[picture of a shirtless H eating a hamburger while lying on the floor]

A Day at the Movies

I saw Superbad this afternoon.

Can I start out by sharing my confusion about a certain preview? Thanks. When H and I went with our 12-year-old niece and 9-year-old nephew (and their dad, H's brother) to The Simpsons Movie, rated PG-13, one of the previews shown beforehand was for Good Luck Chuck. The premise of the movie, according to this preview, is that if Dane Cook sleeps with a woman, she will marry the next guy she sleeps with. So women are lining up to sleep with Dane Cook because they know that the next guy after Dane will be their husband. Cut to a montage of sex scenes. Really explicit sex scenes. Then Dane meets Jessica Alba and falls in love. He really, really wants to sleep with her but knows that if he does, they'll break up and she'll marry someone else. Cut to several scenes of Dane and Jessica almost having sex. Cut to me trying to cover my nephew's eyes and ears because OH MY GOD.

So we go to Superbad, rated R, and there is also a preview for Good Luck Chuck. Except in this preview, the premise of the movie is that Dane and Jessica are dating, but Jessica has extremely bad luck. Cut to a montage of wacky accidents where Jessica keeps accidentally hurting Dane. The end. Why show the sexually explicit preview before The Simpsons, a CARTOON movie, but then show a light romantic comedy preview before Superbad, a raunchy movie about boys trying to get laid? I do not understand.

P.S. Good Luck Chuck does not look good, based on either preview.

So, anyway, Superbad. It was good. Not as good as Knocked Up, but still funny. I think I would like this movie better if I were a boy or liked weiner jokes more, but since I am not and do not, I would give this movie 3 out of 5 stars.

Blacation

It is time for a blog vacation. I will be back on Saturday or Sunday.

The Mean Stuff Is Just More Interesting

As I have mentioned previously, my 10 year high school reunion is coming up soon. I am not going. But this summer I have discovered some facts about my former classmates that I have shared with H. Stupid stuff like that there are several people from my class who married other people from my class. And when I share these delightful tidbits with H, he says things like, "You sure are obsessed with this reunion considering that you are pretending you don't care about it at all." It isn't that I don't care. Like I've already said, it's that I don't have any desire to see most of the people who I think will attend the reunion. But I do want to know what they are up to these days so that I can mock them (or think they are cool, but that is not as fun) from a distance.

The reunion organizers sent out an evite to everyone. Many of the people who responded that they weren't going to attend the reunion left little notes saying why they weren't going to attend, like they had a wedding or a business conference to attend that weekend. Double G (my high school best friend, for those of you just tuning in) responded that she would be on vacation in Greece and Turkey. Which is true. But which is also code for, "Suck it, losers." Double G and I find this hilarious. Not that we're bitter. But I think, like most people, there are a few people to whom we would like to point out that we are much more successful than them. Specifically, Lindsey, Erin, and Kari: my two choir nemeses and this one girl who was just the meanest person I've ever met (although I can't remember her ever being mean to me).

Anyway, this is all just an introduction for the questionnaire that I am stealing from Stefanie, since my class doesn't (unfortunately) have a questionnaire.

Name: -R-

Married?
_X_ Yes
___ No

If yes, name of spouse: H. You may have heard of him, since he is an internet celebrity.

Number of years married: Almost 2.

Children?
___ Yes
_X_ No thanks.

Occupation(s): Law stuff that you wouldn't understand.

Hobbies: Starting to knit a baby blanket that is nowhere near finished despite the fact that the baby is approaching 6 months old; reading books by Maeve Binchy.

Future Plans: Reading your questionnaire responses and judging you.

Most Memorable Moment from High School: I can either write something really sincere but not interesting to the internet or something that makes me sound supremely bitter, even though I'm not. Or I could write that it was the time when I snuck out for lunch my junior year, and when I came back, the security guard was blocking the doors. And I started trying to think of a senior that I could pretend to be and say that I had forgotten my i.d.(since only seniors were allowed to go off campus for lunch), and the only senior I could think of was Parul, this Indian girl. I was pretty sure the guard was not going to buy that I was Indian. But then the security guard just said hi and held the door open for my friends and me.

Biggest Accomplishment Since Graduation: Getting season tickets to Husker football games!!!!! Woooo!!!! Oh wait, that's not me; that is what the rest of my class will write.

Most Embarrassing Moment in High School: Seriously? This question is just cruel. I wasn't embarrassed at the time, but looking back, my most embarrassing moment is probably wearing this purple shirt on which I wrote something lame with puffy paint. I can't remember what it said, but I remember that it was mortifying. Or crying when I was supposed to give a speech at this senior banquet. Ok, it was a debate team banquet. Yeah.

One Thing That Your Classmates Do Not Know About You: My husband could beat you up.

Would you be interested in working with the 20th year reunion committee?
___ Yes
___ No
_x_ Hell no.

This Post Brought To You By Coffee Plus Not Enough Sleep

When I am upset about something (which I am not right now, I was just thinking about this on my drive home from the bus stop), I deal with my sadness or anger or other feelings by talking about the upsetting thing. So when I got super smoldering angry with H about something a while ago, I let myself steam about it for a while, and when I didn't start feeling better about the situation, I called Double G (my best friend from high school) and said, "Aaa! I am so pissed off about this! Blah blah blah!" And then I felt a lot better. But sometimes, talking about a situation once does not make me feel better. I have to talk about it 50 times. Frequently, once I feel better, I forget all about it. And then a friend will say, "Hey, remember when that really bad thing happened and you were so pissed and talked about it for a week?" And I will have no idea what they are talking about. That happens to me more frequently than you would think. Well, more frequently than I would think it would happen. Or maybe I am just losing my damn mind [which certainly seems like the case after re-reading this post].

So Double G is probably my best friend (besides H), even though I don't talk to her that often. But I am not sure that I am her best friend. She has a few really close friends from college who are all awesome women, and I think they are better at staying in touch with Double G than I am. (I kind of suck at regular communication right now. I am not even a good e-mailer, which used to be my strong point. I was an awesome e-mailer.) I have one really close friend from college who would be the other candidate for my best friend, but I think I am probably more open with Double G. Anyway, the point of this is that it doesn't bother me if we are not mutual best friends. My best friend in law school (besides H) was this guy from the bad date story. I know without a doubt that I was not his best friend in law school, but it never bothered me. And now he lives near me, and I think that (besides his girlfriend) I am probably his best friend in Minnesota, and yet, he is not mine. And it's ok! I am probably the only adult who even thinks about things like this, but that didn't bother me until just now when I typed this all out, and now I look like some weirdo who keeps best friend tallies or something. I don't. This is just a random observation. That I feel the need to write out and publish on the internet.

The thinking about best friends leads me to thinking about mean girls. I have read other female bloggers write posts referring to mean girls who picked on them. I don't think I've ever dealt with that. Not that I was never made fun of in my whole life. Of course I was. But the only example I can think of is that one time in first grade, my pants were riding really low when I was sitting in the cafeteria, and a group of other first graders saw my butt and pointed at me and laughed. But I just pulled up my pants and pretended I wasn't embarrassed. And one time in eighth grade, I heard these three girls I didn't like talking about me behind my back, and they were saying that I thought I was smarter than everyone. It hurt my feelings, but it was probably true. I probably did think I was smarter than everyone. I was certainly smarter than them. Ah, it is funny how I still feel bitchy about those girls 15 years later. But I never had a group of mean girls pick on me, and I never have had any fears of being friends with girls, about which there was an interesting discussion on Jonniker's blog.

In case the rest of this post was not long and random enough, can I tell you that I am kind of freaking out because I got a postcard in the mail offering me a free DVD about breastfeeding? Why does anyone think I would need such a DVD? Shouldn't I have a baby or something first? Or even be pregnant? Did the breastfeeding people just send this postcard to all women between the ages of 18 and 55? Is this some kind of breastfeeding DVD scam to which I am not hip?

Next Year: Nunchucks and Fireworks

My nephew's eighth birthday was a few weeks ago. H was going to visit his brother (the nephew's dad) the weekend before the nephew's birthday, so H said he would stop on the way and pick up a birthday present. This seemed like a good idea.

The next week, I got a call from my brother-in-law. H had bought our nephew a video game, which I already knew about. What H had failed to mention was that the video game in question was Resident Evil 4. My brother-in-law hadn't really paid any attention to the video game until my nephew started playing it and my brother-in-law noticed that the point of the game was to kill people. With chainsaws.

"H!" I said. "I can't believe you thought Resident Evil 4 was an ok game to give an eight-year-old!"

H laughed. "I just remembered it being a cool game. I didn't think about the killing. And the chainsaws. And the cursing."

As you may have guessed, the nephew LOVED the game and thought H was super cool for giving it to him. My brother-in-law and his wife looked like the mean ones for not letting him play with the game.

Note to self: The status of best aunt and uncle has been retained. Also, do not let H buy presents by himself ever again.

P.S. We exchanged Resident Evil 4 for a Lego Star Wars video game. It seemed to go over well with parents and nephew alike.

You Must Admit: I Am One Good-Looking Astronaut

I can't stop looking up news about the bridge collapsing. I work relatively close to where the bridge was, and I kept hearing sirens outside my office building throughout the day. I wonder whether that always happened, and I just blocked it out before. I am so lucky in that my friends and family and coworkers are all safe, but I read about the people who weren't so lucky, and I tear up. At the same time that I am seeking new information about the bridge, I am so tired of the story. I want to be sad but move on. But I just feel unsettled.

I don't know. Maybe I'm just being dramatic. Or maybe I am just so tired that I can't really figure things out.

Of course, normal stuff is still happening. H finally got his BOO-URNS shirt. It is adorable. And I took a certain bus the other day that is supposed to make one stop, but the bus driver forgot to stop, so we had to turn around and go back, which was wildly exciting. And he (the bus driver) narrated the whole thing
on the bus PA system, which made me want to punch him. (Hi, crazy mood swings of sleep deprivation! Glad to see you're still around!)

I have no ending for this post, so please do enjoy the following silly photos.

H and I are glued to the TV tonight watching coverage of the interstate bridge collapse that took place during rush hour over the Mississippi River in Minneapolis. Right now, it seems like all our friends and family are ok. I hope it stays that way.

If You Wanna Be My Lover

When I only get a few hours of sleep (say 3 to 5), I am kind of loopy the next day. As in: Wheeeeeeeee! I am so pumped up! I am going to work so hard today, and it is going to be great, and who cares that I didn't sleep! I will just keep going, and it will be fantastic, and OH MY GOODNESS I HATE EVERYONE. And I am very tired. I can't do anything. I just want to close my eyes. Noooooo! I will stay awake! And it will be awesome! Go, me! Except if that person even looks at me one more time, I am going to punch him in the face. Grrrr.

So today was kind of a see-saw day. Good times.

Work has been, how do you say, hectic, but I kind of like it (for short periods of time) in a sad, pathetic way because it makes me feel like I am a tiny bit important and actually contributing something to my job. Plus, it gives me something about which I can complain. And blog.

Well, I am off to go dance to the Spice Girls.

P.S. SUCK IT.

I am pretty sure that I can never top H's response column. He seems pretty excited to be an internet celebrity. He topped himself though by giving a speech at his brother's wedding that had everyone laughing, and his grandmother even said she would like a copy of it. I was very proud. Additionally, H was not even drunk, and he initiated The Bow Hunter. I kid you not.

The wedding was really great, not just because of H's participation as best man, but because I have never seen H's brother so happy. He seemed nervous before the ceremony, but after he and his new wife exchanged rings, he grinned from ear to ear for the rest of the entire day. It was really cool to see him so happy.

The Moment of Truth

Hello welcome to the first installment of "Ask H." The post where I answer questions, make fun of drunken Sconnies (redundant to call them drunken), and talk about how awesome -R- and Nat are.

Marmite Breath said...

Dear H,
What made you fall in love with -R- and what has been the secret of your marriage so far?
Also, how awesome did you think I was in person? Be honest. PS) The only correct answer is, "VERY AWESOME, NAT!"

Dear Marmite Breath,

I fell in love with -R- the moment she started dancing around her apartment on our second date singing songs by the spice girls. Our secret (we have been married less than two years) is she is in love with me and I cannot blame her. You are awesome in fact you are very awesome. And tiny.

janet said...

Dear H,

Should I really let my husband buy a giant flat screen TV? Are you SURE it has made your life better? :)

Dear Janet,

Let me answer your question with another question. Should you let your husband be miserable? If you answer "yes" then do not get him a tv. If "no" then get him a tv. If by better you mean WAY BETTER then yes it has made my life better.

3carnations said...

I'm not asking a question, because I don't believe he will post. Like he has any spare time now that he has his -R- sized TV...

Dear 3carnations,

You are wrong.

P.S. SUCK IT.

lizgwiz said...

Dear H,

If your house caught on fire, which would you carry out first, your lovely wife or your ginormous TV? And yeah, I know -R- has legs of her own, and the TV doesn't, but let's pretend she is immobilized with fear or smoke inhalation or something. ;)

Dear Lizgwiz,

I don't know if you noticed this but, I am 6'5'', 240 lbs and can bench press a car. Therefore I would save both at the same time and call the fire department using telepathy.

stefanie said...

I would like to know what H has against Wisconsinites.
Also, since H feels that R "wastes [her] Christmases" by asking for non-worthy or worthwhile gifts, I would like to know what H's favorite gift ever was?

Dear Stefanie,

I have nothing against Sconnies (wisconsinites). Oh, by the way if two people from Sconnie get divorced, are they still brother and sister? The best gift I ever received was a half used bottle of suntan lotion from -r-'s mother. Feel the love, and don't get burned.

L Sass said...

Darn, my question was "Is it more important to get a non-ugly couch or a big TV?"
Clearly, H's opinion on flat screen TVs is of vital importance to the masses!

Dear L Sass,

It is more important to get a big tv, because there is no such thing as a non-ugly couch. Couches come in two kinds. Comfy ( the kind I like) and non-comfy ( the kind -r- likes).

Noelle said...

Dear -H-,
If your wife was taller, would you have bought a larger television?
- also -
If that television could only show 1 television show, 1 movie, and 1 sporting team for the rest of its life, which of each of those three would you chose?

Dear Noelle,

If my wife was taller, she would then be tall enough to knee me in the groin. Therefore no tv. If I had to pick: The Simpsons, Fight Club, and the Vikings ( replays of '98 season).

Lawyerish said...

Marmite Breath stole my question (the one about falling in love with -R-). Dang!
Ok, here's some more:
What's your favorite thing about where you live (geographically, not the house itself)?
What is the best thing you bring to your marriage?
Have you ever been to New York City, and if so, what did you think of it?
If you were on death row, what would be your last meal?

Dear Lawyerish,

I like Minnesota because it has seasons and plenty of drunk sconnies creep over to make me feel like less of a drunk. The ability to lift heavy objects and reach tall shelves. No, I have never been to New York. The Olive Garden's never ending pasta bowl.

Galoot said...

What are the specs on that TV? Your wife won't answer important questions like that! Screen dimensions? LCD or plasma? Are you going to get HD programming through cable or satellite or get an antenna and pick up a free signal? This is life or death!

Dear Galoot,

55 inches, HD LCD 1080i rear projection sony with the vega engine. Two HDMI ports, two widescreen inputs and four component inputs. We get local channels in HD through cable. I bought an up converter/recorder DVD. The Wii and the PS2 look beautiful on it. Next come the receiver and speakers for the surround.

sognatrice said...

I'm going to throw out a softball:
How much wood *could* a woodchuck chuck (if a woodchuck could chuck wood)?
And also, how many consecutive times can you say that without screwing up? I'm relying on -R- for verification here.

Dear Sognatrice,

I really don't know. I do know how many bullets a woodchuck can take if the woodchuck is rabid. One (a true tale from the farm!!!!!)


don't call me MA'AM said...

1. What is your favorite flavor of gum?
2. Without getting too specific, what was your favorite legal issue you've had to resolve?
3. If you could name a crayon after yourself, what color and name would it be?
4. If you complete a task at home, but -R- doesn't see you do it, did it really happen?
5. If you and -R- could go anywhere in the world and do whatever you wanted, what would YOU want to do?
6. What was your favorite book when you were growing up?

Dear don't call me MA'AM,

I like Big Red or Bazooka Joe. Can a cop pull someone over for having busted headlights on a sunny day? I said no and the judge agreed and it saved my client four years of prison. My crayon would be blue and it would be called "Your wife just blue me". My favorite book was "Where the Red Fern Grows" the movie sucked.

Jenny said...

1. Which one is your favorite toe?
2. What did -R- tell you that you could NOT tell us about?

Dear Jenny,

-r-'s little pinky toe. It is the cutest toe in the history of feet. I cannot tell you such information even if I had such information for me to tell to you about the information that is secret information even if such information exist, which it may not but if it did i could tell you if it did.... or not.....because it doesn't. Does that clear things up?

This post by H PURPOSEFULLY CONtains bad grammur and spellings because i like it that way and it drivves -r_ crazy. -R- has absolved herself of all punctuation related mishaps that might occurrr

I also dispense sage advice for those interested.

PEACE OUT Y'ALL

H

It Was Fruit Pie, So I Think It Was Actually A Pretty Healthy Breakfast

Water guns inside my in-laws house? Yes. All I have to say is: Serenity now.

During the time I have been with H, there were several times when we have gone to visit his family and everyone visiting had all kinds of places they needed to go and people they needed to see (including H), and I somehow got left alone at H's parents' house watching the nieces and nephews. The first time this happened, I tried to play with the kids and make sure they had the best time ever while still being kind of strict. The second time, I played with them but didn't worry so much about whether the house got messy. The third time, H walked in and caught me feeding one of the kids pie for breakfast. If they leave me alone with the kids again, I will be like, "What? You want to build a giant mud pit in the yard and wrestle each other in it and then run through the house like crazy people? Sounds good! I'll be on the porch reading High Fidelity if you need me." Ah, it's like I'm a real member of the family now.

Hypothetically Shmypothetically

If someone came and stayed at your house overnight and accidentally left a pair of pajamas in the bathroom, would you wash them before returning them? What if they also accidentally left a pair of underwear? I hypothetically feel like I should wash everything, but I think it might be weird to wash someone else's underwear. Hypothetically. Does anyone else have these dilemmas, or is it just me? Or maybe you just do whatever the heck you want and don't worry about stupid stuff like this.

Hypothetically.

It doesn't seem like most of the bloggers I read are going to BlogHer. I am not against it because there are a lot of people I would love to meet. But I will be spending this weekend at my brother-in-law's wedding instead. I just realized yesterday that since H is the best man, I will be on my own with his parents and siblings most of the time. Serenity now!

Hypothetically.

My in-laws aren't really that bad. In fact, everyone in H's family has always been more than nice to me. His family is just very different than mine. For example, I have one sister. H has three sisters and a brother. My extended family includes approximately 10 people (counting myself). H has 24 sets of aunts and uncles and over 100 cousins. So you might see why I think our families are different. You might also see why I (jokingly) say serenity now!

Don't forget: there is still plenty of time to ask H questions.

H Is Back

Remember a long time ago when H promised me he was going to guest post? But then he never did? H has promised me that if you ask him questions in the comments of this post, he will answer some of them on Wednesday night. Can you feel the excitement in the air?!! So ask away!

My Husband Has a New True Love

H and I have a joint account into which we put most of our money. We also each have our own small personal account that we can use however we want. H is not very good at saving money. He spends money pretty much as soon as he gets it. So when he asked if he could get a giant television, I said that if he bought it with his personal account, it was fine with me. I really am ok with him spending his personal money on a tv, but I didn't think he would actually be able to save enough money.

Today he proved me wrong.



The television is almost the same size as me. I am scared.

(We did buy a stand on which to put the tv, but it is not available until next Wednesday.)

I Have No Title For These Ramblings

I bet you are on the edge of your seat. Did I stay up to finish my work on Sunday night/Monday morning, or did I go to sleep? Neither! I decided to go to bed, but then I couldn't fall asleep until sometime after 3:30 a.m., so I managed to not get any more work done AND not get any sleep. Smooth move there, -R-! But my project is now finished, and I am happy, so there was a good conclusion for everyone involved. Everyone meaning me, as I was the only person involved. But anyway. I don't think I have ever actually pulled an all-nighter. There have been times that I stayed up late (maybe 3 a.m.?), but then I just give up and go to bed. I am not what you would call hardcore.

H is very proud of himself because he called into a radio station today and got on the air. We just listened to it on the computer, and it was very cute manly. The radio people were discussing a recent case, and H called in to comment on some legal aspect of the case. He also totally lied about where he lived, for no real reason other than he is random. He also gives his name as "Diego" whenever he has to make a reservation at a restaurant. His name is not Diego. Nor is his name uncommon or hard to pronounce. H just likes to live on the edge by having a reservation-making alter ego.

H has also decided that if he were to become a boxer or UFC fighter, his name would be H "Let's Talk It Out" Lastname, and he would walk into the ring to the song "Why Can't We Be Friends." I think I would be -R- "The Bow Hunter" Lastname, and my song would be "Cat Scratch Fever." I also have a strategy. It mainly involves pretending to faint as soon as the first round starts and then just staying down.

Heeeeeeeeeey Yoooooooou Guuuuuuuuuys!

When it is 1 am and you are awake working on a stupid case that you now kind of regret volunteering for, you start thinking quotes from The Goonies are really hilarious. You may also invent an awesome new dance called The Bow Hunter. This is a two person dance. One partner does a loose interpretation of a moose by dancing with their arms above their head and their palms open. Then the second partner holds their left arm out straight in front of them, pulls an imaginary arrow out of the imaginary quiver on their back, puts their right arm straight out next to the left arm, and then pulls the right arm back towards their chest like they are shooting an arrow. Best Dance Ever (that was invented by a sleep deprived crazy person at 1 am)! Do you think H will do this dance with me at his brother's wedding in two weeks? (I will be the hunter, obviously.) I will have to get him really liquored up first. Of course, I will already be very liquored up because that is what I like to do at H's family's weddings. Don't worry, H's family won't notice the level of my inebriation because they will all be quite wasted themselves. Good times!

I am not making fun of H's family. I am just pointing out that they are a good Irish Catholic family that enjoys a drink at weddings now and then. Unlike my tiny family, where we do not even attend each other's weddings. Good times!

I am still not done with my work. Do I stay up and try to finish it, thus probably adding crazy gobbeldy good and occasional references to The Bow Hunter? Or do I try to wake up early in the morning to get it done, but then hit my snooze button 50 times and end up late for work?

Stay tuned.

Why H Is The Best Husband Ever

I asked H, "Can I take pictures of you re-enacting the stabbing incident for my blog?"

H answered, "Sure."

I am feeling grumpy and anti-social. I've been feeling like this for about a week, which you probably wouldn't guess from my activities in the last seven days: friends over for the 4th, lunch with friends on my birthday, out-of-town guests visiting, lunch with coworkers Friday, BBQ with friends Friday, hanging out with other friends Saturday, dinner Sunday with 3 other couples, and dinner last night with 2 other couples. Thank you, grumpiness. Excellent timing. It's not that I didn't have fun spending time with all these people. I did. And I am glad we did all the above-listed events. I can't explain it except to say that I am grumpy and tired, but I did enjoy hanging out with my friends, and if they hadn't invited me to spend time with them, I would be even more grumpy and anti-social right now. I am also trying to plan a BBQ at our house in the near future, but I can't figure out when to have it. I have a crippling fear that no one will come, so I keep changing the date for it. Yay, I am a neurotic, grumpy freak! Whee!

Ummm... yeah.

Speaking of freaks, one of the blankets in our living room is possessed. H and I were playing Guitar Hero last night, and the blanket on the couch started moving. By itself. The blanket was shifting so that it looked like an animal the size of a basketball was under the blanket taking deep breaths. I pictured a basketball-sized frog. Because I am a logical thinker.

H started freaking out. "Get me a knife!" he yelled.

"No!" I responded. I did not want him killing some scary animal in our living room.

But H found a knife and ended up stabbing the blanket several times before realizing that no small animal had snuck into our house and onto the couch where we had been sitting 15 minutes earlier. (Thank goodness.) I am just glad H was the irrational one for once.

What What!

I was goofing around on blogs tonight and happened across Jen's blog, which had a link to Gizoogle. Gizoogle translates any website into "jive." So I translated my blog, and here is my last post, according to Gizoogle.

Happy Independence Day ta all of you (also affectionately referred ta in many nations as tha Day Before -R-'s Birthday) thats off tha hook yo!

I hizzle already begun tha birthday celebrizzles. Today mah assistant bought bagels fo` tha Breakfast Birthday Celebrizzles. Then one of mah boss's tizzle me out ta lunch fo` tha Lunch Birthday Celebrizzles. And tizzy afta wizzle I wizzay ta tha mizzy fo` tha Ann Taylor Loft Birthday Celebrizzle where I bought two skirts fo` $27.50. The sale is buy one sale item, git shot calla sale item fo` half price, so one of tha skirts ended up cost'n $7.50! Then I came home, n mah baby daddy had sizzent flowa fo` tha official Floral Birthday Celebrizzles . Wussup to all my niggaz in the house. I am not sure yet whizzat we is going ta do tomorrow besides attempt ta W-to-tha-izzatch two fireworks displays at once (the Fireworks Birthday Celebrizzles. Thiznen it is mah actual birthday, n Double G is com'n ta ghetto fo` tha Bizzy Friend Birthday Celebrizzles. Finally, on Saturday, H n I is going out fo` tha Official Birthday Dinna in tha hood. Consider'n T-H-to-tha-izzat mah 25th birthday was spizzent straight trippin' an official practice bar exam, I believe tizzle I deserve all tha birthday fanfare, even though mah 25th birthday was 3 years ago. P-L-to-tha-izzus, I am special. [Insert rap fizzy here.]

All tha birthday celebrizzles mizzy one perpetratin': mah mom's birthday is on Monday! Hiznelp . Aint no L-I-M-I-to-tha-T! I asked mah sista fo` gizzift ideas, but mah sista said, "My specialty is Christmas, not birthdays." Are there any birthday specialists out there? I need sum-m sum-m T-H-to-tha-izzat is NOT a knick-knack. My mom's hobbies is golf n ballin'. She has expensive (or straight trippin' she loves a good deal) taste. She is not good wit technology yeah yeah baby. She enjoys long walks on tha beach n messin' champagne in tha moonlight . Keep'n it gangsta dogg. Oh wait fo' rizeal. I think I gots off topic there.

Celebration! We're Gonna Celebrate and Have a Good Time! Come On!

Happy Independence Day to all of you (also affectionately referred to in many nations as the Day Before -R-'s Birthday)!

I have already begun the birthday celebrations. Today my assistant bought bagels for the Breakfast Birthday Celebration. Then one of my boss's took me out to lunch for the Lunch Birthday Celebration. And then after work I went to the mall for the Ann Taylor Loft Birthday Celebration, where I bought two skirts for $27.50. The sale is buy one sale item, get another sale item for half price, so one of the skirts ended up costing $7.50! Then I came home, and my dad had sent flowers for the official Floral Birthday Celebration. I am not sure yet what we are going to do tomorrow besides attempt to watch two fireworks displays at once (the Fireworks Birthday Celebration). Then it is my actual birthday, and Double G is coming to town for the Best Friend Birthday Celebration. Finally, on Saturday, H and I are going out for the Official Birthday Dinner. Considering that my 25th birthday was spent taking an official practice bar exam, I believe that I deserve all the birthday fanfare, even though my 25th birthday was 3 years ago. Plus, I am special. [Insert rap face here.]

All the birthday celebrations mean one thing: my mom's birthday is on Monday! Help! I asked my sister for gift ideas, but my sister said, "My specialty is Christmas, not birthdays." Are there any birthday specialists out there? I need something that is NOT a knick-knack. My mom's hobbies are golf and reading. She has expensive (or expensive-looking, she loves a good deal) taste. She is not good with technology. She enjoys long walks on the beach and drinking champagne in the moonlight. Oh wait. I think I got off topic there.

Oh, Sexy Girlfriend

Sognatrice awarded me a Rockin' Girl Blogger Award today.


There is supposed to be a picture of the little award above, but I don't know how to make it show up, so you will just have to trust me. Or you can click over to Sognatrice's blog if you don't believe that she really gave me this oddly named award.

I don't know how I feel about being a Rockin' Girl Blogger. It makes me think of the foreign exchange student on Sixteen Candles (Long Duck Dong) yelling, "Oh, sexy girlfriend!"

I am feeling really "Rockin'" (those are Quotes of Irony) after doing my entire dance workout DVD tonight. There are parts of the workout where Head Workout Lady tells me to do my own arm movements to really make the dance my own. My arm movements consist of me holding up my index fingers and wiggling them around like I am a really bad 1920s male dancer. (I feel like 1920s female dancers did jazz hands while their partners just pointed and moved their hands up and down.) I am the least sexy dancer ever, and that is ok with me. I do have a rap face that I make when I am trying to dance seriously, but it is hard to replicate on command. It just comes naturally when I am in the groove. Picture the nerdiest person you know trying to look hip-hop. That is probably a close approximation of the rap face.

What Did You Do This Weekend?

I started off the weekend with a shopping spree at Target. Woooo. I got some workout clothes, a skirt, and 5 shirts.

Then I came home, and H's back went out, so good times were had by all as H stumbled around the house cursing.

We were supposed to go to H's hometown and attend his cousin's wedding on Saturday, but although H was feeling better, there was no way he could have sat in a car for a stretch of more than 30 minutes, so we stayed home. I went for an afternoon bike ride. Normally I go biking at around 7:30 pm. Did you know that if you go biking at 1:30, it is much hotter than it is at 7:30? Also, the sun is brighter and will burn your shoulders to a crisp if you wear your new sleeveless workout shirt from Target? These things are true. My hands, arms, and shoulders are very red. Except for a large, strangely-shaped blotch on my left wrist where I was wearing H's giant sports watch.

Today we went to church, bought groceries at Target, and went to the local pool. I didn't want to subject my arms and shoulders to any more sun, so I wore a cardigan. It was sexy. I think wearing cardigans to the pool is going to be the new It Thing.

When we went to Target today, I was wearing a new t-shirt from Target, a new skirt from Target, and gold sandals from Target. For some reason, I am self-conscious when I wear an all Target ensemble to Target (or an all The Gap ensemble to The Gap, for example). Like someone will notice and think, Try shopping somewhere else for once, you freak!

Tiki Time

The hill at the beginning and end of my near-daily bike journey is no longer referred to (in my mind) as The Hill of Death. Now it is The Hill of Slight Pain. Soon it will be The Hill of Indifference. Maybe someday it will seem like The Slight Upward Slope of Happiness. But I doubt it.

I rented a workout video and tried it for the first time tonight. I only did one of the segments, so I will reserve judgment until I try the whole thing. It is a "dance" workout video, though it is really more aerobicizing or something than dancing. Anyway, there was one move that I just could not get down despite repeated attempts. You are supposed to kick with one foot and step back with the other foot, but you aren't supposed to fall over. I don't really get how it works. H was in the other room, and I asked if he was embarrassed that I couldn't do the kick move. He said, "No, I already knew this about you." I am not sure what he meant by "this." I would like to think that H meant, "I already knew that you were too cool to follow a workout video exactly. You have to express yourself by doing your own moves." However, I fear that really he meant, "You are totally uncoordinated." Which would be an accurate thought on this part.

I needed to work out today because last night I went to a tiki bar with (the lovely)Noelle, 3 of Noelle's (very lovely) friends, and Stefanie. While they drank their classy tiki drinks and tried a few fried cheese curds each, I ate approximately 8 giant onion rings and 52 tater tots while drinking wine out of a box. Good times!

Some Might Call it an Overreaction

Dear Blackberry,

Thank you for beeping louder than a smoke detector at 12:07this morning. H was on a weekend trip with some friends, and I was home alone getting ready for bed. When you beeped freakishly loudly, despite the fact that I have set everything on you to mute, I could not figure out what in the kitchen would make such a noise. None of my kitchen appliances beep like that. So the only logical explanation I could come up with was that there was a killer in the kitchen who made that noise in an attempt to lure me into the kitchen. If I went into the kitchen to see what was beeping, I would be playing into the killer's hands. I weighed my options: running out of the house, calling 911, or running out of the house while calling 911. Then I realized the beep was probably just your low battery warning. But I would feel pretty stupid if I went to plug you in and it turned out there was a killer in my kitchen and I hadn't dialed 911 on my cell phone. So armed with my pre-dialed cell phone (so that if I was attacked I would just have to hit the send button), I went into the kitchen and plugged you in.

So thanks a lot, Blackberry, that was a really enjoyable experience. I'm glad we could share some middle of the night bonding.

Love,
-R-

Picture Crazy

My highlights:


There were more pictures here, including some before shots and then some smiling after shots, but I have now removed them. I tell you this so that a person reading this at a later date does not think all the commenters are crazy when referencing my smiling face. You're welcome.

I'm Tired of Coming Up With Titles

Warning: I have an appointment to get my hair highlighted on Saturday morning. I have been considering this option for about a year and just decided last week that I was going to go for it. So highlights, here I come. The reason I am warning you is that there may be lots of sad posts this weekend if it goes poorly, but I have my regular stylist and not the crazy girl who butchered my hair that one time, so I'm not worried.

Beyond the hair dying experiment, I have no idea what I am going to do this weekend. I want to ride my bike and, unfortunately, I will have to do some work, but that's about it for plans. Man, I'm old. I did got a party last weekend though, so it's not like I never go out. The party last weekend was a housewarming party for one of H's coworkers. When H and I arrived, the host was holding the two-month-old baby of one of her friends. H immediately asked if he could hold the baby and tried to take it from her. I thought that perhaps he should introduce himself to the baby's parents and ask if they minded, but H had no time for that. He had to hold the baby RIGHT NOW. The baby's mom was right there and said it was ok, so H took the baby from his friend and held him, talked to him, and snuggled with him. (I originally referred to the baby as "it" in the previous sentence. You can tell who the baby-lover in our family is.) The baby had been crying when H's friend was holding him, but H calmed him down and kept him calm the whole time H held him. So there is really no point to that story except that H loves babies. And is good with them.

Anyway, this weekend will be both party- and baby-free as far as I know. And hopefully hair-crisis-free as well.

Do you talk to your hair stylist/barber/whatever when you are getting your hair cut/styled/dyed/prepared? If so, what do you talk about? I am so bad about hair styling conversations.

Ta da! It is my bike!

Apparently, H thinks, "Please take a picture of me and my bike," means, "Please don't let too much of my bike be in the picture because I really want to get a good look at the neighbors' houses." I am so mean to H, when really, it was very nice of him to take a picture of me for my blog. Thanks, H!

And now for a segway.

Get it? I pretended like I was going to segue into a new topic, but really I am posting the next picture in the series: Cops From Other Cities Who Ride Segways. This one is from Philadelphia. I love it. And I find myself hi-larious.

Also, I should really not tease H about his picture-taking skills when I post pictures sideways on my blog.

There is really no explanation needed for the following picture, is there?

My mom gave these little stuffed fowl to H and me for Easter, and we occasionally leave them in unusual places for the other one to find. That's totally normal for near-30-year-olds, right? Right.

Maybe Later I Can Upgrade to the Sparkly Seat

I got my birthday present early this year. I think I received the same gift for my 5th birthday. Well, the one I got for my 5th birthday was yellow and had a banana seat covered in silver sparkles, while this one is mostly white with some seafoam green details and a regular seat. Yes, I got a bike!

I know I said I wanted an iPod shuffle, but H and I have been wanting to get bikes for two years now, so we decided this was the time.

I went for my first ride after work today. And I didn't fall off even once! Wooo! And, even better, I didn't run into anything! Two older ladies and a 12 year old boy did pass me, but that's ok! Also, I thought I was going to die when I was riding my bike into the wind, but I survived! And then I turned and realized that I hadn't really been riding into the wind; NOW I was riding into the wind! And I survived that too! And then I thought I might have to give up and walk my bike when I was going up a big hill, but I didn't! I made it!

Seriously, How is This a Real Song?

[Update: According to my sources, the following appears to be a real song by Sly & the Family Stone.]

I am at Starbucks, waiting for H to finish his jiu jitsu class and getting some work done. A song is playing in the background. I would describe the music as 70s jazz. Some of the lyrics are:

We can do it on the floor
We can do it on the stairs
We can do it on the couch
We can do it in the air

If we do it every day
We can do it every way

The next line was:

We can do it on the grass

If the rhyming line was "We can do it in the ass," I was either going to leave or buy the c.d. I'm not sure which. Luckily/unfortunately, I did not have to make this decision.

From The Simpsons:

Mr. Burns: Smithers, are they boo-ing me?
Smithers: Uh...no. They're saying boo-URNS, boo-URNS
Mr. Burns: (To the crowd) Excuse me, are you saying BOO or BOO-URNS?
Crowd: BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
Hans Moleman: (to himself) I was saying "boo-urns."

I bought this shirt for H the other day. (It is a t-shirt with a speech bubble on it, and in the speech bubble it says "Boo-urns.") I decided to wait until the shirt arrived before telling H about it. But last night I thought I would give him a hint that he was going to get a present. I told him that I would have a surprise for him in a few weeks. He freaked out. He started guessing all kinds of wild things. He was getting really worked up about it. I tried to tell him that it wasn't a big thing so that he wouldn't be disappointed when it turned out to be just a t-shirt, but he kept guessing bigger and bigger surprises. And he acted like it was horrible torture to not know what the surprise was going to be. I told H that I couldn't tell him what the surprise was or it wouldn't be a surprise. His response was, "It will be a surprise when you tell me what it is!" Which is true, I suppose. So I showed him the Boo-urns shirt because there is no way I could deal with 3 or more weeks of him freaking out about the surprise. H loved the shirt, and I think it made his bad day a little bit better.

Also, H pointed out to me yesterday, "You don't cry as much as most chicks." In case you were worried after my last post. H also told me that I am "not as dumb as most chicks." Which I pointed out was not exactly a compliment. But I love him anyway because he is funny when he is trying to be a chauvinist.

There's No Crying in... Well, You Know

I read this post about crying in public today. For those of you who do not feel like clicking on the previous link, I will summarize. It is an article discussing the possible and appropriate responses when you see someone crying in public. The majority of commenters seem to think that offering a tissue or a sympathetic look is the appropriate response. I am fine with that. It makes sense that a person would want to be sympathetic but not intrusive.

But.

If you see me crying in public, do not acknowledge it! It will only make me cry more! Even if I have stopped crying, acknowledging the fact that I cried will (with 98% certainty) make me start crying again! Please treat me like I am not crying. Ignore the tears and sniffles. You can offer me a tissue if you absolutely need to and I don't have any of my own, but then you should pretend I am not crying, perhaps by asking me what my favorite baseball teams are (the Twins, the Royals, and the Braves) or if I have seen Walk the Line (why yes, I have, and I enjoyed it very much).

Streets of Philadelphia (Are Uneven and Threatened to Trip Me Multiple Times)

Philly was good. There is a tourist bus called the PHLASH, which I pronounced "P-H-Lash" in my head. Yes, I am a smarty.

I met Guinness Girl for dinner one night and Christine for dinner another night. First Wruce, then GG, then Christine- it overwhelmed with all that superstardom! GG and Christine were both tremendously nice.

H's airline decided that his suitcase would prefer to go on a different flight than H, which was annoying, but the suitcase was found and delivered to our hotel in the middle of H's first night in Philly, so it worked out ok.

H and I saw the Liberty Bell, the Museum of Art, the Rocky statue, the Franklin Institute, South Street, an Italian-American festival, and some kind of event that involved Mardi Gras beads but no flashing (that we saw).

But it is good to be home.

With A Vengeance

[Now edited to prevent googling.]

I am in Philadelphia. AND I JUST ATE DINNER WITH WRUCE BILLIS. Oh yes. The Wruce Billis of Die Hard who used to be married to Memi Doore. I also saw the person that I am guessing is his girlfriend, but since Wruce and I are such good friends now, I will be discrete and not tell you about her. Except to say that I didn't recognize her.

Anyway, I feel like my blog's purpose has been fulfilled now. I get to write about a movie star sighting. Because by "I just ate dinner with Wruce Billis," I mean, "We are staying at the same hotel, and I had dinner at the bar of the connected restaurant while he sat at the same bar a few feet away from me and had drinks with his friends, while I pretended like I couldn't care less about the whole thing and continued to read my book by Bill Bryson, but secretly I was pissed that I did not bring my camera to dinner so that I could figure out a way to snap a picture without him noticing."

Here is the part of the blog where I would post a picture of Wruce and me if I hadn't been too cool to take one, and if I had brought my camera to dinner, and if I had brought connector cables or something so that I could upload pictures from my hotel room. I wish I were ruder. Instead, just picture a 5'10" guy in a tight shirt, seriously skinny jeans, cowboy boots, with a shiny bald head, standing next to a 5'2" nerd.

You guys, I do not even like Wruce. Why am I so excited?

Family Stories

My post about Maine has made me think of my grandfather a lot recently. He grew up in New Hampshire, the youngest of nine kids. Only one of the nine kids was a girl, and she was the oldest. I think the one girl outlived all her brothers, probably in part because she was the only one who didn't smoke a pack or two a day. Anyway, I got to meet Auntie several times when I was growing up. She did not have much short term memory by the time I met her, but she would tell fantastic stories about her childhood and my grandfather.

[Sidebar: How do you pronounce "aunt"? My mom called my grandfather's sister Auntie, rhymes with Monty, and all her other aunts were Aunt (rhymes with want) Firstname. However, my sister and I grew up pronouncing "aunt" as "ant". H says aunt so that it rhymes with want as well. So I pronounce it "ant" when I am referring to my own aunts, but "aunt" (rhymes with want) when I am referring to H's aunts or my mom's aunts or when I am talking to my nieces and nephews about H's sisters. It is all very confusing to me.]

My favorite Mom'sMaidenName family story is about World War II. I don't know how this story could be totally true, but my mom acts like it is, and I like the story, so I am going to believe it. All of my grandfather's brothers joined the Navy when WWII broke out. But my grandfather was only 14. So he lied about his age and got sent to the South Pacific. As his ship was nearing Japan, another U.S. ship passed on its way back to the U.S. My grandfather was on deck and saw his brother on the other ship's deck. His brother also saw him and started yelling at my grandfather because he was too young to be there. My grandfather just smiled and waved.

Do you have any family legends? And how the heck do you say "aunt"?

Knocked Up

The movie. Go see it. Awesome. Even the 70-year-old woman sitting next to me loved it. A lot. She was laughing really hard throughout the movie.

If the film critics are H, the old lady next to me, and me, this movie gets 6 thumbs up.

You're welcome.