Extended Summer

One thing I am not a super huge fan of on Facebook, almost as much as typos, is you telling me about the weather. “It’s nice out” doesn’t really merit my attention. I could see it if you were in the middle of a crazy hurricane, but then again, get off Facebook and go stand in the doorway or whatever it is you’re supposed to do.

But San Diego is killing me! Every day this past week I’ve had to resist the temptation to post an update letting everyone know that it is the Best Day Ever. It’s been super warm and sunny. MK and I took our cruisers out every day, went and worked out, walked the beach, dined al fresco, and got tons of sun. You wouldn’t even know it was October!

We have been super spoiled with this beach condo. Float parties right outside our door, a giant hot tub, good friends- Dude, a beach wedding(!), my brother moving here(!), and enough beach volleyball to exhaust anyone. (I never told you guys my DADD got out there and played with us!!)

So, San Diego, and everyone I love so much in it, thanks for making this without a doubt one of the best summers I’ve ever had!

Super Jealous

Yesterday’s post was a picture instead of a heart warming tale becuase I was pouting. After talking with MK (and CH!) about possibly scalping tickets to MNF – he got one for free. So I let him go, Mr. Doesn’t Even Watch Football, and I stayed home and sulked.

There was no food in the house, I had no car, and after the gym I just sat around and watched the game on TV and pouted. I suppose I could have met friends out, but then I would have had nothing to complain about…

He sent me a phone picture of his fantastic seats, right on the 50 yard line:


He was all in VIP in the luxury seats with a waitress and fancy drinks and food. And got home well past bed time and wasn’t even all hyped up to tell me all about it, and the pictures he took with the real camera while there weren’t that fantastic – I blame the margaritas.

Loser. Of Stuff.

Ever since I was a little girl, I wasn’t very good at taking care of things. My favorite possession of all time, when I was about 11, was a moon watch my Dad bought me at a yard sale. Which I took off and lost I don’t know how long after  I got it. Probably not long. The kicker is I lost it in a house, I’m sure. A house we since moved out of, but no one ever found that missing watch.

It got worse as I got older. Because then you have more stuff. I’ve lost cell phones (not stolen – although that’s happened way too much too) wallets, even whole purses. Money, CDs, movies I’ve lent out, clothes. Sneakers. Coats. Scarves. Books. Remind me of something you’ve gotten me, and I might have lost it.

Getting our things out of storage will be better than Christmas for me – I’ll be rummaging around seeing things and saying, “Oh, great! I was afraid I lost this!”.

MK hates that I lose stuff, especially since he’s been watching me do it for almost 10 years now. He apparently has never lost anything. I’m waiting to write it down the day he does and then remind him once a week for the rest of his life that he is a failure. Because man he knows how to make me feel guilty. My best tactic for getting over losses is to pretend it wasn’t that important. Or to forget it completely – which is pretty easy for my little brain to do.

Take this weekend. I was in a ladies room, with SIL. I was touching up my lipstick. I took the cute little bag that I have to keep the makeup from getting my nice purse messy out of my bag to do so. I then apparently washed my hands and left the bathroom sans makeup bag. And didn’t notice it until we were in the cab heading to another hotel. Boo.

But it was a makeup bag. It had mascara, chapstick, floss, advil, and eyedrops. That’s like 10 bucks worth of stuff. I laughed it off and said, “Oh well”. But MK wouldn’t let it go. It was another thing on a long list of things that if you add 10 bucks to might be somewhere around 500$.

So you know what I decided to do? I remembered the last time I lost something (I think I lost my ID and Debit Card in freaking Vegas during my Bachelorette Party – yes, I just remembered) and I called lost and found. The hotel actually had the bag. And I went and got it. And it had all my crap in it. So I’m off the hook right?

Not even close.

Scuba Steve

MK and his bff MB are learning to Scuba. Sport Chalet offers a crash course that takes a couple all day sessions in the pool and ocean to get the big deal fancy certification. This experience is just taking off this coming weekend and teaching me  few things already…

Like I should not go to Grad School. Because there’s too much good crap on TV. And MK shouldn’t go to Grad School. Because he’s a terrible studier. Always was. He’s in the living room now cramming for his class as late and last minute as he could. And he can’t understand why that would worry me…what with scuba-ing (what’s the correct term there?) being potentially FATAL in my little non-swimmy world.

And I need a hobby. Something that he would say no to, and I just do anyway. At the least appropriate time. He’s been waiting for years to get this going but waits until we’re right in our ‘busy season’ of WTF are we doing with our lives. It would be cute and funny if it weren’t seriously. terrible. timing.

And we need more money. Scuba is probably the most expensive hobby I can think of anyone picking up. I thought skiing was bad – but we’re talking 600$ pieces of metal equipment. Riiiight. Chances are we’re going to end up in a house in a trailer park if he loves Scuba. Because hobbies come first around here.

Oh, and we need another car. I have to take him at 8AM and since it’s all day and I need the car I have to go get him too, unless MB will help cart his butt around. Terrible.

Wonder what my next hobby should be…

Wedding Bells And Jailbirds

There were a lot of really hilarious things that happened during the week of my wedding. I was a nut, my MIL was a nut, my BFF had SHEARS in her purse to deal with the nuttiness. My husband helped decorate the reception. My mom had the first drink of booze I’ve ever seen her take – and would kill me if I told you all how THAT ended.

But there’s another story that I forget way too easily until this week, when it was RB’s birthday and we were catching up. I decided to be nice and not make fun of him on his Facebook, but really wanted to tell this story: I think here is safe.

We invited everyone that was visiting from out of town to come to our rehearsal dinner, family or friends, to be able to spend more time with everyone. Pretty much only family and wedding party was there. RB showed up late, had some wine, and toasted us after the family thought the toasts were over. It was, of course, hilarious. He’s our Jack Black – full of funny – good times guy.

After our dinner, we went out to 6th street. RB was catching up with some buddies and we bar hopped and ended up at Casino El Camino, if I remember correctly. So many people were so excited to see him he had shot after shot poured down his throat. MK and I headed home for our big next few days and the friends stayed out. KD offered RB a couch so we figured he was fine.

The next day was all about wedding things and I gave no thought to anything but the tasks at hand. There was so much going on so fast and it was all a blur until about 9pm or so after dinner and some dancing and some drinks, and we were talking to RD – who realized RB was no where to be found. “He’s probably in jail,” we laughed. “He had a lot to drink.”

No one thought he’d miss the wedding, but the night went on and he didn’t show. The day or two after that, we found out he did, indeed, go to jail. And missed his flight home. And couldn’t call any of us, didn’t know our numbers, had to call his Dad, and had to deal with so many reprecussions I almost felt bad for getting married.

You might think jail is a seroiusly unfunny matter, but every time I remember that I forgot that this even happened, I crack up. It’s terrible, I know.

My Guilty Habit

We were talking the other night about marriage. We like to think we’re pretty good at it so far. We do a lot of married things, but also are just such good friends we love being around each other. We bicker all the time – we think it’s funny to always disagree, make bets, impose punishments, google things and learn. But we don’t fight. Not a lot. When we do though, is what we were talking about. MK made me realize that I do the most hilarious thing on the planet every time we fight.

I make him let me win, and he can only redeem himself by taking me out to dinner. MK doesn’t cook, so he hates eating out for anything more than a 2$ taco. To him (duh) it’s so much easier to  sit around at home and wait for me to cook.

So the thing is, I don’t let him take me just anywhere. I apparently have repeatedly forced the man to take me to: The Olive Garden.

Let me be very clear about something, I don’t mean to offend anyone with this. We went there growing up every once in a while and it was considered a treat (wait, that just helps the point I’m about to make…). But the fact of the matter is- Olive Garden is pretty white trash. I mean super white trash. There’s got to be a better way to put it than that, but that’s all I can think of. Going there for dinner for me is like watching a really trashy reality TV show. You look around and everyone is drinking White Zinfandel and Blushes (PINK WINE!) and hiding breadsticks in their purses to bring home (guilty) and yelling at the kids as they throw crayons at each other and run around the table screaming their lungs out.

But it can’t really be white trash because every time we eat there we end up with a 40$ bill. For noodles that I TOTALLY could have made at home. That’s why I like it. You make me mad, you let someone else make the pasta. And I get some free entertainment.

Lesson Not Learned

This post has to be a little cryptic. I was going to blab all about the little details – but there’s a story about a guy who was on Twitter, mentioned he was going on vacation, and someone found his flickr page and broke in to his house and stole all the stuff he’d posted pics of, his toys and computer and all that (HERE’S THAT LINK, Thanks SB).

So – all I can mention(other than we live in Arizona, wink wink) a general story. It bums me out – I was all prepared to put up pictures for you and tell you all about the excitement and sheer joy I’m running on with the little gifts from my husband for my anniversary. I got two very nice things, but for fear of someone coming and hunting me down – it’s seriously made me a little paranoid – I can’t tell you. You’ll have to call and ask. And I’ll have to believe that you’re the kind of friend that won’t come stealing from me! And we’ll all just have to hope that my cell phone isn’t stolen…again. I’m still a little bitter…

(Speaking of which, another friend got their sunglasses stolen from the same place my phone was taken, just saying.)


I’m having nightmares that this girl I know that put up Facebook pictures of her new car gets it stolen, that people are going to all come after other people’s things. Be careful on the internet people!