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!

Three Years

As of tomorrow, we’ve been doing this marriage thing for three years. Tell me what I should have learned by now. The way I see it, two people that do the things we do (you’re kidding! I talk too much??? Wait, he’s quiet!??!) aren’t going to start trying a whole new life after the vows. But what I do totally know is that this thing does not survive, as I once thought. It evolves. And the struggle – and the FUN – is getting it to evolve together.

MK still doesn’t know the kitchen system. I still yell when he wants me to do anything not on my agenda. Whatever. My Momma and Dadd send me a card. So does Auntie. But to whom else does it really matter? We’re not the kind of couple that goes for a dinner. We don’t exchange gifts. We have had company the last two years, and maybe that will be our tradition.

I’m dumping MK tomorrow to head up to LA. My sweet love is there and I will go see her and impart all the wisdom of three years of marriage three months before she says her “I do”s. I will tell her it’s fun and hard. Stuff she and RB totally already know. I will talk about the trials and the realization that what one person thinks can matter so much. I am so fiercely in love it hasn’t been three years, it’s been a lifetime. And even if I don’t tell him until Friday (someday he’ll read this blog right?) he is the light of my life, the man of my dreams, the thread holding precarious me together.

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Scaring The Lifeguards

I’m not sure if I’ve ever mentioned this here before, but I can’t swim, not really.  I took lessons as a kid at the Reservoir and the monster mean lady told me sharks would eat my toes if I didn’t swim right. Like that’s going to work. I can kinda force myself around in a pool, if  I don’t put my head under. And if I can touch. No deep end for me. Unless there’s a wall to cling to once I get over there. Never learned treading water. My Kardashian booty sinks like a rock.

So I’m not exactly sure what to call yesterday. Last year MK forced me to snorkel, by teaching me in the pool and taking me to see the leopard sharks. It was insane. But I did it. It was my understanding that that was a one time deal and I’d never have to go through that trauma again…

But MK decided he wanted to show me what floating in a wetsuit was like. He dragged me to La Jolla Shores kicking and screaming and rented me a wetsuit, booties, and fins. The rental guy could tell I was freaking out and thought I was a moron. I looked hideous – which is against everything I stand for at the ocean. I wobbled into the water and of course, the waves picked up (MK assured me it would be a super calm day). So there’s me, kinda cry-moan-whining, and him, holding me and making me put my feet up and out and get the fins on and practice the concepts of swimming. I am waaaaay to old for this.

I don’t want to learn to swim. He kept telling me it will be like skiing, which I was a major chicken about but now kick butt. But I WANTED to ski. I’d never tried it. I took a long time because I wanted to get it right. I don’t have dreams about dying skiing. I do have dreams (especially last night) of drowning*.

So we kinda just hung out there, until I calmed down and we had a few laughs. I kept hoping if I made it horrible enough he’d give up, but my husband is entirely too determined. He didn’t quit when I was hyperventilating, just told me that if I didn’t shut up the lifeguards would come try to rescue me and that would be the most embarrassing ever. I can’t say I swam, or snorkeled, but I got in the ocean yesterday, and hung out a little with my feet in the air.




*Do not tell me if I could SWIM, I wouldn’t DROWN. That logic doesn’t fly here.

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Tax Drama

MK is a procrastinator. A big one. Many of you know this about him. What you might not know – and what I didn’t know until we were married- was just how bad.

For example, there is an unopened TurboTax CD sitting on his desk right now. Before I got married my daddy did my taxes in January for me right when I got my W2 and sent it to him so I could get that money back for whatever car repair or rent that came up right when I was low on cash. But it got done. Early.

So I couldn’t comprehend the first April 15th I spent with MK, where he stayed up until nearly midnight and had to find the last open post office to get a postmark in time. And the year after that, even with me suggesting we get an early start, the same results. That was a frustrating time. He doesn’t like to be forced in to things. He’ll put it off until he can’t possibly do it in time, then does it. The taxes always get done (and well).

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like I could do our taxes, never mind quickly. This guy has the hardest job for taxes on the planet, but he’s mastered it in the last ten years. Well, the last ten April 14th and 15ths. While I hide under the covers and eat crackers. It makes him a little crazy. Then we can’t spend money for like a month, the more I think about it the more worked up I get over the craziness…

So I’m over it. I’ve taken a step back, told TB I’ll be on her couch to avoid the whirlwind of looking for stamps and getting to the post office on time. Stay out of the path of the last minute filer, that’s SGS’s advice.

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