Bike Riding and Buffets

I'll admit it: I have a lot of pet peeves. From the typical biting ones' nails or chewing with ones' mouth open to the atypical pulling up short of the white line at a stoplight or not eating an ear of corn symmetrically. This morning, as I was trying to work off the Cracker Barrel breakfast I ate this past weekend, the weird older guy next to me reminded me of yet another major annoyance...

Why is it that when I am in the gym, and on the rare occasion on a piece of cardio equipment, someone HAS to sit/stand/walk/jog on the machine right next to me? Take this morning for example. It was 6:15am so the gym was practically empty. There were three available bikes next to me and four more behind me, yet the creepy older gentlemen (not to be confused with my fitness center stalker -- he has since disappeared but I had nothing to do with it, I swear) decided to use the bike right.next.to.me. He could have gone to any other open bike, but instead chose the one closest to me. And it's not just creepy old guys either -- why does the peppy gym bunny in her neon pink racer-back tank top and matching capris have to jog her 1.25 miles adjacent to me? I could understand if every other piece of equipment was being used, but this always seems to happen when the place is empty.

Maybe I give off such a positive vibe that people simply can't resist being far from me. Although it's more likely that I look like such a fool when I run, the other person feels better about him/herself. Either way, I'm helping others achieve.

The other major pet peeve? Socializing in a buffet line. I'm not talking about chain-restaurant buffets like OCB or Ryan's -- those allow the freedom to dart and dash between entrees. I'm talking about buffets at weddings, church functions, luncheons, etc. These events are typically preceded by a long service, during which my stomach becomes very aware of how empty it is. By the time I finally get into line, my one goal is to put food on my plate as quickly as possible. It is NOT the time to catch up with an old friend, thus blocking the mashed potatoes and holding up the entire line. The great thing about social functions is, you can socialize all you want at the table...while you're eating. Not in line. So please don't do it.

So there. Please don't ride the bike next to me or talk in a buffet line. It'll make my world (and yours) a better place.

The South: Reflections

As I was chatting with a friend about our move to Louisville, she raised the question as to whether or not Kentucky is considered "the south." Technically, even though the Man will be working for the city of Louisville, we will most likely be living in southern Indiana (or "Kentuckiana" as the locals call it). Anyway, as I was thinking about it, Kentucky really is kind of just smushed in the middle. As a born and raised Chicagoan, I cannot claim Kentucky as a Midwestern state; that just isn't right. But it's not necessarily the football-loving, bbq-eating, mosquito-infested, humidity-so-high-I-could-melt South. It's certainly not the wicked-awesome east nor is it near the great plains. So...where exactly am I moving to?

I started thinking about the few encounters I've had with Kentuckians (thank you Laurryn for the correct term) and I've come to my own conclusion that Kentucky is indeed, the South. There's still a lot I need to learn, but so far I've come up with the following reasons why:

• You or you all no longer exists. It's strictly y'all.
• Everyone and their mother drives the speed limit. Even on expressways.
• Chick-Fil-A. God.Bless.It.
• Drivers let other drivers merge anytime and anywhere.
• I'm fairly certain the people of Kentucky provide most of the content for PeopleofWalmart.com.
• Cracker Barrels are everywhere.
• Starbucks are nowhere.
• It's always "yes ma'am" or "yes sir." I love this.
• Punctuality is merely a suggestion.
• A promise and a handshake are as valid as a written contract.
• Duke is considered quiet.
• Duke is an outcast because he does not have a gun rack.
• Duke is at least a foot shorter than all the other trucks.
• Attendants at gas stations pump the gas for you and smile while doing it.
• It's Lou-uh-ville NOT Lou-ee-ville
• Waitresses suggest sweet tea instead of pop
• Pop is coke
• Coke is Coke; Sprite is a type of coke (this is stupid)
• Buffalo Wild Wings has fried pickles
• "Bless his/her heart" doesn't mean what you think it means
• Gun shops are as common as Walgreens
• There are Rite-Aids instead of Walgreens
• Strangers will make eye contact, smile, and genuinely ask how you're doing

So far we have a truck, a shotgun, and I can live off of sweet tea & Chik-Fil-A. I'm trying not to be skeptical of friendly people and we're both working on pronouncing Louisville correctly. Not too bad for a Jew and a Yankee, huh?

Until next time...

Role Model

The Man isn't officially a police officer yet, but I'm already experiencing the burden of a police officer's wife. Not that it's necessarily all bad; it's nice to know I'm needed. And really, if it weren't for me he would be running around northern Kentucky eating tortilla chips with no pants on. In the past few days I've taken on the roles of:

• Party Planner -- organized and hosted a going away party for 30+ people, including a customized cake, food, and drinks
• Packer -- packed all of the Man's belongings into 8 neatly stacked boxes, all labeled with the contents and appropriate timeline of necessity
• Hair Stylist -- buzzed the Man's head as to meet academy requirements. As if bald wasn't short enough.
• Professional Organizer -- unpacked all of the Man's belongings into his temporary closet; this consisted of refolding everything he "folded."
• Navigator -- the Man has driven to Louisville more times in the last month than most people have in their entire lives, yet he almost got lost three times. I'm pretty sure I have an internal GPS.
• Cook -- I'm no Julia Child, but I can pack a mean cooler full of snacks.
• Counselor -- "Everything is going to be ok, honey. I love you, honey. God is in control, honey. No, your head doesn't look like a skunk, honey."

I could go on, but the Man informed me that my typing is keeping him awake and he absolutely has to get some sleep. Did I mention I'm waking up at 4:30am to wish him off? Wife.Of.The.Year.

Final Countdown

Welp, I guess this is really happening. Our house is slowly filling up with boxes, the Man is counting down his final hours at work, we're starting to say our goodbyes...

And I don't like it.

I've surprised myself these past few weeks in how calm I've been. The Man and I are facing our first life-altering decision as a married couple, yet I've managed to keep my act together. I didn't freak out when he was offered the job; in fact, we both laughed until we cried out of pure joy and praise. There was no questioning whether or not we would pack up and move: the decision was made and we jumped in with both feet.

And then I threw a big noisy fuss.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still just as confident that God is in control and wants us in Louisville. But standing in the Man's closet the other night, sorting through his belongings and packing up his clothes, reality hit: he's leaving this house for good.

The Man walked in to find me in a heap on the floor, sobbing as I held one of his t-shirts. Being the amazing husband that he is, he picked me up, held me close, and whispered in my ear, "I love you. We'll go get some ice cream if you stop being such a girl."

*sigh*

But really, he's right. I've kept my emotions in check for over three weeks now and the overwhelming changes finally caught up to me. (For the record, the Man was making a joke; he's not a complete tool.) I know that everything is going to be ok. I know that we are following the Lord's will and He has a plan for us. I know that being separated from the Man is only temporary. That particular night I just needed a few tears, a pair of sweatpants, and two scoops of Oberweis to help me cope.

Bourbonnais Bucket List

The final countdown to the Big Move has officially begun, as the Man will be leaving for Louisville this upcoming weekend. As with any departure, we've started labeling "the lasts." (i.e. his last Financial Peace University course, his last church service at River Valley Christian Fellowship, his last day of work, etc.) It's sad, but then it gives us a reason to do everything we haven't done in the last 7 years we've been in Bourbonnais. That being said, we've compiled a list of various activities we want to accomplish before leaving this area for good (it's more for me, seeing as though the Man has 4.5 days left in town and hasn't even started thinking about packing). So without further ado, here is our (my) Bourbonnais Bucket List:

• See a movie at Kankakee's Paramount Theatre
• Eat chocolate cream pie at Blue's Cafe
• Attend an Olivet sporting event
• Play a game of racquetball
• Camp at Kankakee River State Park
• Eat at Schoop's Hamburgers
• Take my parents to French Toast
• Have a pint at Peotone's Bierstube
• Order a pizza from Tucci's
• Rent a chick flick and host a girls' night in
• Run a Turkey Trot 5k
• Use my Hobby Lobby gift certificate
• Have dinner with my neighbors
• Attend Olivet's production of Messiah
• Go sledding on Poop Hill

So as you can see, the majority of my bucket list is related to food in some way, shape, or form. Don't judge me, it's how I cope. And if you ever had the chocolate cream pie from Blue's Cafe or the creme brulee french toast from French Toast, you would understand. Oh yeah and that 5k? Never gonna happen...