Farther Up and Further In

You Asked For It....

2012-01-02T20:38:00.002-06:00

As a new year begins, I figured it would be appropriate to write a "year in review" post. A lot has happened, so here are some highlights in bulleted-form, organized by month (just the way I like it).

-January: I resigned from my position at Olivet Nazarene University, packed all of my earthly possessions, and moved to Jeffersonville, Indiana to be with the Man as he completed police academy. I could probably end the list here, as this was the be-all, end-all of my year. So it seemed.

-February: I spent my days in sweats watching Lonesome Dove while attempting to organize our impossibly small apartment. I gained 10lbs and cried on a daily basis. The highlight was my mom's first trip down here since I moved in, and we spent the whole weekend attached at the hip. I cried when she left. And gained another pound.

-March: My sweatpants went into early retirement as I was hired as a part-time Team Sports associate at the local Dick's Sporting Goods. I also learned how to bake a loaf of bread from scratch. Oh and we went to the Arnold Fitness Expo in Columbus, OH. Exciting, eh?

-April: Mom & Dad came down for Family Day at the Man's police academy. The Man made cheesecakes and I got tased.

-May: We survived our first Kentucky Derby. The Man decided we needed a dog; enter Dakota. I had several nervous breakdowns. Dakota stayed. I was promoted to the full-time Sales Leader at Dick's Sporting Goods.

-June: The Man graduated valedictorian from police academy! He also won the IronMan Fitness award, because he's a stud. My entire family came down & most stayed with us in our tiny 2-bedroom place. It was a blast.

-July: My little, annoying, punk-brother tied the knot to sweet, caring, adorable Jessica. I spent 4+ hours on the dance floor in celebration. So happy for them.

-August: My entire extended family took a week-long trip to Gatlinburg, TN. 15 people in 1 cabin for 8 days. Enough said.

-September: I'm sure something really important and exciting happened in September, but I can't remember at the moment. Probably that Dakota learned how to roll over. Oh, Mom came down to visit again and we ate our way across Louisville.

-October: I turned 27. Bah-humbug.

-November: My parents came down for a whirlwind Thanksgiving consisting of dinner at Cracker Barrel and seeing the Muppets movie. I survived my first Black Friday working retail. Ridiculous.

-December: The Man & I competed in our first power lifting meet in Chicago. We decided to move to a bigger apartment across town. I was promoted to Sales Manager at Dick's Sporting Goods. The Man turned 26. I spent 36 hours in Chicago to celebrate Christmas while the Man worked. Dakota continued to chase her tail.

WHEW! What a year, indeed. It has been, without a doubt, one of the most challenging years of my life. It hasn't been easy; packing up and moving 275+ miles away from everyone and everything I've ever known. There were nights when I would simply cry because my heart ached for familiarity. But then there are times when the Man and I are sitting together on the couch, watching endless Friends reruns with our snarky dog at our feet, and my soul is at peace. This is our home -- and I am infinitely blessed.

Happy new year!

Most Disturbing Conversation with The Man

2011-09-13T09:13:00.002-05:00

Quick Kentuckiana geographical lesson:

There are 3 main bridges connecting southern Indiana to Louisville, Kentucky: the Kennedy (I-65), the 2nd Street bridge (downtown), and the Sherman Minton bridge (near New Albany, IN). Recent construction on the Sherman Minton unveiled a few cracks in the foundation, causing officials to shut it down indefinitely. Needless to say, this has caused a LOT of traffic issues as over 80,000 cars travel across the Sherman Minton every day.

All of THAT is to say, the Man has been put on traffic detail for the Sherman Minton bridge, making sure that no crazies try to drive across it. And THAT is to say, he has been rather bored lately so he calls me. A lot.

Whenever we talk, I ask him how work went and if anything interesting happened. Usually he tells me about the crazy homeless man or the 3 prostitutes he arrested, but lately he said nothing interesting has happened. Yesterday he casually mentioned how he had to put his gun away before putting handcuffs on this one dude. To me, pulling a gun is a pretty big deal and I asked the Man why he didn't tell me about this earlier. He replied, "I pull my gun so often, it doesn't really seem like a big deal to me anymore."

Later on that night, we were talking about our work weeks when the Man looked at me and said, "There's one other incident that happened, and I'm ok, but I'm not going to tell you about it. All you need to know is I'm home and I'm safe. I'm trying to protect you from worrying."

Whoa. Hold up.

I know that the Man is a cop and cops sometimes run into very dangerous & sketchy situations. I'm not naive about what my husband does, but sometimes I choose to not think about what could happen. It's my way of coping. So when the Man comes home and I'm face to face with reality, it's a bit shocking. I trust the Man's training and instinct, but in moments like this I have to put my faith in the God who brought us here. When the Man walks out the door, we can't rely on his training or strength to get him through the night -- but rather the One who guides, protects, and provides.

Talk about a test of faith.

Conversations With the Man (Part ?)

2011-09-06T15:11:00.004-05:00

The Man: "How much lemon juice should I put in the tuna salad?"
Me: "Just a squirt."
The Man: "How much is a squirt? I only measure in pinches & dollops."
*EDIT*
After posting, the Man informed me that I misquoted him in the above conversation. He does not measure in pinches & dollops, but rather hints & dashes. My apologies.

Me [referring to our neighbor who just had a baby]: "She is so cute!"
The Man: "I'm not usually a fan of those flat shoes, but...."
Me: "What are you talking about?"
The Man: "You didn't notice her shoes? She was wearing those flat ballerina-like shoes. I don't normally like those, but hers were really cute."
Me: "Are you kidding me with this?"
The Man: "You're just not observant. I notice such things."
Me: "You can't remember what you just ate for lunch, but her shoes you notice."
The Man: "That's what makes me a good cop."

The Man [pulling a burnt piece of toast out of the toaster]: "There! That's how you make toast."
Me: "It's completely burned. That's gross."
The Man: "Charcoal is good for the stomach, my grandma used to say."
Me: "You know that's not charcoal."
The Man: "Same difference."

Me: "What did you have for dinner tonight?"
The Man: "We went to some weird European place called The Blind Pig. All they served was pork and ham and bacon and stuff."
Me: "So a good place to take a Jew?"
The Man: "Exactly. Except everything was in French and I couldn't understand anything, so I just ordered a hamburger. It was the only thing I could pronounce. That and french fries. And a coke."

The Man: "When you eat Qdoba, do you feel like your insides are going to fall out?"
Me: "Not exactly."
The Man: "Must just be me then."

The One Where She Updates Her Blog

2011-09-02T21:42:00.004-05:00

In an ideal world I would work 40+ hours a week, maintain a clean & orderly house, walk the dog every morning, and greet my husband with a homemade dinner all while looking like Jessica Alba.

But let's be honest: I work 40+ hours a week, my house is filled with police gear & dog toys, I "walk" Dakota by having her chase her ball up and down the stairs, and the Man is lucky to get frozen ravioli for dinner while I still have pants on.

It's life.

So needless to say, updating my blog hasn't exactly been one of my top priorities. This is unfortunate as a) I love to write b) it's a way to update y'all on our lives and c) it's the only way I can keep my vocabulary & spelling in check. (In that sentence alone, I had misspelled almost every single word. This is sad.)

So here's an update. The Man finished his first 8 weeks of probation in the 4th division (near Churchill Downs for all of you who aren't familiar with Louisville geography) and has moved to the next phase in the 1st division (equivalent to Chicago's loop geographically, the West Side criminally). He'll be with his probation officer through October, then he's out on his own. He absolutely LOVES being a cop, and I'm still adjusting to being a cop's wife. I'm learning more of the terminology, I'm trying not to worry when he comes home an hour late, and I'm taking full advantage of the police discounts at local restaurants. (Half off at Papa John's? C'mon now, you would too...) He's also taking a Brazilian ju-jitsu class, which is just another excuse for him to beat people up. As long as it's not me, I'm ok with it.

I'm still working as the sales leader Dick's Sporting Goods, and rumor has it that I'll be moving up to management in the next few months. Never thought I would become a retail manager, but I love my job and am undoubtedly the best speller in the store (my time at Oxford is really paying off). When I'm not at work, I'm in the gym training for my first powerlifting meet. The Man thought it would be fun, which it will be for him as he can lift a bazillion pounds. I, on the other hand, am just trying to work up to the "Aw, look at her. Bless her heart for trying" status. At least I'll get a t-shirt.

Dakota has been working on walking without a leash and has successfully gone potty outside without a leash 3 times today. She also ate the rest of her bone and got a bath last night. Big news.

So there you have it. I told myself I'm going to update my blog more than just once a month, but if it's anything like my other goals, I wouldn't count on it. Except for my "eat a piece of chocolate everyday" goal. That one's right on track.

Did I Stutter?

2011-08-01T21:35:00.002-05:00

The other night I went to bed utterly exhausted, more so than usual, and I couldn't figure out why. As I was starting to drift off, it dawned on me: I spent the majority of the evening repeating myself. We don't have kids yet, but we do have a very cheeky dog who tends to find her way into mischief. Pair her with my ever-so-snarky husband, and you've got one exhausted wife.

I started thinking about all the things I say to the Man and to Dakota, and realized that I repeat myself more times than necessary. Examples?

-"What are you eating now?"
-"Please stop eating that."
-"Are you supposed to be eating that?"
-"Don't do that; that's gross."
-"I think you need to go outside."
-"You smell."
-"I don't want to _____, I'm too tired."
-"Please don't pee on the rug."
-"Go to bed."
-"Get off the couch."
-"When was the last time you took a bath/shower?"
-"Why don't you listen?"
-"Sometimes I think God put you in my life just to annoy me."
-"You're trying my patience."
-"So help me God, if there's a mess in there...."
-"I love you." (I had to throw this one in to make up for everything else.)

It's a never-ending crapshoot as to what they're going to do next, but I love 'em and wouldn't trade them for the world.

Alive and Kickin'

2011-07-25T20:47:00.003-05:00

A typical Monday night:

-The Man is updating his workout journal, shirtless, while watching Friends.
-Dakota is licking my leg in an attempt to get onto the couch.
-A pan of brownies is cooling on the stove.
-There's a fly trapped in the blinds.
-I haven't showered in two days.

I realize that I have done a lackluster job of updating my blog, and for that I apologize. Here's a quick update of the past two months:

-The Man graduated valedictorian from Police Academy in early June. He also won the Ironman physical fitness award. He's awesome.
-I'm working at Dick's Sporting Goods and am slowly getting over the stigma of working retail. I can sell baseball bats and quote Shakespeare. Well-rounded.
-Dakota is Dakota. I'm still adjusting to having a dog, but at least now I don't have a nervous breakdown every time she barks. She's equally cute as she is snarky. Just like me.

So there. I could write a lot more, but I'm exhausted and those brownies aren't going to eat themselves. I'll update again this week when I have more time and less chocolate temptation.

A Dog Like Me

2011-05-21T22:34:00.003-05:00

So you've met our dog, Dakota:

And you've met me: the world's most anal dog owner.

We had only had her for a day or two when the Man pointed out some personality similarities between our little dog and me. I ignored his smart remarks at first, but as time goes on, I'm starting to notice a strange similarity. For example(s):

Dakota is downright stubborn when she wants to be. She knows when it's bedtime, but will lay down a few feet in front of her kennel and refuse to move. She will clench her teeth when it's time to administer her medicine. If she doesn't want to do something, good luck changing her mind.

Dakota is a line-pusher. She knows she's not supposed to go downstairs when we're upstairs, so she'll lay down as close to the steps as possible. One time I caught her trying to sneak down along the wall, out of my line of sight. She likes to see just how far she can go without getting into trouble.

Dakota is an instigator. One of her favorite pastimes is picking a fight with our good friends' 75+ pound German Shepard mix. This dog could eat her in one bite, but Dakota doesn't care. She's completely unaware of her size and will challenge any competition.

Dakota is a scaredy-cat. Despite her "tough-dog" image, she won't go near the dishwasher, washing machine, vacuum, or blow dryer. We've just recently gotten her used to Duke, the Man's ridiculously loud truck.

Dakota is sensitive. She hates being yelled at or scolded, and will do everything she can to win back our favor.

Dakota hates mornings. Good luck getting her out of bed -- she'll only leave because she has to go to the bathroom, then it's right back under the covers.

So you see, I think this dog and I were made for each other. And with all our powers combined, we can terrorize the Man like never before. I guess this dog-ownership thing isn't as bad as I thought.

Most Anal Dog Owner. Ever.

2011-05-10T21:48:00.002-05:00

Yes, I know it's been a month since I last posted, and I'm sorry. Here's a complete update of our lives in 10 words or less:

We work a lot. We got a dog. The end.

For as long as I can remember, I've loved dogs. I always wanted one, but my family was too busy to tend to the needs of a canine (not to mention the fact that my mother is pretty much convinced that any dog larger than a dachshund will eat her face). I would make friends with our weird neighbors just so that I could play with their dogs. Almost every guy I ever dated had a dog. Needless to say, I'm a dog person.

Or so I thought.

Prior to moving to Louisville, the Man and I tried our hand at adopting a dog. The timing couldn't have been worse, with him moving here while I stayed in Chicago. After a few days, we (ok, I) made the tough decision to give the dog away until we could get settled. Now that we're both working and have gotten into a routine of sorts, the Man brought up the idea of getting a dog. We started looking at local (and in the case of our trip to Chicago at Easter, not so local) animal shelters "just to look." One week later, we came home with Dakota.

I thought owning a dog was as simple as feeding it, taking it for a walk, playing fetch, and picking up poop. Not too difficult, right? So why am I losing sleep hoping and praying she doesn't whine or bark in her kennel in fear of waking the neighbors? (The neighbors whose dogs I almost made "mysteriously disappear" a few weeks ago.) I'm not worried about normal dog behavior issues like eating the remote control or peeing on my new rug; I don't want my dog to lick herself in public. I don't want her to lick herself in the house. I don't want her to lick herself period. I don't want her to bark. I don't want her to smell. I don't want her to have bad breath. I don't want her to shed. I don't want her to throw up. I don't want her to eat bugs. I don't want her to dig her nails into my new rug. I don't want her to spill her water everywhere. I don't want her to jump. I want her to sit quietly in the corner, politely chewing on a non-rawhide bone, smelling like a fresh garden meadow.

Basically, I don't want her to be a dog.

The Man has been my source of reason through this transition, constantly reassuring me that the majority of her behavior is normal. He finds my irrational thinking very entertaining, however, and helps me cope by purposefully making Dakota bark at 10:30pm (God love him). Lord help me for when we decide to have children....I don't think my blood pressure can handle it.

(to be continued)

Content

2011-04-10T20:12:00.002-05:00

You guys, I am so unbelievably content. Not happy, because happiness is a fleeting emotion that can change on a whim, but content: at peace with the life God has given me.

These past 8 months have been one heck of a ride, to say the least. God has used this time to test my faith and through days of solitude, He forced me to rely on Him for comfort, direction, and provision. Back in January, when I lived in a perpetual state of misery and sweatpants, I couldn't believe that we had given up our safe and comfortable lives in Bourbonnais for this. We had everything we thought we needed: a home, full-time jobs, friends, family...but God has showed me that He did not intend for the Man and I to live a "safe" life.

When I was in high school/college, I really struggled with my identity and finding my place in this world. One night my mom and I were having a conversation about my purpose and she told me that God created two types of people: marshmallows and steel. Steel has to withstand the hottest and most brutal fires in order to reach its full potential. It's not glamorous or flashy, but tough and strong. Marshmallows are fluffy and sweet and overall wonderful, but cannot survive the flames. She then pointed a finger at me and declared with such conviction, "You, Lauren, are NOT a marshmallow."

If I was a marshmallow, I never would have moved down here. I would have stayed in Bourbonnais where I was safe and continued to live my fluffy marshmallowy life. God knows what the Man and I can handle, and though there have been many fires, we are confident that we will not be consumed. Our relationship is so much stronger, both with the Lord and with each other. This is were God wants us and I am content in Him.

So very content.

No, Really, I Have a Life Now

2011-04-04T21:02:00.004-05:00

*Edit: I don't know why Blogger isn't including paragraph breaks, so please excuse the really long jumbled mess.* Ok, so maybe life has gotten just a teeny bit busy since my last blog post. I know how all of you loved my blog posts about my adventures in baking, doing laundry, and trying not to murder my neighbor's dog. But take heart, those things are still happening.... In the meantime, God has blessed me with not one, but two part-time jobs in the Louisville area. Monday through Thursday I work as a "part-time academic assistant" (read: kid wrangler and occasional tutor) for the YMCA in Louisville. I travel to two different elementary/middle schools to help kids with their homework after school. The students are great and it's hilarious to hear them talk with their southern accents. The only downside to this job, other than keeping kids from sneezing on me, is trying to remember basic algebraic equations. I literally had to tell a student that I had no idea how to help her and she should ask one of her classmates. Not one of my finer moments. When I'm not busy shaping the young minds of America, I am a "team sports sales associate" at the local Dick's Sporting Goods (read: I stock and tell people which baseball bat to buy). All jokes aside, I am getting paid to organize, clean, and arrange sports equipment symmetrically. Best.Job.Ever. When we first moved here I swore up and down that I wouldn't work in retail because it carried the stigma of "those who can't, work retail." But when it's the end of February and I'm still spending 23 hours a day in sweatpants and not contributing to our financial situation whatsoever, social stigmas go out the window. And apparently I'm pretty good at what I do, as my manager recently asked me if I was interested in moving up into management. I told my mom that I feel like I earned a gold medal at the wanna-be Olympics: it doesn't really mean anything, but it's still shiny. Hey, I'm happy, I'm earning money, and I get a sweet discount. Wha-bam. Oh and yes, the Man is still alive and as snarky as ever. He's over halfway through police academy and cannot wait for graduation. The next time I get a free moment to blog, I'll be sure to include some of our recent conversations. Be prepared. Welp, my neighbor's stupid dog has started howling, which means it's bedtime. I promise I will try to be more diligent in updating my blog. Try.

Secrets

2011-02-24T20:56:00.002-06:00

"Secrets, secrets are no fun. Secrets, secrets hurt someone."

Well, not ALL secrets are bad in my opinion. I'm sure some people don't need to know that I can quote the entire Star Wars trilogy verbatim or that I own a pink makeup case [it was free and it does the job -- don't judge]. However, after several meaningful conversations with friends and family, I realized that I have been giving off wrong impressions unintentionally. Some of my opinions have been misleading and I want to take a moment to clarify. I cherish integrity and to me, integrity is being true to one's self regardless of environment or circumstances. So here's the truth.

I want to be a mom. This is probably the scariest fact I have to admit. For years I have stood on my soapbox proclaiming how I don't ever want kids. I was so sincere that I convinced my friends, coworkers, and my family of such. I'm not a "natural born mother" as I like to call them; I don't enjoy baby-sitting and could never hack it as a nanny. Up until just a few weeks ago I believed the lie that I couldn't be a good mom simply because I'm not "momish." But the truth is, I can't picture not having children. I want the connection, the bond, the love, the laughs, the tears, the struggles, the fights. Am I ready yet? No. But that doesn't mean I can't or won't be a great mom someday. It's so refreshing to finally come to terms with this.
I love being a housewife. My feminist friends are probably going to burn me at the stake for this, but I love taking care of my husband. Sure he leaves his gear all over the living room on a daily basis and eats more food than what is considered safe, but I have loved every single minute with the Man. He has been working so hard to achieve his dream and I feel as though the best way to support him right now is to take care of the home. At the end of the day, after he's been beat up and worn down, I don't want him to worry about what to make for dinner or if his uniform is ironed. I love him desperately. End of story.
I'm a huge scaredy-cat. Probably due to my strong personality and remnant feminism, at times I have given off a "tough-girl" image: I can handle anything. Not only am I afraid of stupid things like spiders, clowns, the dark, and Steve Buscemi, but I'm afraid of much bigger issues like relationships, failure, success, loneliness, faith, etc. If this move has taught me anything (other than Chick-Fil-A is a gift from God), I'm much less independent and confident than I think I am. I hate being lonely and am afraid that I won't meet others' expectations. Fear can be debilitating, but I'm trying not to let it dictate my decisions anymore.

I know that a blog seems like a silly place for a catharsis, but if I'm going to be real, I have to start somewhere. There are many more "secrets" to be told, but it's getting late and the Man is snoring so loudly I can't hear myself think. Until next time...

Land of the Perpetual Turn Signal

2011-02-18T19:44:00.003-06:00

When we first moved down here I thought Kentuckiana drivers were kind and considerate, letting others merge and whatnot. Upon further review, my opinions are beginning to wane a bit. Why you ask?

The vast majority drive 5 miles under the speed limit. Where I'm from, it's standard to drive at least 5-10 miles per hour over the speed limit. And that's just on back roads. Interstates are fair game. My speeding ticket is pending, I'm sure.
When I venture out of the house odds are I will encounter at least one car with the perpetual turn signal. He or she will drive for miles with the turn signal blinking and no intention of changing lanes.
Very few people turn right on red. Unless there is a sign clearly stating, "No Turn on Red," go for it. C'mon now, we're in Kentuckiana -- it's not like there are a million cars around. Just do it.
Drivers actually slow down and stop at a yellow light. Who does this?
Many times Kentuckiana drivers will stop way ahead of the white line, thus missing the sensor for the traffic light. The Man and I almost had brain aneurysms when we missed three cycles of a traffic light due to the Lexus stopped short in front of us. Seriously?
Symmetrical white lines painted on the ground in parking lots indicate designated parking areas. Folks around here see these merely as guidelines. Double-parking abounds.
The left lane is no longer the fast lane. I'm still in mourning.
Before moving here, the only time I came to a full and complete stop at a stop sign was during my driving test. (Check my driving record -- the ticket for rolling through a stop sign proves it.)
Left turn lane + green light - traffic = GO!

Part of me feels guilty when my road rage surfaces, considering everyone is still so nice. And it's ironic that my blood pressure increases when surrounded by slower, less offensive drivers. Just goes to show I'm still a Chicago driver at heart.

Accomplished

2011-02-10T20:47:00.004-06:00

Ok, so I still don't have a job. I don't really know any of my neighbors, other than what I hear through the walls. I haven't made any significant friends outside of those preexisting from college. I haven't enrolled in graduate school. I am not pregnant nor do I intend to become pregnant in the foreseeable future.

HOWEVER:

This loaf of bread proves that I am, indeed, accomplished. In my 26 years I have done a lot of things, but never baked a loaf of homemade bread. I always admired those who had baked bread from scratch, primarily my mom. She could (and still can) bake like nobody's business. It's her therapy, as she puts it. But for some reason, the idea of trying to emulate Wonderbread intimidated me.

Until today.

I sucked up my fear of the unknown, drove to three different grocery stores in search of active dry yeast, and did it. And I did it right. Like, kneading the dough for 10 minutes straight (props to you, mom -- it's tiring!), letting it rise for an hour, punching it down, waiting again, and then finally baking it to a perfect, crusty, golden-brown goodness. I'll tell you what, I'm sure my neighbors didn't mind the paper thin walls this afternoon.

It didn't take long for the Man to discover my accomplishment and subsequently:

My accomplishment is more than halfway gone, but that's ok. I was positively giddy as I took it out of the oven and I'm the sure the Man thought I'd lost my marbles. (Actually, he stood there smiling as I gloated over my creation for a good 10 minutes.) I made a loaf of homemade bread! *sigh* Man, I feel good.

So I guess this is what my life has reduced to: blogging about a loaf of bread. There are way more exiting things going on in our lives, like our new rug and wall sconces, but I don't want to brag about our lifestyle. Although, my mom did just recently visit and it was probably the BEST time I have ever had with her. Yes, we ate our way across Louisville but more importantly my soul was refreshed. It was exactly what my heart and soul needed.

Homemade bread and my mom. What a great combo.

Because III Isn't Enough...

2011-02-01T21:42:00.003-06:00

The Man: "Oh by the way, I need to start wearing white mock turtlenecks under my uniform, so can we buy some of those?"
Me: "Ok. Do they need to be anything specific? Like Under Armour or something?"
The Man: "No, just white. But Under Armour would be nice. I sweat so much with my vest on, I need something to absorb it. Under Armour helps whisk it away."
Me: "I think you mean wick."
The Man: "No, I meant whisk. Like, to take away."
Me: "Whisk means to be swept off your feet, like Prince Charming whisked her away to a far away land."
The Man: "My sweat will be whisked away and swept off my armpits."
Me: "Seriously. It's a wicking fabric. Not a whisking fabric."
The Man [gets a dictionary]: "Whisk: to move nimbly and quickly."
Me: "Whatever. It's wick."
The Man: "A wick is what's in a candle."
Me: "It's a wicking fabric! I'm going to look it up."
The Man: "Fine. But my sweat will move nimbly and quickly."

The Man [in bed {gaseous expulsion}]: "You're welcome."
Me: "For what? Your fart?"
The Man: "I turned away so that I wouldn't fart on you."
Me: "You're so kind."
The Man: "That's why I said, 'You're welcome.'"

The Man: "If I were to put you in full guard and wrap up your arms, do you think you could escape?"
Me: "I don't know."
The Man: "Let's try it." [throws me on the ground, puts me in full guard, and wraps up my arms] Ok can you get out?"
Me: "Not really. And I can't breathe."
The Man: "You're not supposed to be able to."
Me: "This is not fun."
The Man: "Defensive tactics aren't always fun."
Me: "This wasn't my choice!"
The Man: "You gotta fight back."
Me: "Can we eat dinner instead?"
The Man: "Once you try to get out."
Me: "Seriously, can't breathe."
The Man: "I'll loosen up a bit."
Me: "Must we grapple every night? Why can't we just sit down and have a nice dinner?"
The Man: "We will. Just defend my rear naked choke first..."

Throw in some ho ho's and a few episodes of Dexter, and you've got Tuesday night.

Conversations With the Man (Part III)

2011-01-27T21:50:00.002-06:00

Don't worry, despite all the moving and new job and such, we're still having the most obscure conversations....

The Man [while hanging a poster board]: "I think I may have warmed up this sticky-tac a little too much."
Me: "Is it extra sticky?"
The Man: "Sort of. It kinda has the consistency of the cheese on a Giordano's pizza."
Me: "Wow. That's quite a specific description."
The Man: "I wanted to make sure you could picture it."

The Man [sound asleep]: "Ha ha ha! Oh I have to kill you."
Me: "Honey, are you ok?"
The Man: "They have to go over there."
Me: "Honey, are you sleeping?"
The Man: "No."
Me: "Are you sure?"
The Man: "No."
Me: "Maybe you should go back to sleep."
The Man: "Ok."

[At P.F. Chang's with prospective couple friends]
The Man: "I don't think I'll like anything."
Me: "There are plenty of meat options, spicy meat options."
The Man [to the waitress]: "Can I order this without any vegetables?"
Waitress: "So you just want a plate of meat?"
The Man: "Yes, please."
[30 minutes later]
The Man [whispering]: "That did not fill me up."
Me: "That's because you only ordered half the dish."
The Man: "I want McDonald's."
Me: "Shh! We can swing by McDonald's on the way home if you're still hungry."
The Man: "This is why I like Cracker Barrel. Plenty of food."
Me: "Next time we'll pick the restaurant. It'll be ok. Just shush!"

[WARNING: The following post may be offensive to some readers. It was an amusing, yet very informative and serious conversation. Please don't judge us.]

The Man: "We learned today that the (electronic identification system -- I can't remember the acronym) can be very specific in recognizing physical features."
Me: "Oh yeah? Like tattoos and piercings and stuff?"
The Man: "Well yeah that. And missing parts. And extra parts."
Me: "Missing parts? Like a leg?"
The Man: "Mm hmm. Or a penis."
Me: "Missing a penis?!"
The Man: "Yep."
Me: "Isn't that called a woman?"
The Man: "Not if it's been cut off. There's also missing testicles."
Me: "Yeesh. Is there anything for a missing hoo hah?"
The Man: "No. You can't see a woman's hoo hah. It wouldn't make sense to have it in the system."
Me: "Yeah I guess you're right. Wow. I hope you never have to encounter any of that."
The Man: "There's also extra left, right, and center breast. And extra nipples, too."
Me: "Did you guys specifically look up all of the dirty options?"
The Man: [no answer]
Me: "I am so proud of you."

Gonna Gitcha

2011-01-26T14:25:00.002-06:00

Big news in the Heller house: I am composing this blog post from the comfort of my very own couch in our very own townhouse. I am sitting in my fat pants (after a thorough butt-kicking from P90x), chugging water, and listening my neighbors scold what I hope is their dog ("Go potty, Chance! No, Chance! Go pee, Chance! Chance, no!").

I have not yet found a job in the Louisville area, and since the Man and I are living on one income, our budget has tightened significantly. Despite our super-tight budget, I managed to convince the Man that my emotional well-being depends on my connection to the outside world via the Internet. Plus, I was spending just as much per month on coffee alone and those sweet concoctions are laden with fat and calories. SO...not only will I reduce the number and frequency of big noisy fusses, but I will be skinnier. I get to Skype my mom, and he gets a less emotional and more attractive wife. Everybody wins.

As we're slowly settling into the area, we're also learning more and more of the southern vernacular. For example, the Man came home the other day and taught me the meaning of "gitcha" and "gettum." The police aren't going to get you, they're gonna "gitcha." And they're not going to apprehend the suspect, they're gonna "gettum." Very important phrases. Also, it's important to differentiate the pronunciation of "Po-lice" and opposed to "Puh-lease." Apparently some perps just think the cops are being polite when they bang on the door.

The Man just finished his defensive tactics training at the academy, much to my relief. As tough as he is, it's hard to see him come home with bruises, cuts, and taser burns all over his body. He walked in the door the other night and was asleep on the couch by 6:45pm. Poor guy was exhausted. I guess beating the crap out of each other for 8 hours a day will do that to a person. Although my sympathy promptly ran out when he started chasing me around the house with his taser. Thus is the life of a cop's wife.

So in closing, we have internet, the Man is as snarky as ever, and I haven't yet cried this week. Oh and did I mention my mom is coming to visit in one week and two days? Life is good.

Big Noisy Fuss

2011-01-19T14:27:00.002-06:00

If you've been following my blog for any length of time, you know that I'm not exactly the passive-type. I tend to voice my opinions quite strongly (at least online) and when I'm upset/mad/disappointed, you'll know it.

Which is exactly why I feel the need to apologize to my neighbors for my big noisy fuss the other night (remember, paper thin walls).

Reality has finally sunk in that I'm not on an extended vacation, and won't be headed back to Bourbonnais next week. This is our new home. The excitement of moving and getting settled has worn off, but we haven't made any significant connections yet. I know getting established and making friends takes time, but it's really hard to be patient when I spend 8+ hours a day by myself.

It also doesn't help when the Man is constantly busy with volunteer work, autopsies, ride-alongs, and speciality training. It feels like he's all I've got and when he's gone....life gets lonely. He's made friends and his job is so new and exciting, he doesn't have time to be bored. As a good friend once said, I'm like a puppy when he gets home: "Hi! I missed you! Come talk to me and play with me and keep me busy! I love you!" Poor guy doesn't know what hit him.

So I threw a big noisy fuss. Being the loving husband that he is, he held me close and just let me cry. He knows it's hard on me, but he also knows that it's going to get better. He kept telling me that everything is going to be ok and it won't always be like this. Although at the time, I just wanted him to own up that all of this is his fault; following his dream and dragging me down here. Oh well.

But really, I know that things will get better and it will just take time. The transition is harder than I thought, but I'll get through it. The Lord has been and will continue to be faithful to us. I just have to learn to make new friends. Welcome back to 2nd grade, Ramona....

Disconnected

2011-01-12T15:28:00.002-06:00

This whole "not having internet at home" deal is for the birds. However, as I still do not have a job and our budget is tighter than ever, I'm back at Starbucks.

Not that I'm complaining.

We've been here for two weeks and we're adjusting fairly well (sans my two complete mental and emotional breakdowns -- I'm entitled to those). Instead of explaining each enlightenment, I'll make a list! Because that's what I do...

This Starbucks doesn't believe in heat. Brilliant for business, terrible for my poor frozen hands.
P90x is freaking ridiculous. It's a great workout, but if I hear Tony Horton tell one more corny joke, I'm going to "bring it" through the TV.
Our neighbors are not adhering to the "pet must be under 15 inches tall" rule. We've never seen the dog, but judging by the baritone bark and wall-shaking galloping, we're pretty confident it's a behemoth.
25 MPH school zones are enforced 24/7 in Indiana, not just during the school day.
Beer cheese soup makes our house smell like a pub. Oh and I can buy beer now without worrying about losing my job. Pretty cool.
Chick-Fil-A is closed on Sundays. This is common knowledge, but it doesn't hit home until you have an intense craving for chicken strips and Polynesian sauce after church.
PNC banks do not have change counters, therefore we are forced to "roll change." I'm from Chicago; we don't do this. How do they know I won't stuff the roll with tin foil or washers instead of quarters?
Our hot water heater only has two settings: scalding and blistering. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad it's not the other way around, but it's hard to relax when I'm afraid my skin is going to peel off.
Our walls are paper thin. Enough said.
We attended Southeast Christian Church on Sunday, otherwise known as "Six Flags Over Jesus." Ginormous doesn't even begin to describe it. Great preaching, if you can find your way back to the sanctuary from the bathroom.
We finally got a GPS, but it has rendered itself useless since the only places I go are Starbucks and Target. Oh well.
The Man has a new best friend in his duty weapon, Maxwell. Yes, he named his gun. And yes, he goes everywhere with us. Even to church.
The Man has made several friends in Academy, but since they are forced to address each other by last name only, he doesn't know any of their first names. This makes for great introductions.
So far I have successfully hung two pictures, a mirror, a towel rack, and a wall shelf without a power drill. I am awesome.

So that's that! Oh for those who would like an update on the Man (since he's the reason we live here) he's doing very well. He just finished his firearms training, which he passed with flying colors. Each night he comes home and showcases his latest war wounds from defensive training and then proceeds to practice on his unsuspecting and unwilling wife. Our fridge is adorned with shooting targets. Our living room is filled with ammo, magazines, combat boots, duty belts, and various pieces of his uniform. He's so happy and I'm so proud of him.

I'll do my best to get to Starbucks and update on a weekly basis. That is, until I find a job and we can afford internet again. But don't hold your breath -- sleeping in until 10am is a hard habit to break.

Howdy Y'all

2010-12-31T13:45:00.000-06:00

It's official -- the Man and I are residents of Kentuckiana.

And if I have to open/close/breakdown/move/lift/touch one more box, I'm going to lose my mind.

As we currently do not have internet at home, (I'm trying to convince the Man that while I support his simplistic approach to life, I cannot function without some sort of connection with the outside world other than the mailman and Wal-Mart greeter), I am writing this post in a Starbucks overlooking Churchill Downs. Not too shabby, eh?

I'm slowly adjusting to life down here. We don't have a GPS, so finding ANYTHING outside of the interstate and Veteran's Parkway is an adventure. I still haven't found our local bank branch and I almost ran out of gas trying to find my way home from Target. I've managed to forget my debit card at an ATM in downtown Louisville and I'm pretty sure my neighbors think I'm a hermit.

But it's not all bad. There are some really nice people around here; genuinely nice people. Today, when I was almost run over by a giant pickup truck in the Aldi parking lot, the guy jumped out to apologize. "I'm so sorry, ma'am. I didn't see you. Are you alright?" I'm pretty sure anyone in Chicago would have yelled and flipped me the bird. And just a few minutes ago, the guy sitting at the table next to me asked if I wouldn't mind proofreading the introduction to his paper. A complete stranger asked me to edit his paper. In a Starbucks. A stranger! I can't wrap my mind around this.

Complete strangers will strike up a conversation with me as if we've been friends for years. The Wal-Mart associate's brother in Atlanta is trying out for America's Got Talent. The Starbucks barista loves sweeping and mopping floors but hates cleaning bathrooms (can't blame her). The other Starbucks barista was born with his heart on the opposite side of his chest. The woman in line at Target can't seem to find twin-sized Colts sheets for her grandson's bedroom. Such nice people.

So...we're here and we're trying to find our niche. I feel much better about life now that my living room is put together and I only have to unpack a few more fling-flangin' boxes. I still can't find garbage bags or dishwasher detergent, but we'll survive. At least I know my way to Starbucks and Chic-Fil-A.

Until next time...

Almost There...

2010-12-15T11:45:00.003-06:00

So...

Many...

Boxes...

It's been a week since my last post about procrastinating, and I can honestly say I've made some significant progress. Well, I should say my parents made some significant progress. I helped by staying out of the way and getting Jimmy John's for lunch. Seriously though, I cannot thank my parents enough for all of their help in this undertaking, since the Man thinks pursuing a career and fulfilling his dream is more important than helping his wife move. Hu-rumph.

The house is just about packed which has left me in quite a pickle in terms of living day to day. I've already had to tear open two boxes because I packed all of my scarves and winter hats (thank you -10 wind chill). My brother and I have been eating PB&J and noodles for almost every meal since the entire kitchen is packed away. And I can't say I haven't bribed my friends slash coworkers slash grandparents to take me out to lunch. Desperate times.

Oh and I have to wear the same 3 outfits to work because I'm the dingus who packed everything and disconnected the washer/dryer. Awesome.

Procrastination is an Art

2010-12-08T09:04:00.002-06:00

Ok, so it's no big secret that the Man and I are moving south. He moved in with friends and has been in police academy for over a month now. We found a wonderful town home in southern Indiana, I submitted my resignation letter, booked a moving truck, and have December 18th circled in red and labeled "MOVING DAY" on my refrigerator calendar. It's no surprise that we're moving.

So then why didn't anyone tell me that moving requires packing and cleaning?

Ever since the Man accepted his new job, I've been putting off the fact that I had to pack and clean. I keep saying to myself, "Oh we're not moving until Christmas. We've got plenty of time to pack." Thanksgiving has come and gone and even so, I was thinking that December 18th was eons away. After looking at my calendar this morning, I have exactly 10 days to pack up and clean my entire house.

10 days. Entire house.

Enter panic mode. I wasn't trying to procrastinate, it just kinda happened! I've been busy looking for a new job, finding a place to live, driving 520 miles every weekend to visit the Man, and keeping up with the new season of House. Priorities. But now the heat is on and I've gotta get my act together. Luckily, my wonderful parents have agreed to come down this weekend for a packing blitz. Hopefully we can get everything done so I don't have to end up packing like the Man does and just shove everything into the truck all willy nilly.

I think that's the first time I've used willy nilly in my blog. Ha ha!

Ok, I need to stop procrastinating and get to packing! Here I go...wish me luck!

America's Crossroads: Who Cares?

2010-12-03T20:36:00.004-06:00

I guess this whole "moving south and establishing a new life together" thing is really happening. The Man and I got a call from our landlady confirming our move-in date. We have a new address. And it's in Indiana. Here's another shocking piece of information about me: I don't like Indiana. It's flat. It's boring. And the resident drivers don't take advantage of the 70 mph speed limit.

Seriously though, as a Chicagoan, Indiana is like our pesky neighbor. They're not cool enough to be invited to the barbecue so they just linger at the fence and stare into our backyard. They have weird rules and rituals and they dress funny. They probably give out Bit O' Honeys on Halloween. Not cool, Indiana.

BUT...the Man and I are out to change all that (ok, maybe not so much the Man as he really doesn't care either way). With Starbucks in hand and lead foot on the gas, I am on a mission to make Indiana cool again. I will drive 10 over the speed limit, wear pants that go past my ankles, and maintain proper hygiene for all of my teeth. I will make Indiana a proud state once again.

I just need to figure out how to get to our new house first.

What I Learned at School Today

2010-12-01T15:25:00.003-06:00

Every night on his way back from academy, the Man calls to tell me what cool new things he learned that day. Most of the time it's just law mumbo jumbo with a little bit of physical testing thrown in. (By the way, he got 2nd place in the Physical Standard Test and received the coveted black shirt. He benched 295 and did 109 consecutive pushups. He's awesome, I know.) Anyway, here are a few of the standout lessons he's learned thus far:

1. When frisking a female suspect, always check behind the bra as she may be hiding a .40 pistol between her shoulder blades.
2. In the South, a winter hat is called a toboggan. The poor Man spent the entire scenario project wondering why a perp would carry around a sled after robbing a gas station.
3. According to the sex crimes/abuse case worker, a woman's vagina is very accommodating.
4. Never try to slap handcuffs onto someone's wrists. It will hurt. (I may or may not have learned this lesson on my own.)
5. Lint is evil and wrinkles are the spawn of Satan.
6. Be mindful when frisking a gangsta with saggy pants. What may appear to be a weapon behind the belt buckle may be something very different...
7. Don't fall asleep during the taser lesson.
8. You can never use enough shoe polish.

All laughs aside, I am incredibly proud of him and what he's accomplished so far. He absolutely loves academy and is thriving in the environment. Just a few more weeks until we can move into our own place and be a family again. It will be so nice to spend more than 48 hours together. Until then, I'll keep learning about frisking, southern vernacular, and what items I can hide in my bra.

Bike Riding and Buffets

2010-11-22T14:17:00.005-06:00

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

2010-11-14T21:27:00.001-06:00

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

2010-11-07T20:55:00.002-06:00

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

2010-11-04T14:47:00.000-05:00

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

2010-11-02T14:07:00.000-05:00

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...

Conversations With the Man (Part II)

2010-10-28T16:16:00.002-05:00

This is why we don't have kids yet...

(I call the Man from work to ask him a question. He answers with a weird tone in his voice.)
Me: What's wrong?
The Man: Oh I just have a hard time multi-tasking.
Me: What are you doing?
The Man: Trying to get blood out of my pants.
Me: [long pause] Do I even want to know how?
The Man: Well, I was crushing the cans with my hands and felt that my hand was wet. I thought it was just water so I wiped it off on my pants. Turns out it was blood.
Me: Well, are you ok?
The Man: Yeah, it's just a small cut. But now I'm trying to get the blood out of my pants.
Me: How is that multi-tasking?
The Man: I took them off to soak them in OxyClean, but then I noticed that the bedroom was messy. I was cleaning up the clothes when I noticed that my nightstand was filled with junk so I started cleaning that. But then I remembered my pants were in the bucket of hot water in the hallway so I went back to cleaning my pants. And now you called so I'm talking to you.
Me: Did you do all of that with no pants on?
The Man: [No answer]
Me: Tell me you have pants on.
The Man: I do now.
Me: Do you need me to clean your pants?
The Man: No, they're soaking in hot water in the mop bucket.
Me: You put the entire pair of pants in the mop bucket?
The Man: Yeah.
Me: In the hallway?
The Man: Yeah.
Me: *sigh*
The Man: I took care of it.

Bam! It's My Birthday...

2010-10-27T09:30:00.002-05:00

In light of the new job and big move, I almost forgot that it's my birthday! That fact in and of itself is pretty shocking considering October 27th is a national holiday and all...

Growing up my family didn't make a huge deal out of birthdays (read: no ponies or Super Sweet 16 bashes), but we kept little traditions to help us feel special.

Birthday Cereal: As kids, we weren't allowed to eat cereals with more than 10 grams of sugar per serving. Whenever we went grocery shopping, we were trained to read nutrition labels to see which cereals were acceptable. (To this day, I have the sugar content of many major brands memorized.) On our birthdays however, we could choose any cereal we wanted and it was our special birthday cereal. Count Chocula was my choice every time.
Birthday Hot Lunch: I went to a very small public school on the south side of Chicago where we didn't have a cafeteria or lunch room. From 1st through 8th grade, everyone brought their own sack lunch and we ate at our desks. On my birthday, my mom would ask what hot lunch I wanted (read: fast food) and she would deliver it to my classroom. I loved looking at the back of the classroom at 11:30am to see a Happy Meal perched on the bookshelf with my name on it. Happy day!
Birthday Card from Papa & Gram: From age 1 to 18, my grandparents gave me a birthday card with the same amount of cash as the age I was turning. So on my 6th birthday, I received $6, $7 the next year, etc. It was a great and simple tradition, which they continue with my younger cousins. Now that I'm an adult, I still get a card with the same salutation, "Love, Papa & Gram XOXO" and it makes my heart so happy.
Free Food: As a poor college student, I realized that certain restaurants give away free food on birthdays if I signed up for their newsletter. Sure my inbox is filled with stupid offers on any given day, but this week ALONE I received a free Starbucks drink, a free medium Dunkin Donuts coffee, a free appetizer from Texas Roadhouse, a free dessert from Beef O'Brady's, a free Rooty Tooty Fresh N' Fruity from IHOP, and a free appetizer from Lonestar Steakhouse. Can't beat that.

So to the other 5,999,999,999 people in the world, it's just another Wednesday (or Thursday if you're in Australia). But to me, it's the one day a year I can eat whatever I want, whenever I want, and not feel guilty about it. BAM! It's my birthday.

Hello? tap tap Anyone Out There?

2010-10-22T16:51:00.002-05:00

Ugh. Nothing saps the life right outta you like a cold. The Man started feeling a bit under the weather early on in the week and being the amazing wife that I am, subjected myself to the thousands of germs he sneezed and coughed onto my face while taking care of him. Thus, I've spent the last two days snuggled up on my couch with enough DayQuil, Afrin, cough drops, zinc drops, grape juice, and kleenexes to make it through Armageddon. Seriously.

All of that being said, I've had some time on my hands to finally update the blog. And since it's Friday, I think it's fitting to finally bring back the Five on Friday. And let me tell you....it's a DOOZY!

1. I guess I should probably start with the biggest news of all. Remember that super-top-secret-yet-possibly-life-changing job interview the Man had a few weeks ago? After several trips and one very important phone call, the Man has been officially offered a job as a police officer from the Louisville Metro Police Department! That's Louisville, my friends. As in, Kentucky. Yee haw.

2. Subsequently, our lives have gone from 0 to 648 mph in less than two weeks. The Man will be leaving for academy in two weeks, while I stay here through Christmas to finish out my job. We've already taken several trips down south for orientation, HR stuff, and to search for a place to live. It's been stressful to say the least, but it's so exciting knowing that the Lord has finally answered our prayers.

3. In the midst of the job offer, we thought it would be a good idea to get a dog. A few days after the Man was offered the job, we adopted an 18 month old American Staffordshire Terrier affection ally known as Hoss. Unfortunately, I got caught up in the excitement of finally getting a dog that I didn't exactly think it all the way through. Trying to take care of a dog while searching for a new job, finding a new place, and saying goodbye to my husband for two months is not exactly the best timing. So after many arguments and tears, we said goodbye to Hoss. We're hoping to adopt another dog once we're settled into a routine down south.

4. I'm sick. This sucks. My nose hurts. My sinuses hurt. My whole body hurts. And I'm sick of watching daytime TV.

5. If I have to watch one more stupid election commercial, I'm going to move to Canada and forget this whole thing. At least I'm moving to redneck country where you either vote Republican or you don't show your face. Makes the decision easy.

So in short, I'm sick and we're moving to Kentucky. Happy Friday!

You Smell Like Rubber

2010-09-15T10:59:00.003-05:00

Growing up, my sister used to always laugh at me for talking in my sleep. Occasionally I would actually yell at her about something, then have absolutely no recollection of it the next morning. So last night when the Man came home from the gym after I was already in bed, it's no surprise that I vaguely remember this conversation:

The Man [crawling into bed]: "Hey I'm home. Sorry it's so late."
Me: "Mmmhmm."
The Man: "I love you."
Me: "You smell like rubber."
The Man: "What?"
Me: "I smell rubber. You smell like rubber."
The Man [smells his hands]: "I don't get it. I smell like rubber?"
Me: "YES! You smell like...a rubber band."
The Man: "Oh it's probably because I was helping Shalley with his workouts. He uses huge rubber bands kinda like the chains."
Me: "You smell like an eraser."
The Man: "Well, now you can have sweet dreams of middle school."
Me: "More like nightmares. I hated middle school."
The Man: "Ok, how about elementary school?"
Me: "Yeah that's ok."
The Man: "I love you, sweetheart. Goodnight."
Me: "Please keep your rubber hands away from my face....I love you too."

At least, I'm hoping I told him I loved him. Sometimes I can get pretty mean when in a half-conscious stupor. Shows him right for coming home late and smelling like rubber.

Five on...Monday?

2010-09-13T14:55:00.000-05:00

I guess it's my own fault that I can't use alliteration in the title. Last week was fairly busy for us, so unfortunately I didn't get a chance to write my fun facts on Friday -- so Monday will just have to do. Here we go...

1. Last week the Man traveled to an undisclosed location to interview for yet another undisclosed job which may or may not be life-changing. Vague enough? Anyway, we set a rather high budget for the short trip (36 hours) just in case and somehow the Man managed to blow through every.last.penny. He is no longer allowed to give me a hard time about spending my weekly fun money in two days.

2. Somehow I went from sitting on my butt watching "King of Queens" reruns to doing homework for graduate school, studying for my ACE certification, and preparing lessons for Financial Peace University. When did I get motivated?

3. Speaking of motivation, the Man and I had an interesting discussion about setting and achieving goals. Since he basically raised himself, he grew up having to work for everything he wanted. He has the strongest work ethic of anyone I know and refuses to settle for mediocrity. Meeting his goals isn't enough; he has to excel. And I admire him for it.

Me on the other hand - as long as I get an A, I'm all right. My motto throughout college (and yes, even now) is "minimum input for maximum output." Why study for 3 hours if I can study for just one and get the same result? Why run two miles when I can run 100 yards and not be obese? Unfortunately this attitude has left me bitter, bored, and just downright fat. I can't necessarily change my circumstances, but I can change my attitude (and what's in my fridge). Lesson learned.

4. On a happier note, I successfully made my first chicken fried venison steak. And no, I did not run two miles afterwards to burn off the calories. I'm bitter, remember?

5. Sometimes there's just nothing like driving down country roads in a packed Jetta singing Journey and Styx with your husband, brother, and soon-to-be sister in law on the way to a line dancing bar. Pure happiness.

Golden Star Award: Fall 2010

2010-09-08T11:34:00.000-05:00

It's that time of year again: leaves are changing, temperatures are falling, students are returning. With fall comes a new semester and a new semester means registration and registration means...

The Golden Star Award!

Typically I give the GSA to a stand-out student who inadvertently goes out of his or her way to make registration just a bit more entertaining. This year, it wasn't just one but a slew of students who deserve the coveted GSA:

The nerdy member of the marching band who got a girl's number while waiting in line for financial aid. FAFSA + saxophone = true love.
The blonde senior who came up to me and I quote, "So uh, someone told me that I like, need to sign something or whatever so I can, like, go to class or something? I'm not really sure cuz like, my parents always do this stuff and like I just don't know."
The mother with unbearable body odor who confronted me in the bathroom. She insisted on showing me the burn on her hand that she received from cooking dinner and proceeded to explain why she needs to wash it thoroughly in order to prevent MRSA.
The freshman who couldn't figure out how to write a check and subsequently went through four trying to get it right. She still ended up writing a check for "thirty hundred and two dollars."

I have to admit, I was a bit disappointed that I didn't have one stand-out GSA this year. I kept hoping that the next student would say something ridiculous or comment on my pants. Perhaps this group of students is of a higher caliber....but it's more likely I missed my chance during my lunch break.

Five on Friday (already?)

2010-08-27T10:40:00.003-05:00

I have a strange feeling that I'm only going to remember to post on Fridays, thus compiling my life into five neat and orderly facts. I digress...

1. My brother has officially moved in and has subsequently eaten us out of house and home. I have a hard enough time feeding the Man; now I have yet another 20-something to add to the table. Who knew that 2 family-sized boxes of cereal and two gallons of milk weren't enough for two guys for a week? Crazy.

2. Summer is over. Let me clarify: the summer weather isn't over (thank you Midwest humidity), but the laid back, student-less aspect is long gone. Students are returning ten-fold, which means fall registration is around the corner. And fall registration means long lines, crazy questions, clueless students, frustrated parents, working on a Saturday and gallons of Starbucks. Jealous?

3. I squatted 185 pounds the other day. The Man and I are really into physical fitness and Wednesdays are our "squat days." (FYI, the Man gets so excited about Tuesday "bench day" that he literally can't sleep the night before. It's like Christmas - in a sweaty kinda way.) I'm short and petite, so squatting 185 pounds is kinda a big deal. Now I can't walk without wanting to die, but whatever.

4. The Man decided that he wants to learn Spanish and has since downloaded the entire Rosetta Stone workshop. I'm proud of him for wanting to expand his horizons, but I wish he would speak to himself rather than repeating, "DONDE ESTA LA BIBLIOTECA?" to everyone in Starbucks.

5. Tuesday night marked my first official graduate course for the Master's of Organizational Leadership. With a sweet tea in hand, I had a great time meeting the other students in my cohort and listening to their academic/professional accomplishments. It was a bit intimidating, considering I don't have any professional accomplishments, but I can make people laugh. Night one: success.

Friday Fun Facts

2010-08-20T11:11:00.003-05:00

After reading countless blogs, which are exponentially more popular than mine, I've decided to add a little structure to each week. Introducing: Friday Fun Facts. (Or Five on Friday or Five Fun Facts for Friday or the Fabulous Five Forgotten Facts on Friday....the alliteration is endless.) Each Friday I will post five fun facts from the past week, the past month, or just the past hour. It's a trial run, so let's see how quickly I forget about it. Ready?

1. This past week we've had 4 different people tell us that our Jetta smells like crayons. Considering we are child-less and the Man and I have never used or even owned crayons since purchasing the car, the source remains a mystery. I'm afraid to clean out from under the seats.

2. Our lives are freakishly similar to Doug & Carrie on "The King of Queens." We have no kids, we both work, we spend our Saturday nights watching TV and eating take-out, my ridiculous-yet-lovable brother lives with us, and the Man is always making unrecognizable noises. Fortunately for the Man, he's not 250 pounds and I don't end every sentence with "idiot."

3. The Man changed a baby's diaper yesterday. It was epic. And he's better at it than I am.

4. My office just purchased Diet Orange Crush for our vending machine. I could not be more excited.

5. Did I mention that my brother is moving in with us this weekend? He's student teaching and needs a place to stay for the fall semester, so I figured what the heck? If anything I'll have more to blog about.

So that's that. Hopefully I'll remember to keep this going, unlike the Way Back Wednesday, or any other attempt to blog consistently. Enjoy!

When in Doubt, Order Pizza

2010-08-17T11:30:00.000-05:00

The Man and I have an unspoken principle that when life get tough, the tough order pizza. We don't know why, but gooey cheese helps make unpleasant circumstances a bit more manageable.

Yesterday was a doozy. We ordered pizza twice one day. From two different places. It was definitely the Monday of all Mondays.

The Man received a rejection letter from what looked like a promising job at a local police department, which put a damper on his entire day. In an attempt to cheer him up, I picked up a pepperoni pizza for his lunch break. For at least 25 minutes, he forgot about the whole thing. Pizza #1

As a reward for our "rice & beans" budget, the Man and I had planned a trip to Jamaica for next spring. We saved and saved and we were so excited to pay cash for a real vacation. Meanwhile, the tuition remission for my master's program (which begins tonight) doesn't include the cost of books. We knew this, but I was never informed as to how much was due and when. Sure enough, I got a letter stating that the payment was due: yesterday. The cost? Roughly the amount of our vacation fund. If I can't have fruity frozen drinks on a beach, I was at least going to have Papa John's. Pizza #2

All of this pizza may be good for our spirits, but not our waistlines. That being said, I was at the gym bright and early this morning to burn off the sympathy calories. When I came home, I was so exhausted I didn't feel like making myself breakfast -- so I ate leftover pizza. Pizza #2 1/2

Please don't judge us.

Not Just a Pretty Face

2010-08-11T11:19:00.003-05:00

I start my master's program in less than a week, so in preparation, I bought a new laptop computer. It's black and shiny and new and pretty and it has games. I'm sure there's a bunch of other features, but I'm not very familiar with computer speak. Case in point:

Me: [yawn] Gosh I'm exhausted.
The Man: You wouldn't be so tired if you didn't stay up so late playing on your new laptop.
Me: I wasn't playing! I was downloading important hardware.
The Man: Downloading hardware, huh?
Me: Yes, I had to install Microsoft Office and everything.
The Man: Honey, you don't download hardware.
Me: Then what did I just spend the last hour doing?
The Man: Downloading software.
Me: What's the difference?
The Man: [indistinct technological jargon]
Me: I don't understand a word you just said.
The Man: Ok. Hardware is the physical, tangible part of the computer. Software is the program that you run but don't see.
Me: But it was on a CD. Isn't that tangible?
The Man: [sighs] Technically, yes.
Me: Well ok then. I was downloading hardware.
The Man: No, you weren't. [Thinks for a second] Ok. You know what Mike McDaniel does? He writes software programs.
Me: No, he protects us from terrorists and hackers.
The Man: [sighs] Yes, but he does it by writing software programs.
Me: I miss Mike and Jessica.
The Man: Honey, focus. I want you to understand this.
Me: Ok ok. I think I get it.
The Man: Do you or are you just saying that?
Me: Yes! So the hardware is like Nintendo and software is like Super Mario Brothers?
The Man: [shakes his head and sighs] Sure.
Me: HA! I figured it out!

As an EMT and volunteer medic at the local hospital, the Man owns a very high-end (read: expensive and pretty) stethoscope. Every night after he runs, he takes his blood pressure and heart rate to make sure everything is running smoothly (no pun intended). Sometimes he leaves his stethoscope unattended...

Me: [I grabbed the stethoscope and started mimicking Darth Vader]
The Man: Sweetheart, are you playing with my stethoscope?
Me: No!
The Man: What are you doing?
Me: I'm checking my vitals. I don't think I have a heart rate.
The Man: You have the ear buds in backwards.
Me: Oh.
The Man: You weren't playing Darth Vader again were you?
Me: [silence]
The Man: This isn't a toy, you know.
Me: I know. I'm sorry.

Tan Wrinkled Raisin

2010-07-17T00:35:00.000-05:00

Before I get into the meat and potatoes of this blog post, I want to point out a few items of interest:

I am not writing this blog post at work. Shocking, I know. Believe it or not, work has been so busy, I simply haven't had time to write.
Ergo, I am at my next door neighbor's, which just so happens to be my younger brother.
I'm supposed to be helping the Man finish his online police application, but we ran out of ink so I sent him to Wal-Mart.
He forgot the debit card, so he returned from Wal-Mart with two orange Fantas instead.
I sent him back to Wal-Mart.
It's almost midnight on a Friday and I'm still awake. Make note of this.
The Man just walked in. Second trip = Success!
This is my 100th blog post. Ta-da!

And just in case you thought we were normal:

The Man [while laying in bed]: "I don't think I could ever retire. I would get bored."

Me: "Shoot, I can't wait til I retire."

The Man: "If you retired and I didn't, what would you do all day?"

Me: "I would lay by the pool, work on my tan, and drink mint juleps."

The Man: "You'd get all wrinkly. You'd be like a tan, wrinkly, raisin."

Me: [long silent stare]

The Man: "But you'd be my beautiful tan, wrinkly raisin."

Me: "Nice try."

The Man: "I'm sorry."

Me: "That's ok. You'll get saggy, you know."

The Man: "It's ok. They make a pill for that."

Me: [long silent stare] "That's not what I meant."

The Man: "They make pills for women, you know."

Me: "I'm going to bed."

Subway Follies

2010-06-30T08:35:00.003-05:00

The other night I went to Subway to pick up dinner and took my place in line behind an elderly couple and a strung-out, stereotypical white trash man and woman. Little did I know it would be so entertaining...

Sandwich Artist: "Welcome to Subway! How can I help you?"
Old Woman: "I have a coupon. Can I use it on any sandwich?"
Sandwich Artist: "Well, any sandwich except the beefsteak."
Old Woman: "Ok, I'll have the beefsteak."
Sandwich Artist: "You can't use the coupon then."
Old Woman: "But it hasn't expired!"
Sandwich Artist: "I know, but you can't use the coupon on the beefsteak."
Old Woman: "But I want the beefsteak."
(argument continues)

Sandwich Artist #2: "Welcome to Subway! What can I get you?"
Old Man: "I want the new chicken salad."
Sandwich Artist#2: "I'm sorry, but we're out of the chicken salad."
Old Man: "Ok what's in the seafood salad?"
Sandwich Artist #2: "Um, crab meat, mayo, tuna..."
Old Man: "No I don't want that. What's in the tuna salad?"
Sandwich Artist #2: "Tuna, mayo...."
Old Man: "No, I don't want that. What's in the meatball sub?"
Sandwich Artist #2: "Um, meatballs..."
Old Man: "No, I don't want that. What's in the chicken bacon ranch?"
(and so on....)

SA #3: "Welcome to Subway! What I can get you?"
White Trash Woman: "I want a six inch on white."
SA #3: "Ok, what kind of sandwich is it?"
White Trash Woman: [cell phone rings] "Hello? Naw, I'm in the Subways getting dinner you a--hole!"
SA #3: [wide-eyed] "Um, ma'am?"
WTW: [still on the phone] "Well, you tell that sonofab---- that he shouldn't drink so g--d--- much!" [to the sandwich artist] "I said I wanted a FOOTLONG! Dammit these people don't listen."
SA #3: "Um, you said you wanted a six inch."
WTW: "Well, I musta said the wrong thing! I want a FOOTLONG ROAST BEEF WITH EXTRA MAYO! Where's my cigarettes?!"
(and so on...)

SA #4: "Welcome to Subway! How can I help you?"
White Trash Man: "Do you have any vodka?"
SA #4: "I'm sorry, what?"
White Trash Man: "Do you have any VODKA?!"
SA #4: "Um, no I'm sorry. We don't serve that here."
White Trash Man: "Well then forget it. I'm not hungry." [leaves the line]

Only in Bourbonnais...

Life in Lists

2010-06-28T16:27:00.000-05:00

It's no secret: I love making lists. On any given day my desk is cluttered with assorted multi-colored sticky notes filled with bullet points. For some reason I feel so much more organized and at peace with the world when everything is written on a sticky note. My favorite to do list is on a neon yellow sticky note taped to my computer (the sticky-ness has worn off) written by the Man:

List to Do in order of Importance!

Love the Lord your God with all your heart, mind, strength.
Love Your husband
Get Starbucks
Get Passport photo
Get Shotgun
Fix Ankle
Lunch with Faith

I've managed to scratch off a few of the obvious tasks (getting Starbucks, getting a passport photo, getting a shotgun, and having lunch with Faith). I'm hesitant to scratch off "Fix Ankle" since it's not quite 100% -- I've yet to return to DC's to see just how fixed it is. I'm also a bit wary of scratching off the first two, because that would indicate the task is completed. Yes, I love Jesus and the Man, but I'm not done loving them. So they remain.

All of that being said, you also know I'm not the most committed blogger out here. I could write several blog posts about recent life's happenings, but I just can't bring myself to dedicate an entire post to my new washer and dryer. So, with no further ado, here is a neat and organized bulleted list of what we've been up to.

The Man and I received a brand-spanking new washing machine and dryer for the ridiculous price of....wait for it....FREE! I can't exactly spill the details as to how we acquired them, but I will say it was completely legal and Olivet appropriate. And I'm absolutely giddy (as is the Jew, because let's be honest, Jews love free stuff).
I finally ordered my study materials to become an ACE-certified personal trainer. I finally scheduled a date to take my test. I finally have real-live clients who pay me real money to help them get into shape. Too legit.
My mom recently turned 50. She hates hooplah. So this is a hooplah-less recognition of a previously established fact.
The Man took his Illinois EMT licensing exam last week. It doesn't really change a lot in terms of our daily life, except when he walks into my office wearing scrubs and a stethoscope on his way to volunteer at the ER. Hellllloooooo doctor!
The Man and I started Weight Watchers in an attempt to control our disproportioned eating habits. Somehow he gets 420 points a day and I have 16. It's stupid and unfair and just plain stupid.
The recent monsoons have created a rather large earwig infestation and I am this close to bug bombing our duplex. The Man insists that if he shoots the earwigs with the shotgun, they'll stop reproducing. *sigh* At least he's pretty.
Apparently I start graduate school in two months. I am in no way prepared. Not even a little bit. I'm hoping my "let's just wing it and see what happens" success from undergrad will carry me through.
I was showered, dressed, and out the door at 6:25am on a Monday morning. Employee of the Year? Or grand opening of the local Dunkin Donuts? The world may never know...

So that's that, my friends. I have plenty more "Conversations With the Man", but I'm saving those for a particularly boring and uneventful day. You know, since most of my days are filled with endless excitement.

Til then...

Just Another American Midwestern Saturday Night

2010-06-08T09:53:00.008-05:00

A bit of background info:

I've lived in the Midwest, aka "Tornado Alley", for 25+ years. Every spring from elementary through high school I would march into the hallway, kneel down facing the wall, and cover the back of my neck with my hands during routine tornado drills. I grew up watching Tom Skilling and "Storm Chasers," learning how to detect prime tornado weather. Tornado watches and warnings are as common in the summer as sunburn.

And yet every time the sirens wail during a storm, I flip out. Ok, maybe that's an understatement...I go berserk. Case in point:

Last Saturday.

While watching America's Got Talent and enjoying our Oberweis ice cream, the National Weather Service declared a tornado warning in the Kankakee area. Naturally, the Man ignored it. And naturally, I ran for the bathroom (the safest place in a house without a basement; I wasn't that scared). I quickly started gathering the essentials for survival and making my goodbye phone calls. Seriously. Berserk.

My tornado survival kit (clockwise from left): a deck of cards, body wash, a candle, the Man's Certified Emergency Response Team kit, my motorcycle helmet, a pillow, our Dave Ramsey envelopes, and matches.

Go ahead. Say it. I'm a huge sally.

Luckily the Man took pity on me, hung up the phone (did I mention he was on the phone with his best friend the entire time I was having a meltdown in the bathtub? I can't blame him.) and joined me in the bathroom. He helped keep my mind off of the impending tornado by taking goofy pictures and challenging me to ~~strip~~ Texas Hold-'Em poker. Despite my preparation, the storm came and went without as much as a broken tree limb.

So maybe I overreacted. Maybe I was a bit embarrassed. Maybe I spent the rest of the evening trying to convince the Man I'm not a baby.

At least we were prepared.

Disappearing Act

2010-05-26T09:05:00.002-05:00

Now you see it...

...and now you don't.

Dangerous things happen when the Man has free time and a razor.

Morning Routine

2010-05-20T16:54:00.003-05:00

(The Man comes home from work; I am in the bathroom blow drying my hair.)

The Man: I'm hungry, I think I'm going to find something for breakfast.
(He returns a few minutes later in nothing but his underwear and an unidentifiable object. He crawls into bed while eating said unidentified object.)
Me: What the heck are you eating?!
The Man: Leftover bacon I found in the fridge.
Me: Why are you eating bacon in bed?
The Man: It's the warmest place in the house.
(A few minutes later he runs back into the kitchen, returning with an unidentifiable object in a Tupperware. He crawls back into bed.)
Me: NOW what are you eating?
The Man: Leftover monkey bread I found in the fridge.
Me: So you're eating bacon and monkey bread in bed?
The Man: [pauses] Yes.
Me: You know, eating bacon makes you a bad Jew.
The Man: [shrugs] I'm ok with that.
Me: Jesus would be upset. What would he say if he walked into the room right now and saw you eating bacon in bed?
The Man: First of all, I'd be like, 'Whoa, hey it's Jesus!' Then I'd be like.......'Bacon?' You know it's rude to not offer food to guests.
Me: You can't offer Jesus bacon.
The Man: Jesus loves bacon.
Me: Would you invite Jesus to eat bacon in bed with you?
The Man: Yes. Yes, I think I would.
Me: *sigh*
The Man [offering me a piece]: Bacon?
Me: No thanks.

Aaaaaaand scene.

A Week Late and a Buck Short

2010-05-19T15:31:00.004-05:00

I'm just going to come right out and say it: I am absolutely terrible at remembering important dates. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, bah mitzvahs -- you name it, I forget about it. Sometimes I have my act together enough to buy a card, but then I almost always forget to send it (i.e. the two Mother's Day cards sitting on my coffee table).

Please do not take offense. It's not personal (usually) and I still love you (probably).

That being said:

Last week my dear friend Megan celebrated her 25th birthday! (By the way, please let me know when we get too old to publicly admit our ages.....most people think I'm 14 so I'm eager to tell my real age. Thanks.)

Megster (as I like to call her) and I were randomly selected as roommates while attending Oxford University in England. Our house parent told us that we were put together since we shared a love of country music. 5 years later, we're still thick as thieves.

From England to San Francisco to Chicago to England (again) to Scotland to Santa Barbara to Disneyland to Washington DC....it's safe to say we've had quite a few "abentures." (Who else can sing the entire Wicked soundtrack a capella while walking across the English countryside?!) We've climbed mountains, jumped through bogs, drank Lord knows how many cups of Starbucks, memorized The Holiday, wrote papers until we cried, shared our deepest fears, and laughed until we ached.

She's been such a loyal friend through the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. So Megster, I hope you had the BEST birthday and I promise that one day we'll celebrate your birthday ON your birthday! Much love to you, my friend.

The Man, The Myth, The Enigma

2010-05-07T14:28:00.003-05:00

The Man.

You know he's from the northwoods of Wisconsin. You know he drives a truck. You know he's a Jew. You know that he enjoys all things manly.

But...

Did you know that he can sew?

Not just replace a button on a pair of pants or stitch up an open wound...

Meet Mr. Buffalo:

I was introduced to Mr. Buffalo a few weeks ago when the Man's mother-in-law came in town. Apparently he is the product of one of the Man's several home economics courses during high school. When the Man first told me about this, I didn't believe him. Then he showed me this:

Genuine northwoods stitching. The Man said that he couldn't quite get the corners to line up so he did the best he could. I just stood there in shock as he continued to rattle off the other home-ec projects he's completed including a pillow, a sweatshirt (he sewed the hood on backwards twice), banana bread, a teddy bear, an apron, and apple pie.

Seriously?

The Man loves anything and everything to do with dirt, guns, and violence. His favorite movie is Braveheart and he owns a Scottish claymore (a really big sword). His high school career was defined by wrestling and football....and home-ec apparently.

Sigh.

He never ceases to surprise me.

(By the way, I named "Mr. Buffalo." According to the Man, he didn't want to name the stuffed animal he sewed in home-ec. That would just be too girly.)

Conversations With The Man

2010-04-30T11:24:00.000-05:00

Due to the Man's crazy work schedule, we don't see each other much. And when we happen to occupy the same place at the same time, he's usually unconscious. So on the very rare occasion that a) he's not working b) we're at home and c) he isn't comatose, we try to catch up on each other's lives as quickly as possible (you know, before he falls asleep again.) Not that we have very deep and meaningful conversations...

Me: I think you put too much lighter fluid on the charcoal.
(The Man lights the grill. Giant flame ball erupts.)
The Man: Do I still have my eyebrows?!
Me: Told you.

The Man: Let's go to Dairy Queen.
Me: I don't want to go to Dairy Queen. It's too expensive.
The Man: YOU'RE too expensive!

Me: Can you please take the garbage out? It smells like nasty.
The Man: YOU smell like nasty!

Me: Shooting clays are on sale at Farm & Fleet.
The Man: YOU'RE on sale at Farm & Fleet.

(and so on, and so forth....)

The Man (singing): "I keep bleeding, keep keep bleeding out.....keep bleeding, keep keep bleeding out."
Me: Are you singing Leona Lewis?
The Man: I don't know. It was on the radio.
Me: You know the real words are "bleeding love" not "bleeding out."
The Man: Yeah, but "bleeding out" is more manly.
Me: Right. Because singing the regular words to Leona Lewis is just downright girly.

The Man: Can you come put me in a rear-naked choke?
Me: What?!
The Man: I need to practice how to escape a rear-naked choke.
Me: Because that happens all the time?
The Man: Just do it, please.
(I put him in a rear-naked choke. He hits his head on the bedroom door. I stop.)
The Man: Ok, I can't practice MMA with my wife.
Me: Why? Didn't I do it right?
The Man: Yeah, but since we love each other and stuff, we always stop when the other gets hurt.
Me: Sorry that our love got in the way of violence.
The Man: That's ok. I'll just spar with Dale from now on.

Me (calling from work): Wanna take a study break and go to Starbucks?
The Man: Yeah, I just gotta finish cleaning up first.
Me: Cleaning up what?
The Man: (long pause) The bowl of cereal I spilled.
Me: *sigh*
The Man: Don't worry, I kept the mess contained.
Me: *sigh*
The Man: It spilled in my lap, so I grabbed a bunch of junk mail from the coffee table to keep the milk from seeping onto the couch.
Me: *sigh*
The Man: I waited until the milk was absorbed into the mail and my t-shirt before I got up.
Me: *sigh*
The Man: So I just need to change my shirt and I'll be right there.
Me: What am I going to do with you?

I Survived...Episode 1: Dinner With My Mother-In-Law

2010-04-20T12:25:00.003-05:00

This morning I was listening to a radio show where callers would recant their worst mother-in-law stories; the winner would then receive a weekend away with their significant other. Don't get me wrong, I am grateful that my mother-in-law doesn't hit on my siblings or gets drunk at every family function then proceeds to lose articles of clothing. However after dinner Friday night, I could use a weekend away with the Man...without his mother.

She was coming in town to attend a women's conference and we invited her out to dinner Friday night. After getting lost in the middle of nowhere and calling for directions (we were no help as we had no clue where Route 18 was -- who doesn't use interstates?!), we finally met up with my MIL and the Man's cousin at a local gas station.

This is a good time to explain just how my MIL works. She has lived in an isolated town in northern Wisconsin for the majority of her adult life. The main attraction is the Jack Links Beef Jerky plant and the closest town is over a half hour away. Needless to say, she doesn't quite understand the social etiquette of someone who has grown up near the city. I was raised to be respectful of my surroundings and act accordingly -- for example, I would spit sunflower seeds and laugh about farts at the campground, not at church. My MIL is who she is regardless of where she is.

So you can imagine my embarrassment when in the middle of Applebee's she shouted "I can't understand what you're saying!" to our Hispanic waitress. I had looked past her disheveled hair and mismatching outfit. I turned the other cheek when she started picking her teeth at the table. But when my MIL started talking about her previous sex life and exclaimed that she used to be a slut, I wanted to crawl under the table and die.

I've concluded that we are just two completely different people from two very different backgrounds. Luckily the Man is not oblivious to his mother's antics and just takes her in stride. Considering she lives over 9 hours away, I should count my blessings that she doesn't live across the street a la Everybody Loves Raymond. That would be a sitcom only suitable for HBO.

The Shotgun Chronicles

2010-04-16T10:37:00.004-05:00

As I mentioned in my previous post, my family went camping at the Kankakee State Park last weekend. The Man and I figured it was the perfect time to take the family clay shooting since it was so beautiful outside. My mom, bless her heart, had never held a real gun before nonetheless actually shoot one. After a quick safety lesson, the Man handed our 20 gauge shotgun to my very hesitant mother.

My mom is a self-prescribed adrenaline junkie, so we knew that she would enjoy shooting once she got over the initial fear. We spent the rest of the morning going through almost 100 clays and 75 rounds of shells. How does that math figure, you ask? My brother's girlfriend and my dad couldn't quite figure out how to throw the clays, thus resulting in several thrown directly into the concrete. It's a learning process.

Me?

I'm not that bad of a shot, if I do say so myself (considering I hail from the south side of Chicago where the only gun I've ever held had "Super Soaker" written on the barrel). The man and I are officially hooked on clay shooting and have subsequently spent the majority of our "fun money" on clays, shells, and gun cleaning kits. We figure it's a pretty harmless hobby -- as long as the safety is on and the Man doesn't say something snarky. It's hard to believe that just 3 years ago I spent most of my free time reading Shakespeare at Moon Monkey and discussing its philosophical implications over minty moons.

Now I sing along to "Backwoods" while riding shotgun in my husband's Chevy on our way to skeet shooting. I may be morphing into a pseudo-redneck, but you'll never catch me missing teeth or standing barefoot in the kitchen with a baby on my hip and a pie in the oven. No way. I'll be barefoot in the kitchen with a dog at my feet and an overpriced espresso drink in my hand. I'm classy like that.

He is Risen! (Better late than never...)

2010-04-09T15:00:00.000-05:00

Despite my lack of blogging, we're still here - dysfunctional as ever. We've been keeping busy with Easter festivities, nursing the man back to health, and soaking up Sir Booska Squeakerface.

The Saturday before Easter, the Man woke up with a splitting headache and a temperature of 102.7. Typically I'm pretty no-nonsense when it comes to sickness -- my general treatment for anything and everything is two Tylenol. Neither I nor the Man have been to the doctor (other than for state-required vaccinations and line-dancing induced sprained ankles) since 1996. Simply put, sympathy does not flow freely at the Heller house. And yet, that morning I found myself on the phone with my mom coming completely unglued. I couldn't figure out why I was suddenly so concerned about a fever when it dawned on me: it was my sister's fault.

I know, he's simply irresistible. And yet, such a wonderful miracle almost came with a significant price. My sister's pregnancy had been, for the most part, normal and problem-free. Sure she had the typical pregnancy woes, but her health was never in question. All of that changed in what seemed like an instant. She went from being an expectant mom to a critical intensive care patient in a manner of hours. I assumed everything was ok, only to find out that her life had been in jeopardy. As "no-nonsense" as I am, this rocked me to the core.

So when the Man woke up delirious and pale, I had flashbacks to my poor sister waking up in the ICU. I understand that a fever and headache aren't necessarily life-threatening, but at the time I just couldn't shake the memory of my sister being fine one instant and critical the next.
Praise the Lord my sister made a full recovery and is the healthy mother of the most ridiculously lovable boy in the entire world. (Oh and the Man made a full recovery as well -- the two Tylenol did the trick.)

Whew! All of that just for Saturday. Easter Sunday was spent rejoicing our Savior's victory over death, eating more food than what we thought was humanly possible, and fighting over who got to hold Sir Booska. Nothing says, "He is risen!" like "Shutup and give him to me - you don't know what the heck you're doing!" Luckily, no fistfights broke out.

But seriously, I would probably punch someone in the face for the chance to hold this guy. Understandably so as I haven't had a chance to spend quality time with my sister or Booska -- they're pretty popular these days. Good thing they're coming down this weekend for the first camping trip of the season! Oh and did I mention we're going to teach my mom how to shoot a shotgun? That's a blog post waiting to happen...

Sir Booska Squeakerface

2010-03-22T15:16:00.000-05:00

Let's be honest, I'm not a kid person. Yes, I have a history of baby-sitting and I even did a few stints as a volunteer at Summer Bible Club, but I'm not too thrilled with the general idea of children. Particularly babies. Poopy diapers, constant crying, never being able to read their minds, getting up at 3am to feed them (sounds a lot like caring for the Man...). I simply don't do babies. Until...

my nephew Sir Booska Squeakerface came along. (Facts: Ivan William Thomas, born 1:13pm on March 14th, 2010; 8 lbs, 11 ounces, 23 1/4" long.) Everyone said that my views on children would change when it was my own. He is only my nephew, but I cannot even begin to express how much love I have for this little boy.

My poor sister had a rough go-round with him, and maybe the dramatics associated with his birth have added to my ridiculous obsession. (Facts: She had an emergency C-Section as a result of HELLP syndrome. Google it -- I had to.) She made it through and both mom & baby are doing well. All I want to do is hold him and kiss him and snuggle him all the live long day.

I mean, seriously. It's getting ridiculous. Let me clarify one thing though -- the Man and I are NOT, I repeat, NOT ready to have one of our own. By no means am I ready to be financially, spiritually, physically, and emotionally responsible for another human being. Instead, I will just spoil the CRAP out of this kid. Seriously.

I think I need therapy.

Snow, Miley Cyrus, and Zombies

2010-03-12T14:06:00.000-06:00

Last week the Man and I did something we haven't done since our honeymoon (no, not that); we packed up my Jetta and headed out of town for a few days. Our destination? Mountain Lake Park, Maryland. The land of ridiculously scary hills and towering snow banks. A place where Denny's is considered fine dining and the Wal-Mart is a shopping mecca. Amish country. God's country, some might say. Why did we spend more than 10 hours in a car to get to such a place? Simple:

To visit our dear friends, Mike & Jess! After college, Mike got a job at some computer-software-technology-hacking company and they moved out east to Podunk, MD. Ok, enough small-town jokes; in reality, the Man and I fell in love with their little town. Recent snowstorms had dropped over 4 feet of snow, which was a bit much for my Oklahoma-born friend! One afternoon we "hiked" (I use that term loosely as we walked on pre-packed snow) to some nearby waterfalls, which were absolutely beautiful.

And, of course, we took ridiculous pictures. Actually, we didn't take too many because A.) my camera is broken and B.) we spent most of our time talking, which doesn't make for very exciting pictures. While Jess & I caught up on life's happenings, the boys rekindled their friendship by playing Left 4 Dead 2. Maybe I played a little. And maybe I kinda liked killing zombies with an axe. Maybe.

It was such a wonderful trip filled with good food, lots of laughter, and great friends. We can't wait to go visit them again (maybe this time, with less snow)! Oh and in case you're wondering how Miley Cyrus fits into the title -- the Man bet me a tall decaf peppermint mocha that she did not sing "Party in the U.S.A." I do not keep up with the tween-superstars, but she somehow ended up on my Garth Brooks Pandora station. Mmmm......the sweet taste of victory!

1 Down, Eternity to Go

2010-03-01T11:30:00.002-06:00

To those who bet that we wouldn't make it through the first year of marriage successfully (I think a few people honestly placed wagers -- I can't blame them), WHA-BAM!

Wealthy couples spend their first anniversary in an exotic, beachfront resort. Higher class couples go away to a big city for the weekend to enjoy top-notch luxury. Middle class couples splurge on a romance package at the local spa, or dinner at a 5-star restaurant. White trash couples go to IHOP and shop at the K-Mart "Going Out of Business" sale. Don't judge us.

We're simple people with simple tastes. The Man's work schedule has been hectic, to say the least, so to have 36 uninterrupted hours together was a rare treat. We shopped, we saw a movie, we ate whatever and wherever we wanted (which happened to be IHOP -- even when we "splurge" we still choose pancakes), we stayed at a hotel, we drank Starbucks, we laughed and we talked until the wee hours of the morning. We've achieved 365 days of pure husband-wrangling, pancake-eating, fart-smelling, truck-driving, chess-playing, Starbucks-drinking, Styx-singing, dirt-loving, aneurysm-inducing wedded bliss. *sigh* It's been the best year of my life.

Time Thief

2010-02-17T16:12:00.002-06:00

I know that I'm not the most active blogger, but this time I have an excuse! For the next 5 days I am to report how I spend my time at work in 15 minute intervals. It seems a bit extreme to me, but I know that my boss is just trying to reconfigure efficiency and he trusts our integrity (that is, until he discovers my blog). Believe it or not, my job is very important to me and I do not want to come off as a slacker.

I'm not going to resort to using an empty pop bottle at my desk a la Dwight Schrute, but I do need to make an effort to be more productive. I don't want my sheet to read "Cosby impression" and "stood in line for bagel." (If you don't watch The Office, I pity you.) And I'm pretty sure spending 30 minutes blogging won't go over well. That being said, if I don't get fired for checking my bank account or updating my Facebook status, I'll be back in a week.

Hopefully.

Call Me Mrs. Gimp

2010-02-04T16:16:00.000-06:00

We had quite the eventful weekend at the Heller Haus (yes, I realize it's Thursday already, but continue reading and you'll understand the delay). Last Saturday was my cousin Harry's 17th birthday. Remember Harry?

He's tough. He's cool. He's an urban cowboy. So as a small gesture for his birthday, the Man and I decided to take him to DC's Country Junction for a night of country music and line dancing. We put on our best Wranglers, Lariats, and Stetsons, piled three across into Duke, and made our way to the middle of Indiana.

We were having a blast until a girl, who was rather inexperienced in the art of line dancing, stepped on my foot, causing me to lose my balance. As I stepped backwards to regain my composure, I landed on my ankle and POP! No more line dancing for me. We drove back home, I put some ice on it, and went to bed hoping it would be fine by morning.

Wrong.

These poor boys forwent (forgo ed?) Sunday church to take little Mrs. Gimp to the ER for X-rays. Don't feel too bad for them though. As I was in the examination room, they kept themselves occupied by playing roller coaster with the hospital bed, experimenting with every single piece of medical equipment shown in the picture, and spying on the recently admitted gunshot victim. According to them, it was way more fun than church. (You're welcome.)

Luckily nothing is broken; just a severe sprain. If I could drive to the store to buy batteries for my camera, I would have more pictures of my grotesque and multi-colored foot. Alas, I am limited to stupid jerk crutches for at least a week. I'm trying to look on the bright side; at least I'm not asking my coworkers to rub butter on my foot (oh Michael Scott...).

Life, Love, and Drunken Donkey Baseball

2010-01-27T15:55:00.001-06:00

They say opposites attract. Personally, I think God got bored so He brought the Man and I into a relationship so He could sit back and watch the impending train wreck. Sometimes our differences are just too hilarious.

Last night, as the Man was filling out an information packet for a background check, he came upon a question regarding his participation in alcohol-related games. The Man seemed confused by the statement, so I started naming popular drinking games (beer pong, quarters, flippy cup, etc.). [Disclaimer: let it be known that I am aware of such activities through my south side Chicago upbringing -- not through personal experience.] His eyes suddenly lit up as he exclaimed, "Oh so they mean, like, drunken donkey baseball?!"

Yep. Drunken donkey baseball. Apparently it was a favorite pastime during Minong Days in northwestern Wisconsin. I could only imagine the summer nights spent with his buddies, watching their parents successfully maneuver a donkey around second while not spilling a drop of Milwaukee's Best. [This is a good time to point out that "drunken" refers to the players, not the actual donkeys. Although drunken donkeys would be quite entertaining.] I literally fell to the ground laughing over our vastly different childhoods.

He grew up playing in the woods, building forts out of sticks, chasing bears, eating cheese, and going sledding in July. I grew up playing in the street, building forts out of PipeWorks, chasing A's in science fairs, eating casseroles, and going sledding on the man made Belly Button Hill. Somehow we fell in love and we make it work. Drunken donkey baseball and all.

Little Things

2010-01-18T14:49:00.002-06:00

Despite my rather crippling Starbucks addiction, I like to consider myself a pretty simple person. I shop at Wal-Mart, I use a crock pot on a weekly basis, I buy my clothes at outlets, and I only use my cell phone to make phone calls. So when I logged into my blog this afternoon and noticed that 500 people have viewed my profile, I was pretty ecstatic. I realize that compared to my more experienced and talented bloggers, this is a drop in the bucket, (not to mention that approximately 492 views are probably from my mom) but either way, I'm still excited and this rambling Ramona thanks you.

Golden Star Award - Spring 2010

2010-01-15T16:13:00.000-06:00

Yep, it's that time of year again: registration! And as you may or may not know, after registration I hand out my Golden Star Award to students who have made a particularly troublesome, yet ridiculously entertaining, impact on my life. Past winners include the incompetent football player ("Um, I play football?") and the infamous "Limited Pants" girl ("Ohmygosh, did you get your pants from the Limited?!").

I am happy to announce this year's winner(s): Mr. & Mrs. "We-got-married-on-a-whim-but-thought-we-could-live-in-the-dorms-until-my-RA-found-out-and-reported-us-so-we-need-an-apartment-like-today." [Believe it or not, this is actually a different couple from the ones on "Early Marriage: A Rant Part II." It must be an epidemic.]

Here's the story:
I received a phone call from Student Development informing me that they have a couple who needed an apartment asap. One day over Christmas break this couple decided that they wanted to get married, so they went to the local courthouse and tied the knot. They figured they could save money (aka financial aid) if he continued to live in the dorm while she lived in an on-campus apartment. On move-in day, he showed off his shiny new wedding band to his RA who quickly informed him that married men aren't allowed to live in the dorms. Panic. Enter: me - Rental Property Manager slash marriage counselor.

I won't bore you with the nitty gritty details, but I basically had to explain everything to this couple including what I meant by "monthly rent," how a lease works, how to pay a utility bill, why they can't live in the dorm, etc. I still can't understand the need to get married so quickly - nor can I figure out why they thought living in a dorm while MARRIED was a good idea. Oh and did I mention that they're 18?

Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. In-a-Rush; you are truly Golden Stars.

2009: A Review

2010-01-12T12:52:00.003-06:00

Yes, I realize that I haven't updated my blog in almost a month. In my little corner of the world, I like to think that y'all are on the edge of your seats waiting for my next witty post. Wait no more, my friends.

It's a new year (duh), which typically compels millions of people to create unrealistic resolutions. I am entertained by those who refuse to make resolutions, only to hide behind the pretense of "yearly goals." (Honestly, I highly doubt anyone is going to read a book each week for an entire year. And if you do, bravo -- you officially have less of a life than I do.) I have hereby made the devout commitment to do neither. In 2010, I will not make any resolutions nor will I set any life goals. Over-achiever, I know. But hear me out.

The way I see it is, if I were to sit down and hash out all of the milestones I am hoping to reach within the next year, I am setting myself up for disappointment. Yes, I would love to publish a book, apply/start/excel/finish grad school, get out of debt, adopt a dog, learn how to cook Julia Child's beef bourguignone, put away my Christmas tree, and travel to the Grand Canyon. But why should I limit myself to accomplish these things in one year? If by the end of 2010 I haven't done one of these things, am I a failure? Hardly. (For the record, I realize I could make more time-managable goals, but where's the fun in dreaming small?) This may seem like a very pessimistic outlook on life, but I like to think I'm being realistic. Aim low, then everything else will seem that much better.

So -- I am living 2010 with no goals, resolutions, or aspirations. By the way, I'm also thinking of becoming a motivational speaker for young students so if you're interested, please contact my agent, the Man. Thank you.

A Good Man Wife is Hard to Find

2009-12-18T10:58:00.000-06:00

During my 7 minute commute to work, when I'm not ridiculously late and still trying to justify stopping at Starbucks, I tune in to the Eric and Kathy Show on the Mix. This morning they had a segment called, "How'd You Do?" Women called in and explained what they got their significant other for Christmas; a panel of men then decided if the gift was a thumbs up or thumbs down. One woman bought her gambling Guido several shares of MGM Grand, another purchased and framed Sports Illustration Swimsuit covers, etc. Needless to say, most of these women received thumbs up.

I realize that this game was simply an outlet for women to brag about their creativity and/or financial prowess; however, being the OCD perfectionist that I am, I started to evaluate my performance as a wife. And since the stereotypical "good wife" originated in the 1950's, I Googled "How to Be a Good Wife" and found an article from 1956. Let's see how well I measure up...

"Have dinner ready. Plan ahead, even the night before, to have a delicious meal, on time. This is a way of letting him know that you have been thinking about him and are concerned about his needs. Most men are hungry when they come home and the prospect of a good meal are part of the warm welcome needed."
If by "ready" they mean still in the freezer and/or cabinet and/or grocery store, then I'm doing pretty well. The Man is lucky if I can get my act together enough to throw some meat in a crock pot and call it dinner.

"Prepare yourself. Take 15 minutes to rest so that you'll be refreshed when he arrives. Touch up your makeup, put a ribbon in your hair and be fresh-looking. He has just been with a lot of work-weary people. Be a little gay and a little more interesting. His boring day may need a lift."
First of all, the Man gets home before me and he certainly doesn't touch up his makeup before I arrive. 'His boring day may need a lift.' The Man plays chess in the bathroom -- I doubt there is anything I can do to make his day any more interesting.

"Listen to him. You may have a dozen things to tell him, but the moment of his arrival is not the time. Let him talk first."
I've perfected the art of pretending to listen while he rants and raves about political theory or postmodern philosophy. It's a great time to get my grocery list in order.

"Make the evening his. Never complain if he does not take you out to dinner or to other places of entertainment. Instead, try to understand his world of strain and pressure, his need to be home and relax."
We very rarely go out to dinner or other places of entertainment. And if by "need to be home and relax" they mean "let him practice his new MMA moves on you" then I'm wife-of-the-year.

Enough of that train wreck. So maybe I don't bake homemade pies or send cute Christmas cards or wear pleated skirts with pearls or greet him with a kiss, the newspaper, and a Scotch. But I make chocolate chip pancakes, watch Bloodsport, and go to Buffalo Wild Wings for every single date night. I may not be able to afford extravagant Christmas gifts like a new phone, an Xbox, or a Glock 32 Magnum, but I help him practice is rear-naked choke, listen to the Allman Brothers, and challenge him in a game of Madden. Good Housekeeping will never ask me for an interview, but I'm ok with that. I know that I'm a kick-a#% wife.

C is for Creeper

2009-12-15T15:14:00.002-06:00

I'm not quite at the "stalker" level of say Jennifer Garner or Kevin Bacon, but I am fairly certain I have my very own creeper. One of the many perks of working at a university is unlimited free access to the fitness center on campus. A few months ago, an older gentleman approached me in the gym and introduced himself as a fellow staff member. We started chatting about fitness goals and workout programs, and he told me that his daughter is a certified personal trainer. He continued to explain how he wants to gain muscle and get back into shape. (Fun fact: the man is two inches shorter than me and probably weights 100 pounds soaking wet.) I gave him a few pointers, a smile, and continued with my workout.

Since then, he has been at the gym the same time I have: every.single.day. He comes in, puts his stuff away in a cubby, and then proceeds to stare at me for the duration of ~~his~~ my workout. Sure he'll go to different machines and do a couple of sets, but every time I glance over at him he is literally staring at me. He doesn't blink, he doesn't try to be subtle, and he will purposely switch machines/benches to get a better view. I tried working out a little later in the evening to throw him off, but sure enough after a day or two he caught on. I brought the Man with me one night and (to the Man's delight) left no doubt that I was married. The creeper continues to stare. Last night I actually cut my workout short and left early because I felt so uncomfortable. I've done my best to avoid eye contact and ignore him....

But I'm not that passive.

To be continued....

Happy Holidays from the Hellers!

2009-12-09T11:00:00.000-06:00

It's a little known fact that I have an unhealthy obsession with all things Christmas. The carols, the Mistletoe Yankee candles, the cookies, the snow, my neighbor's obnoxiously bright blue 'MERRY CHRISTMAS' sign continually shining into my window, the presents, the general warmth and merriment. I love almost everything related to the holiday season. Almost everything.

One of the few traditions I simply cannot tolerate is the annual "Look How Successful and Beautiful We Are, Don't You Wish You Could Be Us? P.S. Merry Christmas" newsletter. I simply don't understand the purpose behind it. Ok, so maybe something really important and live-altering happened in your life recently, like a marriage or the birth of your first child. But don't the people you send the letter to already know that? I'd bet that half the people on your mailing list were at the wedding or in the hospital waiting room. Or perhaps you want to take a chance to brag about your new job/promotion/successful career. If you really wanted to prove just how successful you've become, a check made out in my name would do the trick. Just a suggestion.

My mother asked me the other day if the Man and I were planning on sending out Christmas cards. Considering I haven't sent out my wedding thank-you's from over 9 months ago, I'm thinking not-so-much. I've considered writing a sarcastic newsletter of our own, detailing the oh-so-important happenings in the Heller household like rearranging the front room furniture and learning how to remove chocolate pudding stains from Berber. But then again, I wouldn't want people to be jealous of our posh Hollywood lifestyle.

So please, let this blog be a plea for mercy. I love Christmas and I love to know that the people in my life are alive, but please don't plague my mailbox with ridiculous newsletters. Cards will be appreciated. Cards with candy will be cherished. Cards accompanied by a fruitcake will be thrown away. Consider yourselves warned.

Oh, I almost forgot....Merry Christmas!

I Married a Nerd

2009-12-03T11:14:00.002-06:00

You would never guess by looking at the Man that he is, in fact, rather nerdy. He's a backwoods jock who loves guns, trucks, muscle, and basically any activity involving physical harm. Sure he enjoys playing Ages of Empires on the computer every now and then, but who doesn't? However, this morning I realized just how epically nerdy my husband really is.

His new job has him working 12 hour shifts (6pm-6am), so he's just getting home from work when I'm waking up. After our groggy greetings, he stumbles into the bathroom (typical). Luckily, our duplex has two full bathrooms, back-to-back. I'm in the master bathroom blow drying my hair when I hear a tapping noise coming from the other bathroom. I ignore it, but then it keeps happening every few minutes: tap-tap-tap. I do my makeup: tap-tap-tap. I brush my teeth: tap-tap-tap. I get dressed: tap-tap-tap. I can't figure out what the heck he's doing in there, but I've learned my lesson to never open the door for the sake of my health. Tap-tap-tap. It gets progressively louder: TAP-TAP-TAP-TAP!! Right when I was about to yell at him to quit banging on the walls, I discover what the noise is....

Tap-tap-tap. "CHECKMATE!"

The Man was playing chess. By himself. While sitting on the toilet.

*sigh* I can't make this stuff up. He has offically earned his Nerd Card.

Thanks a Lot

2009-12-01T11:46:00.002-06:00

I know, I know, I know, I really stink at updating my blog sometimes. It's like dieting or interior decorating -- my creativity comes and goes in spurts. (Not that dieting necessarily facilitates creativity, but if I can justify chocolate chip pancakes as a healthy meal, I'd say that's pretty darn innovative.) Sometimes I have so many ideas rolling around in my head, I am creating blog posts in my sleep. Other times, I just sit and stare at the wall. And since I update my blog during work hours, on a few occasions I have had to forgo writing to, you know, keep my job.

All of that is to say, I'm back and I'm fat. The Man and I took full advantage of our long Thanksgiving weekend by eating not one, not two, not three, but FOUR Thanksgiving meals in three days. That has to be a record of some sort. We spent Thursday afternoon at our friends' house in town where we loaded up on southern essentials, drove to my parents' house for a pot roast dinner, had an impromptu Thanksgiving meal on Friday (still at my parents) with all the trimmings, and then went to my sister's on Saturday for the annual Tomjackweizeler Thanksgiving Extravaganza! If you've never heard of it, you're missing out. 16 people in a two-bedroom apartment, crammed with enough food to feed Yemen. Needless to say, come my baptism Sunday morning (more on that in another post), I sank like a freakin' rock. Hallelujah, amen.

On a more serious note, this weekend I finally took time to reflect on the blessings in my life and the way the Lord has provided. A year ago the Man and I were two college grads struggling to make ends meet and trying to pay for a wedding-- God has since blessed our financial stewardship (and our marriage) tenfold. A few years ago I was a blundering idiot who thought I had life figured out on my own -- until the Lord knocked me upside my head and ransomed my heart. A few weeks ago I questioned God's will and His presence -- but I found peace in knowing that He who cares for the sparrows, watches over me. Our lives are far from perfect (i.e. crashing into the Man's parked motorcycle with my car), but we can rest assured that God will continue to provide if we continue to seek Him.

Jew and Dr.Pepper: A Love Story

2009-11-06T09:50:00.006-06:00

"I can tell you're Jewish by your pointy nose and your beady, money-grubbing eyes."

All jokes and teasing aside, sometimes the Man just downright surprises me with his Jewishness. (Jewishism? Jewishosity?) For the most part, he hardly recognizes his Hebrew heritage other than the occasional matzo ball and bottle of Mogen David during Hanukkah. However, he can be the poster child for the cheap Jew stereotype. He's always looking for a great deal, he never throws anything away, and will go to great lengths to avoid wasting food (including drinking a half gallon of milk that was so rancid, it was basically cottage cheese). Last night he stopped by Jewel on his way home from a meeting to pick up a container of cinnamon (for sugar bear)and came back with ten (10) two-liter bottles of pop. Apparently they were on sale for a buck, but then he found a bunch of 55 cent off coupons attached to the bottles, which brought the grand total to 45 cents a bottle. And of course, he couldn't pass up such a great deal.

So now we have a dozen eggs, a loaf of bread, cheese, and 5.28 gallons of Dr.Pepper in our refrigerator. Awesome.

Early Marriage: A Rant Part II

2009-11-05T11:36:00.004-06:00

I just received a phone call from a current married student who was wondering if his wife could spend the next school year living in the dorms. Come to find out they're both 20 years old and she really wants to have the "dorm life experience" so she is willing to spend 9 months living apart from her husband in order to do so.

ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME?!

My head literally hurts from the stupidity and lack of judgement. If you want to have the dorm life experience, then for goodness sakes wait a few years to get married! For the love of all that is good and right, research shows that waiting three years to have sex has resulted in zero deaths.
Seriously. I explained to this gentleman that if his wife were to live in the dorms (which, thankfully, is not allowed) she would have to adhere to a strict curfew, restricted overnight passes, and extremely limited open house hours. Sounds like a recipe for a great marriage to me.

Geez o Pete.

It makes me wonder what role (if any) their parents play. If I wanted to get married at 20 (not that it would have ever happened considering I was a blundering idiot back then), my parents would first laugh at my ridiculous request and then give a resounding no. They're not harsh or unloving or unsupportive -- quite the contrary. They encouraged us to become responsible, mature(ish), and functioning individuals before committing to a spouse. A 20 year old is neither responsible nor mature and I would question their ability to function as a productive member of society.

My word.

Needless to say I feel pretty strongly about this subject. That is why I have created my own blog so I can stand on my soapbox and shout at all the morons in the world. The end.

For Richer For Poorer

2009-10-28T16:15:00.000-05:00

Emphasis on the for poorer part. When the Man and I made a commitment to put up with each other for the rest of our lives, we knew that our finances would present a rather looming obstacle. Coming from a single-parent home, the Man had to depend on Sallie Mae to fund his entire college career (eight semesters at a private college - you do the math). Add my lack of self-control to all things Starbucks and Target, I racked up quite a bit of credit card debt fresh out of college. Together, we were platinum members to every bank, credit union, and loan company in existence. Two weeks before we tied the knot, the Man introduced me to a new friend of his:

(For those of you who only know his voice and not his face, that's Dave Ramsey. Kinda handsome, no?) The Man purchased "The Total Money Makeover," which I read cover to cover in one afternoon, and since we've hit the ground running. For the first time in both of our lives, we feel as though we've taken control of our money. We saved our small emergency fund, have been attacking our debt snowball, and are living off of a strict "rice and beans" budget. And I mean strict. People are shocked to hear that the Man and I have been living on a $80/month grocery budget. We've had to make a lot of sacrifices, but we've never gone hungry (thanks in part to my handy dandy crock pot). I haven't bought new clothes since Easter, and even then I used gift cards. We haven't been to movie together since before we were married. Our (free) TV is from circa 1995 and weighs as much as our truck. We don't even try to date our (free)mattresses. I've sold my brand new racing bike, the Man is selling his motorcycle, and we're seriously considering selling one or two of our guitars.

Even though we're slowly making progress, we're nowhere near where we'd like to be. We've managed to pay off several credit cards, but we've got a LONG way to go in terms of school loans. It's proven difficult to live frugally when our combined income is less than what most people make individually. BUT, we're trusting the Lord will provide and He has already blessed our stewardship tenfold. Plus, our budget is an excuse for me to eat chocolate chip pancakes for dinner four nights in a row. Always the optimist, I am.

25 is the new...25?

2009-10-27T15:10:00.004-05:00

25 years ago today my poor mother waited ~~patiently~~ for my dad to finish his softball game at church so that she could give birth to her second child. To this day I contribute my competitiveness to my father -- we don't leave a game unfinished, contractions or no contractions. I'm sure his team won, too.

Other than being able to rent a car without ridiculous fees, turning 25 doesn't carry much glitz or glamour. Except that now I feel like a legitimate adult. (Legitimate adult. Ha. If you consider eating Dairy Queen for dinner something a legitimate adult would do, then ok.)

The Man has taken every opportunity to remind me of my age, and I can't blame him really. He's a young, hot, muscular man who works in security and I'm the mature, poised, older woman who works in the office. What can I say? In his words, I'm a cougar. (Although a 14 month age difference hardly constitutes a cougar in my opinion. I may be a wanna-be Jew by marriage, but I'm no Demi Moore.)

25.

Does anyone know if prune juice is on sale at The Jewel?

Free Time?

2009-10-21T09:24:00.002-05:00

My mom and I have a saying that whenever we get bored, we get dangerous. Give us a bit of free time and we'll probably end up getting into trouble one way or another -- like almost burning the house down last Saturday. (FYI, placing a cardboard shoebox filled with old checks and tax documents onto a bonfire two feet away from a wood-framed house is not the best idea in the world.)

To my dismay, I have discovered that the Man has the same destructive tendencies as we do when left alone. Since he has started working at Olivet, he has had more time off then he knows what to do with. And since he continually strives to be Mr. Impressive, he uses the extra time to help out around the house. And by "help," I mean destroy. Monday night I came home from work to find him knee deep in books and documents in the second bedroom. Yesterday I came home to find the entire bedroom rearranged and flipped upside down (literally, in the case of the recliner). Lord only knows what else he is going to do, but let's just hope he doesn't jeopradize our security deposit.

Humble Beginnings

2009-10-19T14:27:00.002-05:00

Once a year my mother goes through what I call a "fit of ruthlessness" where she decides to purge her house of unnecessary nick knacks, documents, food, and people (glad you made the cut, Dad). Recently, she has had each of her kids go through the boxes and bins of various keepsakes and throw out whatever doesn't fit into one Rubbermaid container. Saturday was my turn. While rifling through the many Sunday school art projects, homemade jewelry, Read It! buttons, report cards, and Mickey Mouse ears, I found the greatest treasure of all: my daily journal from 1st grade. Decked out in typical 90's colors (aqua and purple) and covered in puffy stickers ("U-R Great!"), this torn up and worn out Stuart Hall notebook was the threshold of my writing career.

Before I shamelessly share some of the highlights, let it be known that I graduated magna cum laude with a bachelor's in English and Literature. I studied literature theory and writing at Oxford University. All of my reading/language/writing standardized test scores from 1st grade through high school exceeded the national average. I'm not saying this to toot my own horn; it simply adds to the irony. And so, with no further ado, I present my humble beginnings. Enjoy. (Translations are provided as necessary.)

August 27th, 1991 - First Day of School
I was nrfis. (Sound it out.)

September 26th, 1991 - National Milk Day
milk com's frm a cow and milk is good for you. you dan't haf to drrek milk bcos you can get it in a ic cren and yogt. (I wish I could include my sketch of a cow. Apparently, cows have fangs.)

September 27th, 1991 - What's Your Favorite Cereal?
I like crel.
I like difft kos of crel like loke crms and coco pofs and froody peps.
(sketch of coco "pofs" box)
and I like bred.

October 3rd, 1991 - Your Guess is as Good as Mine
Super.
wric I love it.
It is wody it it is grt!
the doy

October 21-22nd, 1991 - Astronomy Lesson
The moon vrbat arwd the Earlh.
if The Sun did not shone Thn tre will Be no anmos and no Peplle.
The Etahe revolves orde the Sun and the moon go's orade the ethe.
the end.
(Look out, Copernicus!)

December 11, 1991 - Favorite Snow Activity
This is how to buld a snowman.
You maek it of snow.
the end.

January 6th, 1992 - New Year's Resolution
My resolution is to do bedr wrck.
(Ambitious, no?)

March 4th, 1992 - What is Your Favorite Food?
I always have a spgetti. oh no i'm gitting so sqcedtti attac. ah ahah!

April 1st, 1992 - April Fool's!
I like to trik peple on April Fool's.
I like to say what's that on yor shet. I like to say whay do may florrws bring, too.

May 13th, 1992 - Death Day?
My plat died saterday. but I have a new one that is alive.
ahadabird that died.

So you see, God always seems to find a way to keep me humble. Honestly, we got a huge kick out of reading this and I hope you did, too. If you ever get a chance to retrace your childhood, do it. You never know what you'll find.

P.S. I made the mistake of hitting Spellcheck. Jeez o Pete....

Math Lesson

2009-10-16T09:33:00.002-05:00

If your husband drinks a 5 Hour Energy shot 3 hours before bed, how much time will he spend singing MTV's Top 100 Songs from the 90's?

Your sympathy is appreciated.

Back on Track

2009-10-15T11:39:00.004-05:00

My apologies to the tens of people who read my blog (read: mom, her coworkers, and my dad) for not updating as regularly as I should. But really, when I'm busy cruising around here:

Can you really blame me? Since Olivet doesn't believe in giving their employees the day off on Labor Day, they graciously give us Columbus Day. And since I'm always on the lookout for mini-vacations, I decided to visit my friend Megan in Palo Alto, California for a few days.

Unfortunately I cannot brag that it was 80 degrees and sunny seeing as we wore sweatshirts and jeans to the beach, but I was on the beach nonetheless! I had forgotten how much I love mountains (though not necessarily driving through them) and was reminded of Illinois' lack of topography. 'Twas good to see an old friend, but I went through some serious Man-withdrawal.

How could I not miss this face?

While I was gone, he started his new job at Olivet and I cannot begin to express our excitement! He no longer has to get up at 5am for his 45 minute commute, which means that I no longer have to get up at 5:09am because he forgot to turn off his alarm. Everybody wins! We are stepping out in faith financially (everyone at Olivet can relate) but with an extra $200 a month saved in gas alone, I think Dave Ramsey would be proud. We're still praying for God's guidance as the Man continues to test for a police officer position, but at least he's closer to home in the meantime. Not to mention the fact that he wears a uniform. (Amen?)

So don't worry mom, I'm back in office safe & sound and you can tell grandma that I made sure Billy wore clean underpants on his first day.

All the Small Things

2009-10-02T15:34:00.006-05:00

...true care, truth brings. (Oh Blink-182, how I miss your three power chords and two minute songs. Thank you for single handedly providing the soundtrack to my high school career.)

When bragging about their husbands, most newlyweds around here go on and on about his latest extravagant romantic gesture. Maybe it's our old age (see last week's post), but once we were married, mine and Billy's views of romanticism changed drastically. To help explain, I have created a few examples comparing the infamous "Mr. Impressive" to the Man:

Mr. Impressive: Has flowers delivered to wife's workplace.
The Man: Throws out dead flowers in the living room that have started to smell.

Mr. Impressive: Cooks an elaborate meal and does the dishes afterwards.
The Man: Makes a frozen pizza and throws away the napkins.

Mr. Impressive: Buys small presents and leaves them around the house for the wife to find.
The Man: Buys toilet paper and refills the roll for his wife to use.

Mr. Impressive: Serenates his wife with love songs he's written.
The Man: Sings selections from "Offspring's Greatest Hits" and the "Celebration Hymnal" at bedtime.

Mr. Impressive: Writes love notes on sticky's and leaves them on the bathroom mirror.
The Man: Washes the crock pot and cleans the bathroom.

Mr. Impressive: Watches "P.S. I Love You" with his wife and pretends to cry.
The Man: Watches "Braveheart" with his wife and releases a solitary man tear.

Let me say this, the Man knows how to be traditionally romantic -- he has bought me flowers, made me dinner, and has written love letters. He can be incredibly romantic, but in our short marriage, I have come to appreciate all of the little things he does. So for now, nothing says "I love you" more than putting the toilet seat down. Amen?

Small Town Southern Man

2009-09-30T14:12:00.002-05:00

Now that I've decided to blog about the dysfunctional relationships in my life, I feel as though I should introduce the original Man. No, not Jesus. Not Rocky. Not Chuck Norris.

Billy.

Pre-Lauren Billy.

Northwoods Wisconsin Billy.

The "I wear pleated pants, play World of Warcraft, never been to a large city, wear socks with sandals, and have an earring" Billy.

Never underestimate the power of a woman. Or Gap.

Purpose Driven Blog

2009-09-29T11:07:00.005-05:00

I'm thinking that my blog needs to take a certain direction; it needs to have a purpose; a theme, if you will. Most of the blogs I read are dedicated to certain topics or areas in life: restoring an old house, adjusting to life as a redneck, wrangling three small children, 365 days of crock potting, garage sales, etc.

As I was laying in bed last night, listening to the Man sing "Deep in the Heart of Texas" in a Reba-esque accent, I found what I was looking for. I should probably consult my friends and members of my family before I mention them in my blog posts, but it's easier to ask for forgiveness than for permission, right? I love you all dearly and have no qualms with most family members (except for the select few who choose not to speak to me, but it's their loss -- I'm a hoot). Besides, let's be honest -- my life is a bit of a freak show. And freak shows are entertaining.

Don't worry, I'm not going to post anything too embarrassing, like the Man's obsession with Celine Dion or my mother's secret love for ponytails on men. But as a warning, if you do or say something completely ridiculous, you bet I'm going to write about it. 'Til then....

Early Marriage: A Rant

2009-09-24T13:35:00.004-05:00

Contrary to popular belief, it's not often that I go on a rant about a particular subject. I know that I tend to be opinionated and stubborn, so usually I try and keep my mouth shut during debates to avoid causing a scene. However, after participating in a discussion this morning about early-age marriage, I'm dusting off the old soapbox and climbing aboard.

Let me put it bluntly: I think getting married at an early age is a bad idea. Considering that I work at a conservative private university where core family values and Christian ideals are strongly expressed, my views don't always receive a warm welcome. It's not that I don't believe in the Biblical family structure of one man and one woman; I wholeheartedly endorse heterosexual marriage and believe that we are better off economically, spiritually, physically, and emotionally because of it. My problem comes when Godly people: pastors, professors, parents, mentors, etc. encourage young college students (teenagers even!) to not wait to tie the knot.

This morning I read an article from Christianity Today, which basically stated that couples should get married at a young age to avoid having to stay abstinent during their peak sexual maturity. The author - Mark Regnerus - claims that the rising age-at-marriage for women from 21 (in 1970) to 26 (today) has cost us "five additional long years of peak sexual interest and fertility." Is it just me, or does this sound absolutely ridiculous?? Last time I checked, 20 year old women weren't lining up to get married so they could start having babies (unless, of course, your last name is Duggar and in that case, I'll be praying for you). The article does list some additional factors in making a marriage work, as a footnote at the end of seven pages, but the overall thesis was having sex. Choosing to get married because of sexual maturity and fertility is shallow at best and detrimental at worst.

But sex isn't even the real reason why I don't support early age-at-marriage. Through my job, I have dealt with several young couples who have faced not only economic hardship, but emotional and spiritual turmoil due to marrying too young. Marriage is a huge reality check for students who think that once they are married, life will continue to be blissful. In the article, Mr. Regnerus encourages parents to help out their young newlyweds (financially) as they adjust to independent life. With marriage comes responsibility, which means stop living off of mom and dad and/or Sallie Mae, get a job, and pay the bills. Choosing to get married is a HUGE decision, which honestly I don't think the average 18-22 year old is fit to make.

I know, here I am I'm ranting and raving about the evils of getting married too early, when I said, "I do" before my 25th birthday. Are we the only exception because it's my blog and I can't be wrong? Of course not. But we did make the transition from child, to college student, to independently functioning members of society before choosing to share our lives together. We graduated from college, got jobs, moved into our separate apartments, and got a taste of real life. I fear that students today think that marriage is "just like college, only with sex" and don't consider the consequences or missed opportunities. I'm not saying that everyone should be out of debt or own a house or have an established career before getting married (since we have none of those); but at least learn to stand on your own two feet first.

Part of me feels as though I should apologize if I offended anyone, but really, I don't think I'm too out of line. I have several friends who got married (what I would consider) young, and are making it work. Heck, my own parents did it! But does that mean I have to encourage it or condone it? No. Unfortunately it's not my job to give out advice, but maybe I'll start handing out my blog address with my business cards. Then again, as a landlady at a Christian university, my job would be at risk if students starting listening to me.

If I Had a Hammer...

2009-09-18T15:02:00.003-05:00

....I'd probably whack some people over the head with it. Seriously though, if I had a nickel for every time I had to bite my tongue at work, I could afford the surgery to piece it back together. I know that I work at a Christian university and I should reflect Jesus' kind and gentle spirit, but really -- even Jesus upturned a few chicken coops now and then! I'm sure he didn't apologize to the Pharisees for being too harsh and I bet he never sugarcoated the truth in fear of ruffling their feathers. So why do I have to?

I think my office should be operated like the days of the Bible. If you don't pay your rent -- you're out on the street. If you don't repay your loans -- your wages are garnished for the rest of your life. If you write a bad check -- you owe us two goats and a donkey. If you call me names -- a pillar of fire from Heaven will descend upon you. If you take a piece of chocolate off my desk without asking -- you lose your hand. And so on and so forth. Sure it may seem a bit harsh compared to modern day ettiquete, but it would get the point across. And I wouldn't be out of chocolate.

September 16th! "Bah bah!"

2009-09-16T10:08:00.003-05:00

One of the few benefits of being my friend is that I will (most likely) write a blog post in honor of your birthday (if I don't forget about it). Today, I would like to wish a very happy birthday to Ms. Faith A. Newman.

In Faith, I have found a fellow Friends watcher, Starbucks addict, Olympics buff, Buckeye devotee, Biggest Loser follower, and Brian Regan fan.

But more than just TV shows and Pieter Van Den Hoogenband, Faith has tirelessly elbowed her way into my inner circle, and I couldn't be more grateful. She has proven to be a wonderful friend, confidant, and fellow office trouble maker. (Let's be honest, everyone knows when Faith and I are together -- we kinda make a ruckus.)

Though we have not been close for very long, she has certainly made her mark on my life (and I mean that in a good way). So to Faith, I wish you the happiest of birthdays!

May you continue to bring joy and laughter into others' lives as you have mine. And brownies. And yum-bos. And those awesome no-bake cookies. (What are they called? Squishies?)

Happy Birthday!

What I'm For

2009-09-15T11:46:00.007-05:00

Have you heard the song, "What I'm For" by Pat Green? (Of course not, since most of you don't have every single radio preset tuned to country music stations.) Anyway, the song lists several types of people, places, and things that the artist appreciates, and at the end of the chorus he sings, "You don't have to guess what I'm against, if you know what I'm for." I began to think about what I'm for, and since I love lists oh so much, here they are[in no particular order]:

Country music (duh). And not the modern, guitar-driven, glittery shirt-wearin', faux hawk-stylin', appearing on The Late Show kinda country. I'm talking 'bout Alan Jackson, Patsy Cline, Dolly Parton, Geroge Strait, The Statler Brothers, George Jones, etc.
Hot dogs cooked over a fire
Chevy trucks
Singing the National Anthem
Football (particularly the Ohio State Buckeyes)
Starbucks Coffee Company
Reading instead of watching TV
Playing outside instead of watching TV
Clearance racks
Card games
Grass stains
Church on Sunday morning
Rugged men (cowboys, lumberjacks, muscle-bound Jews, etc.)
Paying with cash
Road trips
Family get togethers
Clorox Bleach
Tent camping
Corporal punishment
Cold beer (with or without the "root")
Fat jeans
Martha Stewart
Social justice
Physical fitness
Acceptance (not to be confused with tolerance)
Hard work
$5 pizzas
Pretending to be high class
Simple living
401(k)'s
Motorcycles
Lunch breaks*

*And with that being said, I'll stop for now. I'm curious to know what some of you are "for."

Way Back Whensday (ONU Edition)

2009-09-02T11:27:00.000-05:00

It's that time of year -- when students return and the campus is buzzing with excitement and anticipation for the upcoming school year. (Do I sound like a brochure yet?) Today's post is in honor of Olivet and the 4 years I spent within these walls - shall ne'er forgotten be.

Thankfully I do not have any pictures from my freshman year (see the previous "Way Back Whensday" post, throw in a few thrift store t-shirts and a messenger bag, and you've got Freshman Lauren.) Judging by the "SOPHOMORE" written on our t-shirts, you can assume this was during Ollies Follies 2004.

Fast forward to Ollies Follies 2007 - Senior Year. Without a doubt, this was my best year at Olivet, with some of the most amazing roommates/friends: (l to r) Christen, Amy, and Megan. Our year was defined by Rocky movie marathons, endless batches of puppy chow, The Adventures of Mr. Wiggens, apartment boyfriends, and the continual game of "Don't Wake Daddy." Love these girls!

Finally, the infamous 2007 Sigma Tau Delta National Convention (affectionately known as NerdFest) in Pittsburgh, PA. It was a beautiful city, spent with beautiful friends and it was my first semi-decent accomplishment as an English major (other than, you know, studying at Oxford). Despite the 12+ hour train ride with no food, crazy bra-less ladies who slept on the floor, 13 year old drug dealers, and the Sigma Tau chapter president (who shall remain nameless) yelling at Dr. McGuire, we managed to have fun.

This fall marks my 6th year at Olivet -- 4 as a student, 2 as an employee -- and Lord knows when (or if) I'll ever leave.

Going Green

2009-09-01T15:33:00.004-05:00

I've decided to go "green" by yelling and smacking stupid people upside their heads instead of writing polite emails and letters.

Can't say I haven't done my part in reducing my carbon footprint -- I'll kick you with it.

Registration Follies

2009-08-27T10:14:00.002-05:00

Another semester, another set of clueless students and impatient parents. Despite the long work days, part of me enjoys working registration at Olivet -- solely for the entertainment it provides. Last year I began handing out what I call the "Golden Star" award to the one student who truly stood out above the rest.

Last year's winner was the incoming football player who hadn't preregistered, didn't have his Student Data Sheet, didn't sign up for financial aid, didn't sign his housing contract; basically didn't have any documentation stating that he was a student at Olivet. His reasoning? "Um, I play football." As if I was supposed to pull his name out of the Golden Box of Football Players that magically takes care of everything. Nice try, buddy. You're a Golden Star.

This year? While walking through the hallway I overhead a (very fake) blonde girl exclaim, "Lauren Conrad is my idol!!" I shook my head and returned to my post at the cashier's desk only to realize that Ms. Wanna-Be Hilton was next in line. Here's a rundown of our 5 minute conversation:

Blonde Girl: "Ok, um, I need to like sign something or whatever so I can go to class."
Me: "Ok, here's your Student Data Sheet. It looks like you have a credit on your account."
Blonde Girl: "Um, I'm not paying with a credit card. My daddy already made a payment."
Me: "I know. You don't need to make a payment. You have a credit."
Blonde Girl: [blank stare] "I don't get it."
Me: "You have extra money left over. You don't need to pay anything. You have a credit."
Blonde Girl: [blank stare] "But I already said that I'm not paying with a credit card. I don't get it!"
Me: "Ok. See this big number? If you take the big number away from the little number you have money left over. That means you do not need to pay any money. You do not owe us any money."
Blonde Girl: [blank stare] "Oh my God, wait! [long pause] Did you get your pants at The Limited?!"
Me: [blank stare] "No. Please just sign your name here."
Blonde Girl: "Seriously? Cuz I just bought a pair that look just like those. Are you sure you didn't buy them at The Limited?"
Me: "Yes, I'm sure. Please sign here."

Congratulations, Blonde Girl! You are truly a Golden Star.

Why Did I Get Married? (Part III)

2009-08-24T09:19:00.003-05:00

[After watching Last of the Mohican's]:

"Honey, if a tribe of Huron Indians kidnapped you in the middle of the dense New York forest, I would track them down and kill their leader with my tomahawk. That's how much I love you."

Ain't he sweet?

Party Animals

2009-08-17T12:07:00.002-05:00

On the seemingly rare occasion that Billy actually had a Saturday off, we took full advantage of it by doing what every couple in Bourbonnais does: visit downtown Chicago. (I realize that my verb tense is awry, but I don't care. Just roll with me.) Nevermind the fact that it was a bazillion degrees and was impossibly crowded due to the Air & Water show, we (read: I) wanted to see fireworks at Navy Pier.

And in typical "Lauren" fashion, my camera died 30 seconds after we took these few obligatory bean pictures. So we have no pictures of us walking 3.21 miles to Navy Pier, spending $16 on two hotdogs (outrageous!), people-watching for an hour, realizing that the fireworks didn't start until 10:15pm not the advertised 9:00pm, and leaving the fireworks early because we're old and wanted to catch the early train.

We've come to a mutual decision that a "date night" is better spent on a $5 Little Caesar's pizza and a movie rental. No crowds, no long lines, no cigarette smoke blown in my face, no cranky kids in strollers, no budget-blowing food prices, and most importantly, no constant need for hand sanitizer. Well, maybe just a little.

It was great to spend time together, but downtown Chicago is entirely overrated.

Oh and did I mention that we almost adopted a puppy? And by "almost" I mean we filled out the paperwork, contacted references, and looked for a different apartment that would allow dogs? We don't know why we torture ourselves like we do. One day -- sorry, mom.

Road Rage

2009-08-13T13:40:00.002-05:00

Last Sunday (when it was about 1000 degrees outside), we decided to stop by a car show on our way home from church and lo and behold, I had my camera! It wasn't the most exciting car show in the world, but I am so darn proud of myself for having my camera that I had to post pictures. Deal with it.

You may not know this, but my mom has a "thing" for vintage Ford Mustangs. Just look at that giddy smile on her face.

Billy was partial to the 1968 Chevy Camaro with twin-turbo carburetors and a flush-valve locking air intake with super-charged fuel pumps leading into the straight lined v8 812 horsepower engine.

Obviously, I was there to look at the pretty cars.

Father/Son-in-Law bonding. I'm sure they were talking about fuel efficiency or horsepower or whatever, but I like to think they were discussing what wonderful wives they have.

Call Me Spitfire

2009-08-11T15:46:00.006-05:00

No offense, but sometimes it takes more effort to be a "good" Christian than it does to just to be a flawed human being who desires the Lord's will. When life doesn't go according to plan, I'm not the one who remains calm, trusting that God has a reason for everything and knowing that my faith will prevail unscathed. I don't retreat to recesses of my Bible teaching and quietly present my disappointments to God. I can't sit back and watch my plans and hopes unravel, while continuously claiming that the Lord is in control so I don't have to be.

Are you freaking kidding me?!

I may as well be Pentecostal judging by the size and volume of my ranting and raving. Bad news comes and BOOM! I'm lit up like a firecracker on the 4th of July. I yell and cry and scream and throw things and wail and generally cause a big noisy fuss (hence the Modern Day Ramona). This typically lasts between 15-30 minutes or until I either run out of steam or my neighbors are threatening to call the police (which is funny since I'm causing such a fuss to God and really, you can't arrest God). I am a flawed human being who needs to physically act out my disappointment, hurt, and anger. It's much more therapeutic than sitting at my desk and praying for God to heal my heart. And oh boy, does He hear it!

In the end though, I come to the same conclusion that God is still God and I am not. No matter how loud I present my arguments, God always trumps them. He is who He says He is and will do what He says He will do with no help from me. I don't always understand how He works or why He chooses to lead us through the wilderness and it may come out as, "What the HECK ARE YOU DOING!?!?" But I have been through trials without faith, and it's a place I swore I would never return. I'm not giving up on God since He has never given up on me and so I will trust that He knows what He's doing.

But that doesn't mean I can't cause a big noisy fuss along the way.

Slacker

2009-08-06T11:12:00.002-05:00

I realize that it's now Thursday; more than two weeks past my original "Way Back Whensday" post. I get these great ideas and am inspired to be like other bloggers who post every day, sometimes twice a day, yet nothing really seems to come to fruition. I should get a notebook to record my funny/quirky/serious/jaw-dropping/creative blog ideas -- not that they would end up on my blog because c'mon, I'm not that efficient. Anyway, I promise to try and improve my Blogger etiquette by posting more than just once a week. Or until my boss finds out that I'm using company time to entertain tens of people.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

2009-08-03T15:44:00.003-05:00

Ok, so it's fairly obvious that I'm not the most efficient photographer in the world. In fact, even when I remember to bring my camera to places, I rarely ever take pictures. I don't have a single picture from the 4th of July or my brother-in-law's graduation party, but don't worry -- I had my camera ready and waiting for the wondrous and riveting South Bend Chocolate Company tour. I have priorities.

My dad and said brother-in-law claimed that they had to go "fix the camper" and dropped us (my mom, sister, and I) off at the entrance. The Badger Tour Bus also dropped off 50 senior citizens who traveled from Milwaukee just to see how some of South Bend's finest chocolates are made. We knew almost immediately that we were going to be the most obnoxious tourists when we were greeted by this:

My even-natured (but pregnant) sister waited patiently as two little girls finished taking their pictures so we could have a go. The three of us were laughing hysterically before we even walked into the store. A young (and obviously thrilled) girl took us from room to room explaining how the different types of candy were made. As we entered the conveyor belt/sifting/dipping/twirling/magic room, my sister noticed this:

"A vat full of chocolate?! That's the best hot tub ever!"

(Did I mention that Brittany's pregnant?)

We laughed until we cried and ate chocolate spoons and took one too many goodie bags and listened to Jose the Cacao Bean and made new friends and thoroughly made fools out of ourselves. I love little adventures like this and though I cannot remember a single thing about how they make chocolate truffles, I will forever remember my mom singing "I'm Too Sexy for my Hairnet" in the rain.

Quotable Weekend

2009-07-28T10:28:00.002-05:00

This past weekend would be way more entertaining if I described it in various quotes overheard. Enjoy!

"This is why I choose not to babysit. It's hazardous to their health."
"Fat guys should not run topless. Period."
"This watermelon is definitely fermented, but I'm going to eat it anyway because there's no alcohol in the house and I've had a rough day."
"Dollar stores smell like China."
"I'll move to the ghetto as long as I get a shotgun and a pit bull. And we name our first child Shaniqua."
"A dead Faith is a useless Faith."
"What's more romantic that Lethal Weapon 2?"
"Can you imagine hail-sized chimpanzees? Or better yet, chimpanzee-sized hail?"
"You'll be the first Jew to name his son after a French-Canadian hockey player."
"Some husbands do laundry, others fix things -- mine eats pudding off the floor."
"You have a great voice -- it has a weird quality to it. That was supposed to be a compliment."

Way Back Whensday (Short Hair Edition)

2009-07-22T10:52:00.002-05:00

As much as I would like to, I cannot take credit for this ingenious idea of rifling through old pictures and posting them for public humiliation. My friend Christine (of www.keepingupwiththecases.com) has several posts on her blog and I shamelessly followed suit. I figured the blogger world should see the old Lauren -- spikes and all. Ready?

Circa 2001: Silver Birch Ranch. Here I am sporting the classic hexagon glasses (the pair I ended up flushing down the toilet) and reverse-punk mullet: long bangs in front, short spikes in the back. I would put so much gel and hair spray in my bangs that they would plaster to my face and not move. Ever.

Circa 2000-01: Mission Mexico. My sophomore year of high school I went on a missions trip with my youth group. I'm on the right (obviously) again with the hexagon glasses and reverse-punk mullet. Seriously, why did I ever think that looked good??

Circa 2000-01: Mission Mexico. Here you can actually see the glare from the sun off of my plastered bangs. By the end of the day, the ends would begin to dry out and curl up my cheek like a mini Jerry-curl. So cool.

Circa 2003: Senior Prom. I finally put the reverse-punk mullet to rest and opted with the "Halle Berry in James Bond" look. I have to admit, I still kinda like this haircut sans the ridiculous amount of pomade and Suave Ultra Hold. Also please note that my pasty white skin blends perfectly with the white top of my dress and my homemade pearl necklace from Jo-Ann Fabrics.

Many thanks to Christine for giving me this idea. Be prepared for next week when I scan in some of my old family pictures -- it'll be good.

Squirrel and Stubby Ride Again!

2009-07-16T11:38:00.002-05:00

After an almost 5 month hiatus, Squirrel (aka Megan Smalley) and Stubby (myself) will be reunited! Megan has been studying sports psychology at Springfield College in Massachusetts and I haven't seen her since my wedding.

Typically everyone knows when we're together since we tend to be a bit....well....obnoxious. (What else would you expect from people whose nicknames come from Bio Dome?)

She's driving in from her hometown of Flushing, Michigan and will be staying with Billy and I for the weekend. We don't care that her motives aren't only to see us, but rather to attend a former teammate's wedding....

I'm excited, nonetheless! More pictures and stories to follow, I am sure.

Why Did I Get Married? (The Mushy Part)

2009-07-15T11:48:00.006-05:00

Buckle up – I’m getting sappy. A bit of background info: I had (have?) a very strong personality and had taken the token role as leader in all of my previous relationships. I was very domineering, which typically led the other person to see things my way, and I fell victim to the feminist worldview that men are weak compared to the intellect and influence of women. No one dared to confront me as I had a quick fuse and an explosive temper to back it up. I was in control and made sure that everyone knew it.

[Cue: God]

Despite my "anything you can do I can do better" mentality, I wanted someone else to take the reins. I grew weary of being “on” at all times – fearing that any falter would be perceived as weakness. There was this restlessness in my heart; a feeling that there had to be more. I needed more than just a date on a Friday night or a piece of arm candy. I needed a soul mate. Someone who would truly know me – not just the Lauren I would put on display – but the insecure, anxious, impatient, sensitive and fearful me. The Lauren who is afraid of the dark, who cries during The Biggest Loser, who hates spiders, and so desperately wants to meet everyone’s expectations. I needed someone who was ready and willing to take up arms to protect me against the lies of the evil one. Someone whom I could trust without reservation and who would seek the Lord’s wisdom above his own. Someone who would radically change my life.

[Cue: Billy]

And that he (He) did. God has used our relationship to draw me so much closer to Him – to seek Him as my source of strength, to trust in His timing, to rely on His provision each day. In Billy, He has blessed me with everything I didn’t know I needed. Billy and I are so much stronger together than we could ever be alone, and we are committed to remain as a team. And it doesn’t hurt that God granted all of this in a pretty darn good looking package. (I need a moment to reflect on His craftsmanship and artistry. Praise ye the Lord. Amen.)

So why did I get married?

Because God has been, and will continue to be, my Jehovah Jireh.

Happy 8th of July?

2009-07-08T09:21:00.003-05:00

Ever since I learned how to post pictures on my blog, I find all of my non-picture posts quite boring. And since I'm so efficient at capturing our life happenings on film, I'm using pictures from last summer to describe our fun-filled day at the beach this past Monday. Don't judge me.

Billy and I have a pseudo-tradition of taking a day off of work and going to the Warren Dunes in Michigan. Yes, it's a long drive but the luxury of actually seeing the sun in the summer is well worth it. *Please note that even though these pictures are from last summer, they are eerily similar to our adventure two days ago. What exciting lives we live. I digress....

Before leaving, we hit the local Wal-Mart and stock up on Igloo essentials such as sub sandwiches, sweet tea, blackberries, and of course, DoubleStuf Oreos. What we don't bring, however, is suntan lotion.

We throw caution to the wind, reserve our optimal UV exposure spot, stuff our faces with food, and end up fried like an egg on blacktop. (How's THAT for an analogy?!) Sunburn aside, we've come to cherish the time we have together to just relax and get away. We haven't and won't get many chances to take vacations, so these little "get-aways" are heaven. Pure blistered, heat exhausted, aloe-soaked heaven.

And by the way, this was the first year I went without seeing fireworks on the 4th of July. I caught three large mouth bass and two bluegill instead. Yee-haw!

Bring It

2009-06-24T15:08:00.006-05:00

In the past, I've feared the "something big is about to happen" feeling. It was probably because I was doing something stupid and was on the cusp of either being arrested or kicked out of school or deported or excommunicated or something along those lines. But now that I have my ducks in a row (or at least in the same pond), we are anxious to see how God is going to move.

For the past several weeks Billy and I have begun to feel.....restless. I guess that's the best word to describe it. Our lives right now are comfortable and we are extremely grateful to finally have a handle on life -- better yet, we've allowed God to handle our lives. We are getting along swimmingly, we have a great house, we both have decent jobs, we finally have a handle on our finances, and we have wonderful friends and family, but there's this lingering feeling that God has something up his sleeve. I have no idea what it is -- I know my mother is probably praying that God will open up my womb and provide her with triplet grandbabies.

Billy has been searching for a police job for almost two years now, and the disappointment of failure is taking its toll. He's starting to look towards big cities as they have greater odds of hiring. As for me, I usually enjoy my job (more so the environment), but I'm ready for more. I do not feel as though I am living up to my potential and I know that God has something else out there for me; whether it's teaching Shakespeare at a major university or writing a column for a small town newspaper or becoming a personal trainer a giant health club downtown. I have no idea but the possibilities are endless!

I guess what I'm trying to say is that Billy and I are ready. If the Lord calls us to Louisville or Mesquite or Denver--then we will pack our bags. If He chooses to send us through the storm of switching jobs--we will buckle down and grab our raincoats. If He decides that we need to start a family right now--ah jeez--then we will clean out the guest bedroom so Mom can move in. All we know is that we want to follow wherever He may lead us and trust that His will be done. Who knows, I may still be here a year from now blogging about unflushed toilets and Ms. McEatsalot.

Ribs, Roundhouse Kicks, and Carbs

2009-06-22T10:54:00.004-05:00

Welp, so much for my low-key, relaxing weekend! I went to my parents' house to celebrate my brother-in-law's graduation, Father's Day, and the end of Hell week (if there was ever a time that I wanted to quit and/or get fired for not following proper protocol at work, it was last Thursday). I was hoping to chill out at home, eat some good food, and maybe play a pick-up game of ultimate frisbee. Instead....

I managed to get Billy's truck (affectionately known as 'Duke') stuck in 6 inches of mud at the Marley Flea Market. After several unsuccessful attempts involving a bag of sand, a rubber mat, and a blanket, I played the "helpless wife" card and asked two random middle-aged men to help me out. I spent the rest of the morning trying to convince my mom and grandparents that I had everything under control.
I ate approximately 4, 560 grams of carbohydrates on Saturday alone including (but not limited to) homemade pumpkin pie, a hot dog, popcorn, 4 cans of Pepsi, one small decaf iced blueberry coffee with cream and sugar, half a package of beef jerky, a cheeseburger, cole slaw, two fun-size bags of Doritos, a chocolate cupcake, a piece of chocolate cake, leftover frosting from said chocolate cake, and chocolate chip pancakes. I fell asleep that night in a happy, carb-induced coma.
After returning to Bourbonnais Saturday night, the leftover cans of Coke sitting in Duke's passenger seat fell out of the box and exploded. Everywhere. Not only is Duke covered in mud on the outside, but he now smells like sweet, syrupy Coke on the inside. Poor guy.
Billy and I drove back up north Sunday morning, which involved eating toast and Coke for breakfast, discovering that Keifer (my Jetta) had zero oil pressure, an emergency stop at BP for Pennzoil and gum, an impromptu lesson on reading a dipstick, and cutting off a Lincoln Towncar to get to church on time.
For lunch we went to The Patio to celebrate my mom's birthday/Father's Day. I continued my carb-loading by devouring a half-slab of ribs, cole slaw, french fries, and a roll. Don't judge me.
After we finally made it back to Bourbonnais, Billy and I decided to treat ourselves to Dairy Queen (more carbs) and watch the season finale of The Ultimate Fighter. Somehow this ended up as an impromptu lesson on roundhouse kicks and flying Superman punches. Good thing I'm the landlord, because otherwise I don't think I would be getting my deposit back.

And now I am stuck at work on this beauteous day while my sister, brother-in-law, and mother are screaming their heads off at Great America as so-called "chaperone's." *sigh* Is it Friday yet?

Lobster Claw

2009-06-17T11:28:00.003-05:00

As you may recall, my husband and I participate in a self-defense class and somehow every time I end up bruised and/or bleeding. This week's injury?

The Lobster Claw.

Billy and were sparring (without pads -- brilliant, right?) and somehow my fist connected with his kneecap. I have had my fair share of jammed digits, playing basketball throughout junior high and high school, but this hurt like none other. I was fine that night, but come Tuesday morning I couldn't move my hand and the pain was shooting down my left forearm.

I made the mistake of showing Faith my hotdog-sized finger, and she immediately sent me to the trainer on campus. He poked and prodded and after I almost clobbered him, he put a splint on and told me to go get x-rays. Which, of course, I didn't. I took two Tylenol and went back to work. However, it's fairly difficult to type and/or write when:

Your writing hand looks like a demented lobster claw. I have considered only typing words from the right side of the keyboard, but I don't think my boss would approve of emails filled with poop, pimp, jump, junk, punk, limp, and kill. It's not all bad though -- I've become accustomed to "hunting & pecking" and my coworkers have forgiven me for continually flicking them off. Hopefully this will heal soon and I can go back to writing my own reports and typing faster than 10 WPM.

P.S. Under normal circumstances I would have made a special post in honor of my mother's birthday yesterday, but: 1.) the lobster claw wouldn't cooperate and 2.) she went to go see Topol in Fiddler on the Roof and I'm royally jealous so she doesn't get a blog post until I'm done pouting.

I'm sorry. I love you, Mom. Happy belated birthday!

I Left My Pride on the Dance Floor

2009-06-15T11:03:00.002-05:00

Billy and I have been in need of a vacation for awhile, especially after this week (*future blog post #1), and decided to use our friends' weddings as our mini-getaway. This past Saturday we traveled to Pike County, Illinois (read: boofu, podunk, sticks, redneck country, etc.) to witness Kody Mefford and Amy Murray's beautiful wedding. Since it was held outside in the middle of June, they so graciously provided the guests with hand fans:

"Wait! Take a picture of me looking like a girl!"

I have never been more proud.

We had booked a room at the William Watson Hotel in Pittsfield for after the wedding, and it was just about the cutest place in the world. I take after my mother in the sense that I love old, historic, family-run places and the entire time I kept saying, "This is just so cute!"

Pittsfield has a population of about 4500, not including cows, so it was nice to get away and enjoy life a slower pace.

Billy took the "slow pace" to heart and slept approximately 3 out of the 3 1/2 hour trip. We left Pittsfield and drove another 3 hours north to our friends' Paige & Doug's wedding in Ottawa. I unfortunately do not have any pictures as my camera died at the start of the ceremony.

We met up with our dear friends, the McDaniels' (Matt & Laurryn and Mike & Jessica), and danced like we never danced before! Once I steal Jessica's pictures off of Facebook, I'll be sure to post the ones of Billy and Mike doing the catwalk to "I'm Too Sexy" and Billy lip syncing to "I Can't Fight This Feeling." I also extend my sincere apologies to the mothers of those two jr. high girls who/whom I taught "Save a Horse Ride a Cowboy." I do love Jesus, I promise, but even He understands that sometimes I just hafta dance! Overall, it was a wonderful, hectic, long, relaxing, busy, weekend filled with laughter, amazing friends, and great memories.

Monday Morning Mayhem

2009-06-08T09:34:00.002-05:00

Let me start by saying that I hate, absolutely hate, mornings - especially Monday mornings - and I do everything possible to avoid the inevitable. I hit my snooze button approximately 6 times, I drag my sorry butt into the shower where I have (more than once) fallen asleep under the soothing hot water, I stand in my closet for 10 minutes staring at my wardrobe in hopes that something new and exciting will magically appear, I finally get dressed and climb back into bed until my husband gets annoyed with my wet hair, I reluctantly do my hair and makeup, eat a measly breakfast while catching Al Roker's weather report, and am out the door by 7:58am. Yes, I start work at 8:00am. Don't judge me.

On this particular Monday morning I was in desperate need of coffee and since I left myself no time to brew a pot at home, I decided to stop at the local McDonald's. (I am on a budget. Don't judge me.) When I pulled into the drive-thru, an older woman in a beat-up Mazda was already ordering so I took my place behind her and waited patiently. TEN MINUTES LATER she finally finished ordering and pulled through to pay. I quickly looked at the screen and noticed that she had ordered fifty dollars worth of breakfast food. $50 at McDonald's?! For breakfast?! For ONE WOMAN?! Geez o pete -- so I ordered my simple small, decaf, black coffee and proceeded to the first window where again I fell behind Ms. McEatsalot. After paying for her smorgasbord in one dollar bills (seriously, I can't make this stuff up), I finally made it to the window.

McDonald's employee: "Hi! You had two McGriddle's, one without cheese; one sausage McMuffin, one Big Breakfast with extra syrup, a medium iced Mocha with sugar-free vanilla syrup, and an extra hashbrown?"

Me: "No. Just a small, decaf coffee."

After trying to figure out her mistake with the help of two managers, I paid my $1.16 and pulled around to find none other than Ms.McEatsalot at the window ORDERING MORE FOOD! I sat there for a good five minutes while she dug around her purse for change to buy another orange juice. Seriously. Once I finally got my coffee not only was it cold, it wasn't decaf, and I was ten minutes late to work.

Happy freakin' Monday.

Happy Birthday, Grandma!

2009-06-04T11:24:00.002-05:00

There is absolutely no way my grandmother will ever see this blog post, but I wanted to take a moment and wish her a very happy (and slightly belated) birthday!

Does YOUR grandmother go white water rafting? Didn't think so.

I love you, grandma!

I hope you had a wonderful day filled with family, love, laughter, and lemon fluff cake!

Dream a Little Dream With Me (Part I)

2009-06-02T11:09:00.004-05:00

I'll be honest -- sometimes thinking of the future is so intimidating that I break out in hives and curl up on the couch with a box of Ding Dongs. But other times, when all of our bills are paid and the bathroom is clean, Billy and I enjoy dreaming about our future together. Join me, won't you?

This:

will be our faithful four-legged sidekick, Rufus. We'll also adopt an ex-racing greyhound and an American Staffordshire Terrier (the less intimidating pseudonym for a pit bull). Sorry, mom. I'll send pictures of your grandchildren.

This:

will be my chariot. I've always dreamed of owning a yellow Nissan Xterra so I can traverse the rugged Rocky Mountains or forge through the mighty Mississippi or fend off rogue shopping carts at the local Jewel. Ok seriously, I want one so when (if?) we decide to have these:

They'll think their mom is the coolest ever. Yes, I want all boys and no, I do not plan on birthing a black or hispanic child (JCrew likes to keep their ads politically correct). Yes, I will dress my boys in cute Oxford-ian outfits that I bought either on clearance or at a garage sale. Yes, they will hate me for it. Yes, I know I've been back and forth -- ok mostly back -- on the idea of having children, but when my husband looks like this:

Can you blame me?! Good Lord Almighty.

Be on the lookout for Part II -- when Billy and I buy a LeBaron, retire to Boca Raton, and survive on a diet of Wheat Thins and Tab.

Farther Up and Further In

You Asked For It....

Most Disturbing Conversation with The Man

Conversations With the Man (Part ?)

The One Where She Updates Her Blog

Did I Stutter?

Alive and Kickin'

A Dog Like Me

Most Anal Dog Owner. Ever.

Content

No, Really, I Have a Life Now

Secrets

Land of the Perpetual Turn Signal

Accomplished

Because III Isn't Enough...

Conversations With the Man (Part III)

Gonna Gitcha

Big Noisy Fuss

Disconnected

Howdy Y'all

Almost There...

Procrastination is an Art

America's Crossroads: Who Cares?

What I Learned at School Today

Bike Riding and Buffets

The South: Reflections

Role Model

Final Countdown

Bourbonnais Bucket List

Conversations With the Man (Part II)

Bam! It's My Birthday...

Hello? *tap* *tap* Anyone Out There?

You Smell Like Rubber

Five on...Monday?

Golden Star Award: Fall 2010

Five on Friday (already?)

Friday Fun Facts

When in Doubt, Order Pizza

Not Just a Pretty Face

Tan Wrinkled Raisin

Subway Follies

Life in Lists

Just Another American Midwestern Saturday Night

Disappearing Act

Morning Routine

A Week Late and a Buck Short

The Man, The Myth, The Enigma

Conversations With The Man

I Survived...Episode 1: Dinner With My Mother-In-Law

The Shotgun Chronicles

He is Risen! (Better late than never...)

Sir Booska Squeakerface

Snow, Miley Cyrus, and Zombies

1 Down, Eternity to Go

Time Thief

Call Me Mrs. Gimp

Life, Love, and Drunken Donkey Baseball

Little Things

Golden Star Award - Spring 2010

2009: A Review

A Good Man Wife is Hard to Find

C is for Creeper

Happy Holidays from the Hellers!

I Married a Nerd

Thanks a Lot

Jew and Dr.Pepper: A Love Story

Early Marriage: A Rant Part II

For Richer For Poorer

25 is the new...25?

Free Time?

Humble Beginnings

Math Lesson

Back on Track

All the Small Things

Small Town Southern Man

Purpose Driven Blog

Early Marriage: A Rant

If I Had a Hammer...

September 16th! "Bah bah!"

What I'm For

Hello? tap tap Anyone Out There?