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Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Boy meets girl. Boy and girl get married. Girl goes insane and boy is stuck with her.

Sure, it doesn’t sound romantic, but I’m pretty sure that’s how most marriages go. Now granted, while the girl goes insane, the boy also gets progressively more forgetful and develops a series of irritating habits, so it’s most definitely not a one-sided situation.

But regardless, I’m fairly certain that all husbands at some point (early on in marriage) question the sanity of their wives. And though we’ve only been married for 2 short years, I have a feeling Brian will continue questioning my sanity until death do us part. But again, not to worry, because I will continue removing the exact same YMCA card from his pocket when sorting the laundry every.single.week. until death do us part as well. It’s a trade-off.

But on to the focus of this post: Brian’s and my most recent marital dispute… or at least the most recent one that I feel comfortable sharing with the entire world. Which is amusing considering how crazy you will think I am after you’re finished reading, but nonetheless, I will continue in my quest to over-share about my life:

So there we were on Friday afternoon, comfortably perched on our respective couches (hey, sometimes we like to sprawl out and need our space, ok?) in front of the tv. We were about halfway into the DVR-ed premiere of Grey’s Anatomy from the previous night when Brian’s phone rang. Or buzzed, rather, because Brian for some reason has an aversion to being able to hear his phone, as indicated in yesterday’s post.

This is what I hear after the initial “hellos”:
Brian: Oh you do?
(chatter on the other line)
Brian: Hmm… and it’s tonight?
(chatter on the other line)
Brian: And how many tickets do you have?
(chatter on the other line)
Brian: Ok, so what time were you planning on going?
(chatter on the other line)
Brian: Umm… ok… let me call you back.

Translation: A friend called and invited Brian to attend a sporting event that evening. And any girl with even an ounce of intuition would gather from Brian’s final response that, even though he was definitely interested in saying yes, he was dutifully going to check with the wife before giving a final answer. He learned this technique the hard way, I assure you.

So before he even asks, I turn to him and say, “Ok so which sporting event were you invited to?” He then informs me that it was an invitation to an Astros game with the guys that evening, and in the same breath made sure to mention that he probably wasn’t going to go because he knew we had already had plans to eat dinner and watch our Netflix movie. Obviously he was just “double checking” to make sure that was the plan, right? Ha.

Ok, gentlemen, here is where logic stops being relevant, so please be aware that any effort for you to wrap your brain around my behavior or rationale is useless.

So I think to myself, “Ok, yes, we have plans tonight, and I definitely want him to stay home and keep me company so I don’t have to spend the night bored and alone… and without a car to take me to Dairy Queen. BUT he hardly ever gets to hang out with guys, and he hasn’t been to an Astros game in a long time, and it’s not like our plans are anything exciting. And besides, if I tell him that I want him to stay here with me and keep our plans, then I will look controlling and mean. And even though I might be both of those things, I at least want to try really hard to pretend not to be. But in addition to being controlling and mean, I am also aware that I’m a little on the selfish side, so I really would like him to stay. WHAT DO I DO?!”

So I sucked it up and made a decision: “Seriously, you should go. You don’t get opportunities like this often, and I’ll be fine! I promise!” He of course argued that he didn’t want to leave me alone, etc, and I argued back even more persistently that he should definitely go. And I even convinced myself that yes, he should go, and I would find some way to make the evening enjoyable on my own.

So he called his friend back and said, “Ok what time should we meet? 5:30? Ok sounds great- see you then.” Click.

And it was at that “click” that the crazy girl brain turned on. I then spent the next 45 minutes in full-on pout mode. It wasn’t even intentional—I promise! But nonetheless, I proceeded to sulk and give him short answers in hopes that he would secretly catch on to my pathetic-ness and decide to stay home instead. BUT it had to be his decision… I didn’t want to tell him to stay, I wanted him to decide to on his own. Obviously.

So long story short, he ended up leaving despite my best pouting efforts, but he was obviously very aware that I wasn’t too thrilled about it. So what did I do? Called Allison and cried. Because how else does a rational person respond when she tells her husband it’s ok to go somewhere and he actually ends up going? Yes, I’m aware that I’m crazy.

So I sent him a semi-apology (but really more of a guilt trip) text message and got no response. Which is when the irrational anger set in. Thought process: “I hope the Astros lose. And that he has a miserable time. And when he gets home in the middle of the night, I’m going to still be mad and ignore him.” 10 minutes went by and still no response, so what was the next step? Text message him again, but this time being much more upfront with my rage.

In response, he calls back. But what do I do? Press “ignore” and don’t answer. It’s game time now. He text messages me and asks me to call him, so I did (because I wanted to show him I was mad, but not be too cruel). And it was at this point that I realized I am seriously a huge idiot.

Because at this point, Brian informs me that he was not going to the game after all, and that he had called his friend to tell him so. And not only that, but he was on his way back from picking me up frozen yogurt for dessert, and that he’s sorry it was taking him so long, but that he would be home in a few minutes.

Proper response, ladies?

Cry again. Yes, I cried again. That’s twice in a 30-minute time span. Only this time I was crying because I was so embarrassed at how hatefully and psychotically I had behaved to my very sweet frozen yogurt-fetching husband. And it turns out that crying is the best way to cover up embarrassment because then instead of him getting mad at me for being psychotic, he felt sorry for me. Phew, close call.

He made it home and we, along with our yogurt, lived happily ever after. And yes, I’m very aware of how much trouble I could have saved us both if I had just answered his initial question with, “Actually, I was really looking forward to hanging out with you tonight. Would you take a rain check and stay here instead?”

But for the sake of being argumentative (I know, I will never learn), a lot of trouble also could have been saved if, rather than hanging up and asking me, Brian had just responded with, “Actually, I was really looking forward to hanging out with my wife tonight. Can I take a rain check?”

Anyway, I realize this post (like my previous post) is WAY TOO LONG, but I thought I’d share all the details in hopes that (a) boys might read this and be comforted that their wives aren’t the only ones that are crazy and (b) girls might read this and respond with, “I would have done the exact same thing!”

Because at least if I’m going to be crazy, I don’t want to be alone. Happy emotional roller coastering, ladies!

And PS- Sorry, Bryan and Stephen, that I kept Brian from joining you at the game! Hope you'll forgive me!

Sunday, September 27, 2009

I like to think of this blog as organized verbal vomit

For the record, I actually hate the phrase "verbal vomit." The mental image that the phrase conjures up in my brain is that someone starts talking and instead of words, barf comes out. Not a pretty picture.

Nonetheless, I am all too aware that often when I write (much like when I speak), there is very little filtering involved and I just seem to spit out (type) everything that comes to mind. And I have a good feeling that this post will follow those same guidelines, as it has been somewhat of an blog-worthy weekend, so buckle up and try to follow along.

Let's start off, much like my weekend did, with a "would you rather":

Would you rather (a) have a bladder infection or (b) have your car die suddenly on the freeway on the way to work?

Or here's a third option- how about (c) both of the above? Yes, that was my Friday morning. I apologize if declaring to the entire internet that I had a bladder infection is TMI (too much information, for those of you that aren't cool and hip), but who am I to keep my readers from knowing every tiny detail of my personal life, right?!

So yes, I wasn't feeling so hot to begin with, and to top it off, in the middle of my morning commute (moments after Natalie, the duck, hung up from a phone call to Allison in which she sang along to one of her new favorite songs), my car just plain died. I was trying to accelerate, and the car was clearly not interested in cooperating, so it just kind of slowed down to a stop.

I then proceeded to take the appropriate steps that my female brain deemed to be logical:
1. Turn on the flashers.
2. Turn the car off.
3. Call my husband.

Sadly, #3 was futile because Brian didn't answer*. So I resorted to the next logical step- calling my father-in-law, who just so happens to work at a car dealership. Long story short, he gave me the rundown on what the problem probably was, and told me to take the car to the closest filling station once I could get it started. Fortunately, a few attempts later, I was able to get it started and back on the road.

*In the 20 or so minutes between my car dying and me making it back to our house, I managed to call Brian's cell phone 22 times. Unfortunately, he was no where near his phone, and it happened to be on vibrate, so I had the good fortune of hearing Brian's voicemail message 22 times. That was special.

Anyway, for those of you that have any interest in cars (I do not), the diagnosis was a bad battery, and the problem has since been solved thanks to Brian and his dad's detective work. And I say "detective work" because the culprit was initially thought to be the alternator. Fortunately, a battery is about $100 less expensive to replace than an alternator, so hooray for that.

So anyway, I survived the car trauma, and with the help of some antibiotics, I also survived the bladder infection. But because I have the maturity of a 5-year-old, I have to point out that the warning label on my antibiotics informed me that the medicine might "alter the color of my urine and feces." Ok don't act like you didn't giggle after reading that. And don't act like I'm the only one that envisioned rainbow-colored pee upon reading it either.

Friday night proved equally eventful when Brian and I had perhaps one of the most typical and amusing (in hindsight) marital disputes ever, but I want to save that one for a separate post, so be on the look-out for that gem some time soon.

On Saturday, I had the privilege of volunteering in the Junior League Tea Room for the first time. Apparently I somehow missed the memo that volunteering= working as a waitress. Now I have no problem fulfilling this role, but let me just declare that I have never worked in the food industry and had absolutely no clue what I was doing.

The event proved very educational, however, and I came away with a few new pieces of knowledge under my belt:

1. I now know how to properly roll silverware into a cloth napkin to use at table settings. No doubt this will be useful in my daily life of fancy dinner parties and social events.
2. I also now know that when serving food, you're supposed to serve on the person's left side, and remove dishes on the right side. I'll be honest and say that I did not follow this rule each time, but I did my best.
3. People are rude to waitresses. I have witnessed this before and it has always made me very uncomfortable, but I've never actually been on the receiving end. No one was particularly hateful to me, but let's just say someone was a little self-entitled about her fruit preferences. NO, we don't have any blueberries, so eat the melon slices and move on with your life.

Meanwhile, while I was performing my civic duties and trying not to be too hard on myself about the fact that waiting on ONE table was causing me to work up a sweat, Brian spent the morning at Panera waiting for me. And I just have to tell y'all that he was there for 3.5 hours, and in the entire time that he was there, all he ate was a cinnamon crunch bagel and some Mountain Dew.

Ok is it just me, or would y'all have not only consumed a bagel for breakfast, but also a sandwich and some soup for lunch, and a cookie or two in between? I was really kind of amazed... I like to think of myself as having a good amount of self-control, but not when it comes to baked goods, and especially not if 3.5 hours of boredom are thrown into the mix. Wouldn't it be nice to (a) be a guy or (b) be the type of person that only eats when you're hungry? Hard to fathom, really.

And while we are talking about food and self-control, I just have to briefly tell you something amusing. I have talked to a few people (in real life, believe it or not) that happen to read the blog recently who seemed to be under the impression that I eat Dairy Queen on a very regular (read: weekly, if not more often) basis. I suppose I can see why people would think that, given that I talk about DQ blizzards more than I talk about just about anything else (roaches).

But I did want to clarify that- believe it or not- I actually only typically eat 1-2 blizzards per month. And this is perhaps why I get so enraged when I show up at a DQ expecting to try the new BOTM... because chances are, I won't be going back to DQ within that same month, and therefore, that often means I am missing out on that BOTM altogether. I know, I know- I have a really hard life! And that, my friends, is why my intake of tortilla chips is not limited to 1-2 times per month. How else am I supposed to survive my dessert-induced hardships?!

And just one final thought on food- Brian and I decided to go out to eat after church today, and rather than hit up one of our usual spots, we decided to be really classy and eat at the mall food court instead. I know, we're very high society. It was pretty amusing, really, because I decided to eat at Great Wraps, and spent several minutes thoughtfully picking out which tortilla would be the most nutritious, which ingredients to include, etc. I threw in some Baked Lay's and a water and was good to go.

Meanwhile, Brian (who was apparently much hungrier than the day before at Panera) hit up Taco Bell and ordered not one, but TWO beef and potato burritos (random?), a coke, and cinnamon twists. Definitely all essentials on the food pyramid. But nonetheless, let me just tell you that I haven't had any cinnamon twists in seriously at least 10 years, and they were every bit as magical as I remember them being from my high school days.

I would also like to point out that food courts are really great places to people watch. Especially if you like watching families who make very poor nutritional choices for their children. Fortunately, our children will have role model parents that eat ice cream blizzards and Taco Bell burritos to set a proper example, right?

And I think it's about time to WRAP (lunch-related pun intended) this post up, because I'm fairly certain that I have said nothing of any actual value thus far. Oh and also, please disregard my post from earlier this week about the Fall, because the temperatures have gotten back up into the 90s and I am feeling very betrayed by the weather. Perhaps I declared seat heater season too soon... or perhaps the igniting of the seat heater is what killed my car battery. Either way, I'm upset.

But no worries- a new week has arrived, and new opportunities for eating candy corn are undoubtedly in my future. Oh, AND the month ends this week, so new opportunities for DQ are also likely in my future. I can only hope the same is true for you. Have a good one!

Thursday, September 24, 2009

Oh, happy day

That’s right everyone, today, Thursday, September 24, 2009, is the first day of seat heater season! It is indeed a day to be celebrated, no matter what the cold weather elitists up north have to say about it :o)

I’m sure I will have a bit of culture shock when we head to Vermont in a couple of weeks, especially considering I just looked at the 10-day forecast and the lows are in the 30s. As in, the temperatures that we might see in our refrigerator, or maybe even once or twice in Houston in January if it’s a really chilly winter. And I use the term “winter” loosely.

Regardless, you won’t hear me complaining because I’ll take cold weather any day, especially after the brutal record-setting summer we had. AND we will actually get to see the leaves changing colors, which is not a totally new concept, because I noticed several trees turn from green to brown when they all DIED FROM HEAT EXHAUSTION AND LACK OF RAIN THIS SUMMER. I’m working on not holding a grudge, can you tell?

In addition to it being seat heater season, I am also happy to report that we have also entered candy corn season! I realize that candy corn is a divisive subject matter, much like candy hearts in February, but let me just say that if you don’t like candy corn, then I think you might be communist. And fyi, that means I am married to a communist, because he is a candy corn hater. There should be some kind of 12-step program for people like that.

Last year they were selling giant tubs of candy corn at Wal-mart, and even though I wasn’t sure exactly what I would do with them, I HAD to buy one because I was fairly certain that I would “need” the candy corn for some kind of Fall recipe. And I was, in fact, correct, if you consider eating fistfuls of them every time I walked into the kitchen to be a recipe. A recipe for AWESOME, if you ask me. And for the record, I’m really not sure why I am typing in CAPS so much today.

And while we’re discussing candy corn, you all need to go watch this video. Back in 2006, when my niece, Emma, was only 1.5 years old, I was conveniently unemployed for a month or two and got to spend a good deal of my time babysitting her. It is worth noting that I did this entirely free of charge, unless you count all of the Disney Princess fruit snacks that I stole as my payment.

But anyway, homegirl watched the Noggin ALL the time (there I go with the CAPS again), and so I was able to enjoy a wide variety of children’s daytime programming on TV. It was then that I learned the theme song to “Wonder Pets” (“the phone… the phone is ringing… this is sewious!”), and learned how awkward Dora’s silent pauses are throughout her show.

And those of you that are familiar with Noggin (which would probably only be those of you with children or very immature taste in television) know that there is (or used to be) a moose who “hosted” the day’s tv shows. So between commercial breaks and segments of the shows, he would pop in with his friends and sing songs, etc. And thus, “I don’t like candy corn” was brought to my attention.

Watch it twice and I DARE you not to have it stuck in your head for a month. I also want to point out that if I were a toddler, that song likely would have scared the crap out of me. Regardless, there was one other song that you all need to be introduced to, and that is “Fallin for Fall”.

Again, I dare you to listen to it twice and not get it stuck in your head… and LIKE IT. Especially if you are a big fan of Fall. And using seat heaters when the temperature goes below 70 degrees. And if both of those statements are true about you, then I’m definitely glad that we’re friends. If not, then hopefully you have some other redeeming factor… like a passionate love for candy corn.

That is all—later, haters!

Sunday, September 20, 2009

I spoke too soon

Newsflash: Apparently I'm a little on the impatient side. Who knew? Other than anyone that's ever met me, that is.

I guess I didn't give Dairy Queen enough credit, because I received a letter from them on Friday with a formal acknowledgment of my feedback and an apology. And that's not all- they also sent me a gift card worth $4 to use towards a future purchase! Not sure why they chose $4, but I'm thinking it's because an original blizzard costs $3 and some change. But hey, I'm not complaining- free money is free money!

The challenge for me now is to justify driving 13 or more miles away to go to the next closest DQ in order to get a taste of the Oreo Cookie Jar Blizzard. Somehow I think I'll be able to sell Brian on the idea without him putting up too much of a fight. I'll let you know how it turns out, because clearly I haven't beaten this dead horse enough already.

Moving along.

Our wonderful friends, John and Chrissy, had us over for dinner (and a tasty one, might I add) on Friday night. Being that all 4 of us are (a) game lovers and (b) a tad on the competitive side, it was only appropriate that we followed up dinner with a round of Scattergories. And I just have to share 2 quick stories with you-

1. When we rolled the letter "O," one of the terms we were given was "U.S. Presidents." I kid you not- when the round was up, not one of us could come up with a President whose name started with the letter "O." We even spent a moment searching our brains in hope of something dawning on us now that the timer, but nothing came to mind... until I grew a brain and remembered our current President's name. Oops. Freudian slip? Wishful thinking? You be the judge.

2. (Brian is tired of me telling this story, but it's too funny not to share) After the letter "D" was rolled and the timer signaled the end of the round, we went around to share our answers. The first term was "sandwiches." John, Chrissy, and I all confessed that we hadn't come up with anything, so we turned to Brian to hear his answer. As if it was the most obvious answer in the entire world, he very confidently said, "Bologna and cheese!" and it was evident that he was very smug with his quick-thinking. We sat there puzzled for a second until we realized that apparently Brian had missed the "D" memo and had instead completed the whole list with the letter "B." Oops.

And for those of you that are dying to know how we spent the rest of our weekend, you should know that we visited the homeland yesterday- Aggieland. We were only there for 6 short hours, but in that time, managed to see a few familiar faces, drive through most of town (which, let's be honest, takes all of 10 minutes), eat at La Bodega, AND get dessert at Shake's. For the last 2 activities alone, I would say it was worth the drive.

Sunday so far has been spent church-ing and running errands, and I am now resuming my normal Sunday evening position on the couch in front of the tv while Brian is at youth group. He's inspiring young minds while I'm catching up on last week's episode of Project Runway- equally important activities, wouldn't you say? :)

Thursday, September 17, 2009

I told you so

Well guess what. I pulled open the shower curtain this morning and a cockroach was waiting inside the bath tub. I TOLD YOU THIS WOULD HAPPEN. Not only are they invincible, but apparently they are also literate because I’m fairly certain one of them read my blog and did this just to scare me. Mission accomplished, my roachie friends.

In other news, Dairy Queen has still not responded to my complaint. Never mind the fact that it is a tad on the petty side to submit a formal complaint about an ice cream treat over the internet… I’m a paying customer and I would think they would at least send some kind of response to acknowledge my comment. Meanwhile, I have only 12 days left to find a DQ that will follow through with the Oreo Cookie Jar blizzard. If you know of one in the area, please let me know. And no, Allison, I will not make a special trip to Austin just to eat one with you.

And on to a new topic: Thursday night television. Wait, back up, I want to go in chronological order, so let’s first discuss the first episode of The Biggest Loser. Ok first of all, how depressing was the story of the woman whose husband and 2 small children were killed in the car accident? I am not one to cry during tv shows (only Animal Planet commercials, apparently), but I sure did tear up when she was telling her story. And if you were watching and did not tear up, then congratulations, you officially have no soul :o).

And secondly, can we please talk about how Jillian is the biggest potty mouth ever? I think she is taking the role of the “mean trainer” just a little too seriously and needs to tone it down a bit. I would like to think of TBL as somewhat of a family-friendly show, but it’s sort of hard to have your kids join you in cheering on your favorite contestant when Jillian is dropping the f-bomb like it’s going out of style. She just sounds hateful and looks like she’s showing off in my humble opinion. So therefore, I am banning The Shred workout until she cleans up her mouth on the show. Isn’t that a convenient excuse not to torture myself for a couple of months? I thought so.

Ok so back to Thursday night tv—I just want to say that the DVR has its work cut out for him tonight and every Thursday night for the rest of the Fall. We plan to watch and/or record all of the following shows: The Office, 30 Rock, Grey’s Anatomy, Parks & Recreation, Community, and Project Runway. Not sure how we’re going to swing this, but I think we can make it work. And if we can’t, there’s always the back-up option of actually getting a life. But that doesn’t sound nearly as fun, now, does it?

Monday, September 14, 2009

Predictable, but true

If someone asked you to sum up the content of my blog in just a few words, I have a feeling the following would make your list: cockroaches, Dairy Queen, imaginary friends, and amusing stories about my husband. And you would be accurate. I may be repetitive, but at least I’m consistent, right?

Well if you, too, are a fan of consistency, then you are in luck, because today’s post hits on not one, not two, not three, but ALL of the above-mentioned topics. So prepare yourself for the most typical post I have ever written.

First of all, Brian had his first youth group of the Fall semester yesterday. For him, this means a few hours of playing dodge ball, singing, teaching Bible Study, and putting up with the inevitable drama that comes with spending time with middle and high schoolers. For me, this means a few hours of laying on the couch watching Lifetime movies. It’s a tough life, but someone has to do it.

So yesterday, there I am on the couch, very involved in a particularly awful Lifetime movie about a group of women who were murdered after cheating on their husbands, when I notice something running across the carpet. Yes, you guessed it, a cockroach decided to join my tv-watching party for one. Knowing that screaming for Brian’s help was not an option, I bravely grabbed my shoe and made 3 or 4 solid attempts at smashing him to death.

No luck. He kept right on going, and it almost seemed that my attempts to kill him only further fueled his quest to take up residence in my house. So I got out the broom in hopes of (a) bludgeoning him to death and (b) using the convenient dust pan to sweep him up and toss him outside. Again, I took 3 or 4 swats at the guy and he STILL would not die. Eventually, he stopped hobbling across the dining room floor and landed on his back. Finally... victory! I decided to let him lay there dead for Brian to pick up later, and returned to my spot on the couch to rest after my triumphant battle.

A few minutes later, I again noticed movement. When I looked over, I realized that the roach was crawling across the room ON HIS BACK. I am not kidding. It was like he was doing the back stroke across the carpet. Seriously, these things are invincible. I finally resorted to getting the broom back out and playing cockroach hockey with him until he was close enough to the back door for me to sweep him outside. He’s likely still alive, and my money says that he will be hiding in the bath tub or my underwear drawer when I get home. And no doubt he will have invited his friends.

So anyway, Brian returned home from youth group and insisted that we go to Dairy Queen. Obviously, he had to drag me out of the house kicking and screaming, but somehow he was able to convince me to go. So we pulled up and noticed that they were still advertising the Thin Mint Blizzard as the BOTM… and if you all will recall, Thin Mint was the AUGUST BOTM. And it is now mid-September. Nonetheless, I held out hope and had Brian ask if they had the Oreo Cookie Jar BOTM yet.

Clearly not very well-versed in the English language, the voice on the other end informed us that they did not have such a blizzard. No apologies. No suggestions for alternatives. Nothing. So while the steam was coming out of my ears, Brian ordered our usual blizzards and we pulled up to the window.

I happened to have a $1 off coupon for the Oreo Cookie Jar blizzard, so we asked if we could use even though they didn’t have that blizzard in the store. And it was at this point that the gentleman’s lack of knowledge of the English language came in handy, because he apparently misread the coupon and gave one of the blizzards to us for free. I would like to say it was his way of apologizing for stiffing me on the BOTM, but I am not typically one to give people the benefit of the doubt, so why start now?

I was mad, but the fact that I then consumed a free Reese’s blizzard seemed to help. Nevertheless, you better believe I marched (drove) right home and submitted a complaint on the DQ website. I’ll teach them to advertise a magical Oreo Cookie Jar blizzard without giving me the proper opportunity to enjoy one! Stick it to the man! Ok I’m done ranting about dessert.

But still not done ranting.

On the imaginary friend front, I just have to tell you one thing about what happened at the MTV VMA awards last night: Natalie (the little girl duck that lives on my left hand, for those of you that have forgotten) was NOT pleased with Kanye’s behavior. Next to Miley Cirus, Taylor Swift is Natalie’s absolute favorite artist, and she was really quite enraged that someone would treat Taylor that way. So if anyone is interested, she has plans to generate a petition requesting that all radio stations stop playing Kanye’s music (except “Gold Digger,” because she loves that song) forever, and I know she would love your support. Cheep Cheep! (It’s true!)

And lastly, I just had to share another special moment brought to you by my wonderful husband:

Our priest and his wife started a new Sunday School class on marriage yesterday, and despite the fact that Brian and I obviously already have the whole marriage thing completely figured out, we thought we would give the class a try. We received some homework which basically consisted of a few questions that we were supposed to answer and then share with each other.

So as I was getting ready for bed, Brian took a seat on the floor by the bathroom and we started sharing our answers. He read the first question aloud, “What are your deepest needs and longings?” I paused thoughtfully and started to go into a meaningful diatribe about how I need encouragement and companionship, etc. and so forth. While I’m in the middle of my heartfelt response, Brian reaches over, lifts up the toilet seat, and says in a deep voice, “I’m a toilet,” and continues moving the seat up and down to make the toilet talk.

Is anyone else moved by this?

I had a good laugh, so don’t worry, he didn’t get in trouble. But I will say that moments later, when we were onto another question about how we can better minister to each other’s needs, I was in the middle of another heartfelt answer when I looked over only to see Brian scratching his butt. I told him I was going to blog about it, and I don’t think he believed me. So boo-yah, Brian!

Isn’t being married the best?

And that, my friends, is all I have to say for today. Hope you’re all enjoying the slightly cooler weather as much as I am… I’ve been ready for Fall to arrive since last March.

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Step 1: Insert foot into mouth

As long as we’re talking about amusing things my husband has done lately, I thought I would share this interaction with you all:

I had just finished getting ready for bed, and before turning off the light, took one last minute to look in the mirror and marvel at just how frumpy I looked without my hair fixed and any makeup on. Because I am a firm believer in (a) shamelessly fishing for compliments and (b) asking my husband trick questions, I then crawled into bed and started the following conversation:

Me: So tell me—do you think I look less attractive right before bed, or first thing in the morning when I wake up?
Brian (very confidently and all too quickly): Right before bed!
Me (obviously hurt and surprised that he answered the question so honestly): Seriously?
Brian: ...and first thing in the morning! Both times!
Amanda (further offended and a little confused as to why he was so quick to tell me how unattractive I am): So you’re saying it’s a toss-up of when I’m less attractive? I’m equally unattractive both before bed and when I first wake up?
Brian: OOOOHH, sorry! I totally thought you asked when I thought you were “more” attractive.

So apparently he was trying to pay me a compliment, but the poor guy just misunderstood the question. For you husbands out there, the moral of the story is that you really just can’t win. But it sure is fun to watch you try!

Friday, September 4, 2009

You know you're married to a Youth Minister when...

Just had to share this special moment with you all so that you could get a taste of what it's like being married to a Youth Minister...

Because we are a hip, young married couple, Brian and I have come to decide that furniture-shopping is a fun way to spend our free time. We also enjoy such riveting activities as going to bed before 9 pm and comparing our total monthly expenditures on our budget to see which month is the lowest (ok, maybe that's just me). So in one of our recent spontaneous quests to update our furniture, we ended up purchasing a new coffee table for our tv room. I know- we're so wild and crazy.

On a quick side note, we purchased our coffee table from Rooms-to-Go. And what I want to know is this: we picked out our coffee table on Saturday and didn't have it in our house until Wednesday... in what way is that "to go"? I don't know about you, but if I order my meal "to go" at a restaurant, for example, I would certainly hope to have it in my possession in less than 4 days. Moving along.

So when I got home on Wednesday evening, Brian was excited to show me how the new coffee table looked in our tv room. Maybe "excited" is the wrong word considering neither sports nor video games were involved, but still, he was anxious for me to see it. But before I went in to behold its wooden splendor, I decided to drop off my things in the bedroom. On my way down the hall, Brian informed me that he had not one, but TWO exciting things to show me.

Obviously, the coffee table was one of them- that much was clear. So my brain quickly jumped to conclusions of what the other surprise might be... a cookie? A DQ blizzard? Some brownies? Maybe someone needs to lay off the chocolate?

When he started leading me toward the kitchen with a giant grin on his face, I was certain that dessert was involved. I was thinking, "How sweet! Brian got me a treat and he is so excited to give it to me!" And this, my friends, is where I was horribly mistaken. Husbands are good at challenging your expectations, aren't they?

So Brian opens the fridge, pulls out a plastic bag, and says, "Look!" And there in his hands was- what else?- a cow tongue. That's right, a gigantic, repulsive, RAW cow tongue. As you can imagine, my look quickly went from one of excitement to one of horror, and my stomach went from hopeful to nauseous in about as much time.

As if the question really needed to be asked, I said, "Um... WHY is there a cow tongue in our refrigerator?" He then informed me that he was planning on using it as an illustration in the sermon he was giving at school chapel the next morning.

Oh. Obviously. Because what better way to get the kids spiritually geared up for the school day than to shove a raw cow tongue in their faces at 8 am, right?

Apparently, against my assumptions, the cow tongue illustration was a big hit. And while I won't dare explain the sermon for fear of not giving it justice, let me also inform you that his illustration involved the cow tongue being nailed to a cross. Now there's a mental image you could have all done without. But who am I to keep such imagery to myself?

So there you have it, readers- a glimpse into life as the wife of a Youth Minister. Any of you have any fun stories to share about what your husbands bring home from work? I dare you to top that.

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Raise your hand if you think I should start writing restaurant reviews for a living

Ok so you know how most offices have basically the same stereotypes? There’s the know-it-all, the flirt, the loud one, the inappropriate one, etc. Well (among other stereotypes, no doubt) apparently I’m the picky eater.

Growing up, I never really considered myself to be all that picky, but that’s most likely because my family and I basically enjoy (and conversely, do not enjoy) the same types of food. My dislike of sea food was never an issue, because the rest of the family was never big into sea food either. The fact that I am generally not into trying new types of food (ie: sushi, Indian food, etc.) also didn’t cause much of a stir, because my family was perfectly content to continue going to the same 5 restaurants we had always gone to. You’re probably thinking, “Wow, how boring,” while I’m thinking, “Hmm… I see no problem with that.”

I find repetition and constancy to be comforting, thankyouverymuch.

Well anyway, the sea food thing definitely became an issue when I married into Brian’s family, as they spent much of their pre-Texas life in Louisiana. I think a little of each of them died inside when I confessed that no, I don’t even like shrimp. Or crawfish. Or anything that comes from the sea… at least not for eating purposes anyway. Regardless, they eventually got over it and have more or less accepted my allegedly picky eating.

But it never fails when I enter into a new group of people, my eating habits are inevitably exposed and I am once again interrogated about my picky ways. Enter my co-workers. Obviously food is an integral part of any productive working environment, and opportunities to go out to eat pop up on a semi-regular basis. And then the painful process of deciding upon a restaurant ensues.

Choosing a restaurant is a struggle any time more than one person is involved, and it’s ten times worse if a female is involved, so you can only imagine what it’s like in a predominantly female department. Of course, we found ourselves in this exact situation recently when we decided to go out to eat to celebrate the welcoming of a new addition to our team. As lunch time drew near, the big debate began, and against my very vocal objections, the restaurant of choice was Goo Goo Yen.

As you probably guessed, it’s a Chinese food restaurant, which is problem number one. I have never been a big Chinese food fan, unless it involves Pei Wei/PF Chang’s, which are as Americanized as you can get. Problem number two is that the word “goo” appears not once, but TWICE in this restaurant’s name. Does anyone else have a hard time getting past that?

Mature 26-year-old that I am, I pleaded with the group to change their votes, and silently hoped that someone would set fire to the building before it was time for lunch. No such luck. So after a pep talk from Brian and a looksy through their questionable menu, I decided I was going to suck it up and give the restaurant a try.

Let me just say first of all that the dead roach lying outside the front door did not bode well for my opinion of the place. And the fish tank that was displayed in the entrance also did not win them any brownie points, as I became immediately convinced that one of those poor little fish was going to end up in my wonton soup. Ok I’m kidding, because I didn’t even know what wonton soup was before this “adventure.”

Once we were seated, I noticed a giant round table in the corner next to us with random belongings scattered about around it. I made some comment about how the half-consumed water bottle and kids’ toys provided for wonderful decoration. It was then that a co-worker informed me that I was looking at the “employee only” table. Apparently they reserve a table inside the restaurant where only their employees are allowed to hang out and eat… and apparently store their crap.

I ordered the chicken and broccoli because I assumed that it would be fairly harmless, but the hard part was ordering the sides. Apparently I had to choose between the following: hot and sour soup, wonton soup, or egg drop soup. “Hot” and “sour” are not exactly two of my favorite adjectives when it comes to describing my food, so that one was out. And while I am a big fan of eggs, all I could picture in my head was a raw egg oozing around in a bowl… slightly less than appetizing. So after being told that the wonton soup was more or less dumplings in chicken broth, I decided to go that route.

And let me just say that “dumplings in chicken broth” was a somewhat softened version of the truth. After ordering, I was informed that the “dumplings” had meat in them, and when I asked what kind of meat, the answer was, “Don’t worry—you’ll like it. It’s porky type meat.” Porky type meat? That sounds reassuring. I also just want to state for the record that the chicken broth looked way more like stagnant water from the bathroom floor than like soup. Or maybe I was just imagining the worst, but either way, I took one bite and passed it along.

The other choice that I was forced to make was between a spring roll and a crab puff. Here is what I imagined: a bunch of questionable vegetables wrapped up like a taquito (fairly accurate) or a bloated sea creature. I’ll let you guess which one I chose. And once again, after one bite, I passed it along as well.

Fortunately, I am quite familiar with steamed rice, so that was the easiest decision of the day. And while I did eat all of my chicken, I was concerned that its texture was more like solidified apple sauce than meat.

While I’m glad that I gave this fine dining establishment a go, I don’t think it’s anywhere I will be eating again in the future… at least not by choice. I think I’m going to play it safe and tuck a turkey sandwich in my purse next time Goo Goo Yen is the winner of the “where should we have lunch?” contest. Either that, or I will just order a plate of fortune cookies for my meal instead. Because hey, you can never go wrong with dessert… or can you?

Hope you're all having a great "goo"-less week!