Background template

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Waiting on the world to change

I was on the elevator today when I suddenly realized that I just might be the most impatient person that ever existed. Of course, my mom has been saying the same thing about me (and my counterpart, for that matter) for approximately 27 years now, so it’s not like this is the first time I became aware of my need for instant gratification.

Anyway, I was riding down to the first floor and another person happened to get on with me. He only had a few floors to go down, so he got off at his stop, leaving me alone in the elevator. He was out of the elevator door for no more than a millisecond before my finger made a beeline for the “Close Doors” button to make the doors shut immediately.

Right after I pushed the button, I thought to myself, “What a great invention!” and mentally patted myself on the back for how much precious time I saved in pushing it.

I know—what is wrong with me?! I was not in a hurry at all, and even if I had been, apparently I was certain that the extra 3 seconds that I would have had to wait for the doors to automatically close on their own would have resulted in complete and utter agony.

I am aware that this is a character flaw, but I like to pretend that it’s part of my charm. That is, of course, assuming that people think it’s charming when a 15-minute wait at a restaurant sends me into a fit of rage. Or assuming that Brian thinks it’s charming that I roll my eyes in irritation every time he sneezes (he always has 3-4 in a row) because it interrupts whatever I was trying to say. Or assuming that our pastor thinks it’s charming that I ask if we can “keep worship short” at the end of a longer-than-normal church planning session.

Yes, that actually happened.

So what about you, have you been made painfully aware of any of your shortcomings today?

Monday, June 28, 2010

Surviving the summer, among other things

Greetings, internet. I apologize for the lag in posting… you can blame it on the week-log dog-sitting gig for Rocky and Tucker (Allison and Wade’s pups) that began this past weekend. It is fairly chaotic and even a little exhausting to go from 2 dogs to 4 dogs overnight, so I am having a hard time wrapping my brain around the fact that my parents went from 2 kids to 4 kids in the same amount of time. And unfortunately for them, they weren’t able to leave the older 2 in the backyard during the day or shove all 4 of us in our respective kennels at bedtime.

We are surviving, primarily thanks to Brian, who is officially in charge of playing dog roulette when one dog (typically Rocky) needs to go out without the other 3 barging in. Feeding time is also pretty interesting, but now that we have a few days of practice under our belts, I think we have it down to a science. And I use the term “we” loosely there, because once again, that responsibility has been delegated to Brian.

Tucker (the youngest) has fortunately had no accidents in the house, and Rocky’s damage thus far has been limited to the things that he has pulled out of the trash can and ripped to shreds underneath our bed. I’m also fairly sure that, if given more time unattended, he would have done the same thing to a pair of Brian’s boxers, but fortunately we caught him before he was able to succeed in that mission.

Buster and Noah are also surviving thankfully, although I think the excitement of having new playmates is wearing off and they are now wondering when they will get back to being the only two in the house begging for attention… well, the only two besides me, that is :)

We are trying to let all of the pups spend as much time inside as possible because we have entered that part of the summer where going into a month-long coma would be preferable to spending any amount of time outside. Although to be honest, it’s not a whole lot cooler inside our house currently because apparently electricity isn’t free and paying bills on one income isn’t as awesome and fun as you might think.

But fear not, because hurricane season has arrived, so there is hope for some relief in the future. And if you are forgetting, I have declared several times in the past that I would gladly take a hurricane over 100+ degree temperatures. I still mean it.

And while we’re talking about hurricanes, I have been wondering lately why they decided to name them after people. It really seems kind of cruel when you think about it. I get that it might make you feel cool to hear your name broadcast on the news (I have admittedly lamented the fact that “Amanda” has not appeared on the list in recent years), but how do you think people named Katrina and Ike felt when storms sporting their names destroyed entire towns and killed hundreds of people?

If you want my opinion, hurricanes should be named after ex-boyfriends. And types of cockroaches. And serial killers.

I’ll be sure to submit that idea to the World Meteorological Organization and let you know how it turns out.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Free entertainment, courtesy of Noah and Buster

Observe as Noah and Buster try desperately to catch the Wii pointer on the tv screen:



And just for the record, they continued sniffing around the room trying to find it for a good 3 minutes after we turned it off.

Tuesday, June 22, 2010

Is it obvious that I eat my feelings?

So for those of you who were wondering (and also for those of you who weren’t), the wedding weekend was a success! We had a great time and now the bride and groom are enjoying their honeymoon in Belize… personally I think that if they were true friends, they would have invited the bridal party to join them, but apparently they wanted to be alone. Lame.

Regardless, I would say that the whole weekend was pulled off pretty flawlessly, unless you count the fact that the zipper broke on my bridesmaid dress (or so that’s what my sweet husband insisted) leaving me unable to get out of it after the wedding was over. We were staying at my sister-in-law’s house (thanks, Shannon!), and being that we didn’t know where she and her roommates kept their tools (or if 3 college girls living together even owned a set of tools, for that matter), Brian scrambled to find the closest thing to pliers and ended up with a wrench.

Sadly, the wrench did not do the trick, so we had to resort to cutting open the zipper. Nothing makes you feel slim and trim like having to destroy a dress in order to get out of it. I suppose I shouldn’t complain, however, because I think you would all agree that it is far better to not be able to get out of a dress than to not be able to fit into it in the first place.

We made it back to Richmond on Sunday and spent the rest of the day lounging on the couch because apparently staying up past 10 pm for two nights in a row was just more than we could handle. And if we’re going to be honest, it’s now Tuesday afternoon and I still feel a little bit tired. I can’t wait to see what I’m like when I’m 70.

On an unrelated note, we recently received some exciting (and at the same time depressing) news from Brian’s parents—Don (my wonderful father-in-law) accepted a new job in Marble Falls (outside of Austin) and he and Terrie (my wonderful mother-in-law) will be moving there as soon as they can sell their house in Richmond.

This is a great opportunity for Don, and certainly an answered prayer, because he has very much been overworked and underappreciated at his current company. Apparently, however, we need to be more specific in our prayers in the future because I did NOT mention anything about them MOVING!

We are excited for their new adventure, and are looking forward to visiting them once they move, but selfishly, we are bummed. Who is going to hem my pants for me, and who is going to fix our dryer a second, third, and fourth time when it acts up? Ok I’m kidding (sort of)—really what we are bummed about is just not having either set of parents nearby. Yes, they take care of us, but they are also our friends, so they will most definitely be missed.

Anyway, I’m not going to ramble on about it because I will just get upset and I might or might not have already cried about it in an irrational moment. So just suffice it to say that we are happy for them, but sad for us!

And on that note, I’m going to go eat a piece of chocolate and pretend that I adapt well to change. Farewell!

Friday, June 18, 2010

Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match

Wanna hear a fun story? I thought so.

Once upon a time, I went off to college at A&M and joined the best sorority in the world, Chi Omega. I made many friends through Chi O, including a girl from Midland named Risa. And just for the record, she was named after her sister’s imaginary friend. So I think it’s safe to say that it was fate for us to become friends. Here’s a picture of Risa and me together the day before my wedding:
A year after graduation, I moved back to College Station to follow this boy named Brian who eventually became my husband. And while I was living in College Station, I worked as a Recruiter at a place called Reynolds & Reynolds. Yes, the same place that made me wear a full suit and panty hose to work every day. A few months before I left Rey-Rey (as we affectionately called it) to get married and move to Richmond, a new employee started in our department named Jared.

One day I was standing in Jared’s office just asking him questions and getting to know him, when suddenly an idea came to me. I said, “Ok this is strange, but I have a friend named Risa and you two have a lot in common, so I think you should get married. She lives in Washington DC so that’s the only problem.” We both laughed it off and moved along.

Shortly thereafter, I was catching up with Risa over the phone and mentioned to her that I was trying to set her up for an arranged marriage with one of my co-workers. And because I wanted her to know that I have good taste, I told her to look him on facebook and check him out. She found out they had some friends in common and agreed that he was a good-looking guy, but the conversation ended there.

Fast forward 1.5 years. Risa moved back to the B/CS area to take a job at A&M, and at the time, Jared was still working at Rey Rey. Another friend of Risa’s mentioned Jared’s name to her (and vice versa), and Risa remembered that we had talked about him back in the day.

At this point, I was firmly convinced that they needed to meet, so I got on facebook and sent Jared a message saying something to the effect of, “Hey, remember that friend of mine that I said you should marry? Well word on the street is that y’all have another mutual friend that wants to set you up, so in case you haven’t gotten it yet, here’s her phone number.”

Long story short, he took his sweet time (like 2+ months), but finally he called Risa up and they had their first date at a coffee shop in College Station in January of 2009. They continued dating, and yep, you guessed it- they got engaged (this past February)!

Risa and Jared are getting hitched TOMORROW, and because of my awesome matchmaking abilities, I was awarded with the honor of being a bridesmaid. Hooray!

So that’s really the end of the story. I just wanted to let y’all know that if you are single and looking for someone to find you a life mate, I’m your girl.

So congrats, Risa and Jared! Can't wait to celebrate with you both!

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Just a brief recap of an awkward moment from my high school days

Do any of you know the song, “Love Song for a Savior” by Jars of Clay? It’s a classic. And a particular high school boyfriend of mine just so happened to play the CD that the song was on semi-regularly in his car.

For those of you that don’t know the song, part of the song goes a little something like this:

"It seems too easy to call You ‘Savior,’ not close enough to call You 'God.' So as I sit and think of words I can mention to show my devotion…I want to fall in love with You, I want to fall in love with You…"

Harmless Christian song, right? Right.

Until the song came on the radio one time and I turned to that particular high school boyfriend and told him (strictly because I first heard it in his car, mind you), “Hey, this song reminds me of you!”

Apparently he panicked at the thought that his semi-new girlfriend was starting to worship him, because he kind of looked at me as if he felt sorry for me and said, “That’s sweet, but you know this song is about God, right? He’s not actually singing about another person...”

Awkward.

Guess maybe I should have picked “Mistake of My Life” from the also popular in his car at the time Caedmon’s Call album instead? :)

Monday, June 14, 2010

A very lengthy tale about a rash

I have alluded once or twice in past posts about the time that I suffered the worst case of the hives ever known to mankind, but I realized recently that I had never really shared the full story. And given that it happened right around this time of year, I figured now is as good of a time as any to share it with you. So let’s take a trip in time back to the summer of 2007…

It was late June, and only 5 or 6 weeks before our wedding day. I was living and working in College Station at the time, as was Brian, although he was only working in a temporary part-time job at the time. He was between ministry jobs, and given that we were about to get married and our apartment leases were both about to be up, to say that we were both anxious for him to find something full-time was understatement.

Some of my co-workers were in town from our company’s UK office, so another co-worker and I decided to take them out to eat bar-b-q along with our significant others. After dinner, Brian was driving me back to my apartment when he got a phone call from a contact he had at a church in Houston wanting to discuss a possible youth ministry position.

Now a little extra background here: Brian lost his job in January (right after we got engaged), and had been talking with Calvary (where he ended up working) ever since late March/early April… so for about 2-3 months. That was the only job in sight at the time, but we had no idea if it was going to pan out or not at that point, so needless to say, planner that I am, I was a tad on the stressed side.

After Brian wrapped up his conversation with the new church, we got into a discussion about what kind of timeline they were looking at, how realistic an interview would be with them, what he liked better/worse about this church than Calvary, etc.

I don’t remember the specifics of our conversation, but I do remember that I went home that night feeling like my head might explode from all of the different scenarios running through my head. While it was great fun to plan the wedding, I wanted to start envisioning what life would be like post-August 4th, and this new potential lead only created more confusion. I went to bed and just figured I would deal with it the next day. And indeed I did.

I woke up the next morning and noticed that there was a rash about 3 inches long on my shin. I thought it seemed strange, but assumed that I had gotten a bug bite the night before or that it might be razor burn. I went ahead and got dressed for the day, and because the company that I worked for believed in cruel and unusual punishment, that meant that I put on a full skirt suit and panty hose. In June. In College Station. A death wish, I know.

So I hiked up my hose and headed on to work. Throughout the day, my leg continued to itch, but if you have ever tried to scratch an itch through panty hose, then you know that my efforts were fairly useless. Some time after lunch, I was fairly certain that if I didn’t get to scratch my leg without those stupid panty hose in between, I was going to throw myself off of the roof. So right there in my office, after having my office-mate stand guard at the window, of course, I yanked those panty hose right off. I’m such a rebel, I know.

It was then that I realized that the rash had spread and was not just on one leg, but had somehow also managed to creep onto my other leg as well. And I was even pretty sure that my arms and stomach were starting to itch, but everyone assured me that I was just being paranoid.
But by the time 5 pm rolled around, I was about ready to crawl out of my skin and had convinced myself that I was suffering from the bubonic plague. I don’t really even know what the bubonic plague is, but I knew it was bad, and I was pretty sure I had it. Brian (who probably thought I was certifiably crazy at that point, but had already proposed and realized there was no turning back that close to the wedding) agreed to take me to the doctor. But of course I had never had a reason to go to the doctor in College Station (other than a few trips to the shady campus medical clinic in college), so I really didn’t know where to go that would accept my insurance.

So after multiple stops at a variety of medical clinics around town and at least an hour spent driving around in a torrential downpour (anyone else remember how much it rained that summer?), I was finally able to get checked out. Within a matter of minutes, the doctor confirmed that I had a “pretty bad case” of the hives. And as he was trying to determine what might have caused this reaction, he asked if had been under any stress lately.

I thought to myself, “Me? Under stress? No, not unless you count the fact that I’m getting married in 5 weeks and my fiancé doesn’t have a job lined up and I don’t know where we’re going to live after the honeymoon, oh, and the fact that THERE IS A RASH COVERING THE MAJORITY OF MY BODY.” But instead of boring with him the details, I just laughed and said, “Yep, you could say that.”

So he wrote me a prescription for steroids, and sent me on my way.

Now I didn’t know much about steroids at the time, but all I had been told was that they make you gain weight. And for those of you that have ever been the bride-to-be, you know that he might as well have written me a prescription for something that would cause me to grow three extra heads or lose all of my hair.

I think I protested for approximately 60 seconds, until I remembered how badly I just wanted to the itching to stop, and decided to just bite the bullet and take them. So we picked up my prescription and some chamomile lotion and Brian dropped me off at my apartment.

Not surprisingly, I slept very little that night. And when I woke up the next morning, I still itched like crazy. I stumbled to the mirror and realized, much to my dismay, that the rash had spread to my arms, stomach, chest, back, hands, and feet. I put in a call to work and informed them that for everyone's benefit (how awkward would those interviews be??), I would not be coming in that day. Oh, and I also sent the below pictures as proof.




Pretty disgusting, right?

Anyway, I was supposed to be going to Austin that weekend anyway to celebrate my sister’s 30th birthday, so I decided to just leave early so that I could at least suffer at home in my own bed. And this seemed like a fine idea until the sun came out in full force, and no matter how high I cranked up the AC, it was still swelteringly hot in my car. And newsflash—the heat apparently only makes the hives worse.

I was approximately 45 minutes away from my parents’ house when I looked in the rearview mirror and realized that the hives had now spread to my face, and yes, even to my eyelids. At that point, I’m fairly certain that I would have preferred to actually be on fire.

Fortunately, I have blocked the remainder of that drive out of my memory. All I do remember is pulling up to my parents’ house, sprinting out of the car and jumping directly into the bath tub to take a cold bath.

I spent the remainder of the day covered in cold wash cloths, and it wasn’t until the next morning when my mom suggested that I try taking some Claritin that I actually felt some relief. Within 24 hours, like magic, it was completely gone. And no thanks to those stupid steroids.

Fortunately, within just 2 or 3 weeks of that episode, Brian was offered and accepted a job at Calvary, and with that came a solution to our housing problem. But I will be honest, I was probably more excited that the hives were gone than about anything else.

And I would say that at that point, I learned my lesson and ridded my body of all of that stress, but that would be ignoring the week leading up to the wedding where I developed the only case of cold sores that I have ever had. I know what you’re thinking… I must have been the most beautiful bride!

Don’t worry, by the time the wedding weekend rolled around, I was all clear and ready for business. And if you don’t believe me, feel free to refer to the picture below from our rehearsal.
At least I didn’t take the whole thing too seriously, right? :)

Friday, June 11, 2010

A few (riveting) thoughts on laundry

So here’s a question for those of you that are married: Do you do your laundry together or separately?

Brian and I do ours together. Let me rephrase that, I do our laundry together. And that is more because of the fact that I am too much of a control freak to let someone else do the laundry than because he isn’t willing to help.

In fact, when we got married, I was actually excited to finally be able to take over his share of the laundry. When we were dating and eventually engaged, Brian’s laundry habits were a little unsettling to me. Call me crazy, but going THREE MONTHS between doing laundry sort of seems over the top to me. And I couldn’t help but worry about how it was possible for him to have enough underwear to survive that long of a period without clean clothes.

Occasionally I would walk into his apartment, and upon realizing that his dirty laundry was filling up his entire closet (and then overflowing into every other room of the house), I would reach a breaking point and have to take it home with me.

I remember taking several baskets/bags back to my apartment, and literally spending days getting it done. And the dryer was so packed full of jeans and khaki pants that everything came out wrinkled. And since you are all well aware that I like things to be neat and tidy, it probably doesn’t surprise you that seeing all those wrinkles made me want to gouge my eyes out with a spoon. So of course the process was only made longer by the endless ironing that ensued.

Sometimes he would go to Harvey Washbanger’s, a place in College Station (with an extremely irritating name, in my opinion) where you could get a hamburger or wings while you did your laundry. I had no problem with this when we were dating, but once we were engaged and I started seeing his money as our money, the thought of him spending money on doing laundry that could be done for free (no matter how painstakingly long it took) at my apartment made me crazy. And so the vicious cycle continued.

All this to say, when we got married, I was almost giddy at the idea of doing Brian’s laundry on a weekly basis (as I do my own)… in no small part because this meant that he could never again wear that oversized faded pink t-shirt or those hideous tapered gray sweatpants simply because he “had nothing else clean to wear.”

I was also able to convince Brian early on that he needed to get rid of approximately half of his collection of boxers (am I embarrassing you yet, Brian?) because I told him that there was never, ever, ever again going to be a time in his life (as long as I’m alive) that he would need enough clean underwear to hold him over for 3 months at a time. And so far I have stayed true to my word.

Truth be told, I actually like doing the laundry. It is an easily accomplishable task that I can check off my to do list without too much effort (except for pairing Brian’s socks… that is a gigantic pain in the butt). It also makes me feel very domestic, so even if I served up lean pockets for dinner and haven’t washed the sheets in over a week, I can still go to bed at night feeling that I have fulfilled my wifely duties. Yes, I realize that sounds very 1950, and I am a-ok with that, because that same standard allows me to guiltlessly defer all lawn-mowing, bug-killing, and car-fixing to my husband.

I also happen to really enjoy the feeling that I get when the laundry basket is empty and all clean clothes are put away. Which also means that I have been to known to take offense and behave slightly erratically when Brian suddenly decides that all of his clothes that aren’t washed on a weekly basis (ie: jeans, jackets, etc) need to go into the laundry basket just hours after it is emptied. I’m neurotic… it’s how I roll.

Anyway, all that to say, not long ago, I learned that one of our couple friends (I can’t remember which one, or else I would give you a shout out!) does their laundry separately. Now I know for a fact that if that was our policy, my laundry would still be done weekly and Brian would still own (and need) 90 pairs of boxers. So now I’m intrigued to know how the rest of you operate.

So please share.

And on another note, if you thought it was pathetic that I spent 8 paragraphs talking about getting my hair cut, then I have a feeling that this post is extremely frustrating to you. My apologies. Except not really, because it’s my blog. The end.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

The (latest) life and times of our imaginary friends

You might be surprised to learn this, but on a semi-regular basis, people request that I write more about the imaginary friends on the blog. And I’m sure some of you are wanting to punch those people in the face because you find the imaginary friends to be a little more disturbing than entertaining, and you would really prefer not to read about them.

Well if you fall into the latter category, then go ahead and click that little X in the top right corner of your browser because this one is not going to be interesting to you.

Just as a lot has been going on in our lives recently, a lot has going on with our characters as well. Natalie (young female duck), for example, has a boyfriend. His name is Gregory and he lives at the lake in our neighborhood with his parents (obviously). Gregory and Natalie are getting pretty serious (in that he is allowed to come over to the house on occasion), and Brian and Duck (Natalie’s dad) are not too thrilled about that.

Personally, I think it’s great because it distracts her from her eating disorder and gives her something to talk about other than Miley Cyrus. And for the record, Gregory is an actual duck… we don’t make him talk or anything, so don’t worry, he won’t be joining the crew of regulars.

Baby Dinosaur is probably the busiest of all—he completed 1st grade last week! He is going to miss his teacher, Mrs. Cruikshank, very much, but is planning to attend the same elementary school next year and hopes to see her often. Much like Natalie, he is growing up a little faster than I would like, as evidenced by the fact that he spends the majority of his time making "your mom" jokes and singing songs about poop. Just a hunch, but I think he gets that from Brian.

His baseball season is winding down and his last game is coming up in the next couple of weeks. He joined a new team after we moved, and the practice field is conveniently located just around the corner from our house. Thankfully his beloved baseball coach, Bob (from The Biggest Loser), decided to transfer to the new team with him.

Baby Girl is really up to the same old, same old. She has perfected a charming habit of manipulating Brian into filling up her (my) Nalgene bottle on a nightly basis. He pretends to be put out by the chore, but I think we all know that deep down he lives for it. Her favorite songs currently are “Hey Soul Sister” (by Train) and “Say I Am” (by Gary Go) and she sings them loudly whenever they are played. Just a hunch, but I think she gets that from me.

The rest of the crowd is just hanging out as usual, adjusting to our new stomping grounds and trying to stay out of the brutal Houston summer heat + humidity combo. In fact, that sounds exactly like what Brian and I are up to as well. What a shock to find out that our imaginary friends are so similar to us...

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

We live in an unjust world.

Ok so apparently I needed a week-long break to recover from all the birthday fun—I hope you will all forgive me. And if you don’t, I only know half of you through the internet, so I’m not terribly concerned about it :)

I think it is safe to say that while having both Brian’s and my birthday in the same month is fun, it is also a little bit tiring. And fattening. And can I just tell you that Brian stepped on the scale the other night and marveled at the weight he has recently gained, only to weigh FIVE POUNDS LESS the following morning? Seriously.

Dear Eve, I blame you for taking a bite of that fruit and consequently earning the punishment for all of the females to follow you of having to watch men lose weight without any effort. Oh, and for the painful child labor. I haven’t experienced it myself, but I have a feeling that when I do, I will not be pleased with you.

Back to food: you will probably not be surprised to learn that I received a few Dairy Queen gift cards for my birthday from some thoughtful friends. With all of those buy one get one free coupons I get, I have a feeling that I won’t have to actually pay for a blizzard for many months to come. So thank you, friends, for ensuring that the majority of the new “eating out” portion of our budget does not have to be spent entirely on Dairy Queen. Because although that would be enjoyable, it would also be a little embarrassing.

And while we are talking about budgets, I need to point out a huge monetary injustice to you all. Let me first point out that I only get my hair cut 3 times a year. I know, I know, I should get my ends trimmed at least every 6 weeks and blah blah blah, but I just don’t care enough to do that. And fortunately, I am too lazy to dry and straighten my hair at least 3-4 days out of the week, so really my hair stays pretty healthy in the meantime.

Anyway, my last hair cut was in January, and I have reached that point where I feel like my hair is physically weighing me down (because certainly it’s not all the various forms of birthday dessert I’ve been eating), so I decided to make an appointment to get it cut. So yesterday I called in and requested a hair cut for this Friday, and when the time had been set, the person on the phone confirmed that it was for a cut and blow dry.

I said yes, and then for some reason thought it was strange that she mentioned “and blow dry,” so I clarified, “Wait, does the blow dry cost extra?”

“Well, the hair cut with a blow dry is $55 (which is what I’ve been paying), but the cut alone is just $40.”

Ok. Excuse me. $15 to blow dry my hair? $15 to point something that blows hot air at my hair while you brush it for a maximum of 7 minutes? SERIOUSLY?

Needless to say, I told her to nix the blow drying portion of my appointment and just leave it at a hair cut. But what irritates me is that I have gone to this same person 4 or 5 times in the past, and never was it mentioned to me that I was paying $15 extra for her to dry my hair! Frustrating.

The other thought that ran through my head is this: I should totally start my own business of drying people’s hair for them every day. As early as I wake up, I could easily get in 4 or 5 clients before work and make myself an extra $60 or $75 (check out my math skillz) just for pointing a hairdryer at someone’s head. Sounds like a plan to me.

Anyway, I’m sure I will be thinking that $15 doesn’t sound so terrible when I leave the salon with a sopping wet head on Friday. But then when I get home and dutifully put my expenditure (nerd alert) into the budget, I will change my tune again. So hooray for responsible decision-making... even if it means that I have to look like a drowned rat in public for a short time.

Is it a problem that I just spent 8 paragraphs talking about my hair cut?

I also wanted to share with everyone that the new church is moving right along! In case you haven’t checked out the website yet, make sure to do so: www.newfortbendchurch.org. And if you are really awesome, then you will also sign up for the newsletter. And I don’t want to give away all the fun, but let’s just say that the latest newsletter might or might not have included an offer for free food.

A few people have also asked what kind of church it is, and because the answer is not one that you would probably recognize like “Presbyterian” or “Baptist,” I am going to let the website do the talking: AMIA. Enjoy!