one year

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Today, Dave and I have officially been married for one year.

Our wedding was the happiest day of my life so far. I can’t really seem to wrap my head around the fact that it’s been a whole year since then. It’s a cliche, I know, but it’s gone by so fast.

Saturday night, we celebrated our anniversary by going back to the lodge where we had our wedding. We had dinner there and stayed the night. It was lovely and romantic and all of that, an overall great time. You can see the photos here.

A lot of people say that the first year of marriage is the hardest. If that’s true, I think it’s all going to be smooth sailing from here, because while this year had its challenges, it really hasn’t been that hard.

I was trying to think of something deep and profound to write about all of the things Dave does that make me love him, but apparently I am just not that great a writer, because this is all I can come up with:
1. Hello, have you seen the man? He’s adorable.
2. The British accent. Which honestly never, ever gets old. I could listen to him talk until my ears fall off. I also love the sound of his laugh.
3. He has a way of saying things – or it could even be as simple as just making a face in reaction to something I’ve said – that can reduce me to a puddle of laughter-induced tears. He’s the only person I’ve ever met who has literally made me fall down laughing.
4. He’s so smart that sometimes it freaks me out. (Seriously, you should see this math problem he was working on last night when I went to bed. I don’t know what it was, but it looked terrifying.)
5. When he does dishes, he cleans the whole kitchen – countertops and all. He has no idea what a turn-on that is.
6. Sometimes when I have a really crappy day, or when I get all anxious and panicky (as I am wont to do on a semi-regular basis), he’ll make me lie down, and he’ll hold me while I tell him all about it.

See? How could I not fall in love with that?

And since I’m feeling all list-make-y, I can also say that I’ve learned quite a bit about myself since we got married. For example, I have learned that…
1. I can be a lot goofier than I ever imagined. I don’t take myself nearly as seriously as I used to.
2. I sometimes get my feelings hurt over incredibly stupid things. But Dave is always quick to apologize for them – even though 99% of the time, whatever he said/did is completely harmless, and I’m just a silly, overreacting cow. (Calling me a cow, for the record, is one of the things that completely hurt my feelings. Even though he meant it in a “silly/stupid” way, not in a “400-pound heifer” way.)
3. I’m a much better cook than I ever thought I was. Or Dave is just not a very picky eater. It’s hard to say.
4. I can sometimes be a bit of a nag. And I hate that about myself, so I’m working on it. Really I am.
5. I am a far bigger video game nerd than I ever imagined. (Fire Emblem on Gamecube? Bring it on!)
6. I’m definitely “the high-strung one” in our relationship, but it’s ok because Dave is usually calm enough to balance me out.

Happy anniversary, sweetie. I sure do love you.

because really, it's all about my hair

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I know y’all have just been dying to see before and after pictures of my new haircut, haven’t you? HAVEN’T YOU??

Ok then.

Here’s what it looked like a couple of weeks ago, when Kris and I met up with the girls for a little night out on the town. We were ridiculously overdressed, considering that we ended up in a sketchy techno club downtown. But hey, whatever. We felt purty, and that’s all that matters.



 Please ignore the fact that I’ve got some kinda crazy-eyed thing going on there.

I honestly kind of liked my hair really long like that, but there were so many layers around the bottom, it took forever to style. And I really prefer it if my morning hair routine takes less than 10 minutes. I’m just low-maintenance like that. (Yes, I’m being sarcastic. I do realize there are people in the world who run their fingers through their hair and call it good. I will probably never be one of those people.)

Anyway, I went to my stylist and told her that I wanted to get rid of the layers – I had her cut it just blunt and straight across the bottom. She said afterward that she had been worried it would look too “heavy” that way, but she was pleased with how it turned out.



 I’m pretty pleased with it myself.

Oh, and the next time I think it’s ok to allow a photo to be taken of me squatting like that? Someone please slap some sense into me. God. Hello, thighs!

my life = Dilbert

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I bring my lunch to work every day. Mostly because it’s cheaper, but also because it gives me the feeling that I have some control over my diet. I usually bring a Lean Cuisine-type frozen lunch, because I’m lazy and that way I don’t have to think about it in the morning.

Today, however, I went to the kitchen to microwave my lunch, and… it wasn’t there. Someone ate my Lean Cuisine. The hell? Who does something like that?? There was another Lean Cuisine in the freezer, so I’m guessing that someone just forgot which one they brought and ate mine by mistake. I briefly considered eating the Lean Cuisine that was still in the freezer, but it was a lemongrass chicken, which I think is gross. (For the record, I had brought the roasted garlic chicken, which is one of my favorites.)

I just stood there at the freezer for a couple of minutes, staring in shock, waiting for my lunch to magically re-appear or something. One of the guys I work with walked in and asked how I was doing. Dumbly, I blurt out, “Someone ate my lunch!” He was all, “wha?” So I explained that my frozen entree had disappeared. He laughed and said, “Wow, I thought that stuff only happened in Dilbert cartoons.” Um, yeah. Me too.

When I recovered, I went to the cafeteria to buy my stupid lunch. The cafeteria here does have a pretty kick-ass salad bar, it’s just a bit too expensive to eat there every day.

But I keep coming back to wonder who on earth would take someone else’s lunch. Even if it was an accident, how do you confuse what you brought for yourself with someone else’s food? What the freakin’ hell?!

editing schmediting

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I haven’t had much to write about lately. The problem is, my life really isn’t all that boring, but most of the stuff that’s been happening lately? I can’t write about it here. Let’s review:
* My job, about which there is major drama at the moment and oh my god, y’all, I so wish I could whine about it here – nope, can’t talk about it. At least not yet. (Probably not for a while.)
* My family – some stuff is ok, but I have to be very careful of what I say and who I write about, because I know some family members read this and I don’t want to upset anyone.
* My friends – same as above.

So, if it seems like I write a LOT about trying to get pregnant? That’s why. It’s the one thing going on in my life that I’m pretty free to write whatever I want about it. But please don’t think that I’m being obsessive about it, because I promise that I’m really not.

In light of that, here’s a brief What I Did This Weekend recap, which has absolutely nothing to do with any of the forbidden topics listed above, nor does it have anything to do with trying to get myself knocked up:

First, this was the weekend that we got estimates for new siding for our house, as well as central air-conditioning. Many sleazy salesmen were in our dining room at various points in time, it was very exciting. We figured out which company we like for central A/C, but I need more quotes for siding before I make a decision. I just can’t invest that much money in a company whose salesmen wear enormous gold class rings on their right hands. Can’t do it.

Saturday afternoon, I got a massage. I had a gift certificate from my birthday that I had never gotten around to using, so I finally did. It was heavenly.

Afterward, Dave and I went to a cinqo de mayo party at the home of some friends. It was fun, but I was driving so I had to stay sober. I’m usually fine with driving after one or two cocktails, but I’d had a bad headache earlier that day, and I was scared to mix alcohol with my migraine medicine. So I was good and stuck to either water or diet coke. Although in all honesty, the party probably would’ve been much more fun if I had been drinking. Anyway, I got to catch up with the girls, which is always nice. And we played Cranium – boys against girls, because apparently we’re still in junior high school. (Who knew?) I think the boys won, but I was so tired by the time the game finished that I honestly wasn’t paying attention anymore.

Although I must say that Dave does some hilarious charades. When he was trying to act out “The Friendly Giant” and someone guessed that he was a Very Tall Prostitute… well, let’s just say it was a good thing that I was already sititng on the floor, because it’s where I surely would have landed.

Sunday, I finally finished repairing Kris’s computer – her brother apparently used it when hunting for porn, and it was so full of viruses and spyware that I had to completely reinstall Windows from scratch. I took it over to her place and got it set up for her, and hung out for a while with her and Lucky.

Last night, Dave and I watched “Match Point.” It was a good movie, but man, are you supposed to like any of the characters in that film? Because, um… no. I did not like them. At all.

four is enough

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Last night, Dave and I had a long talk – he was lying on the bed with his head on the pillow, and I was sitting on the bed facing him. At some point, I went to slide off of the bed, and my leg came down in a really weird way, and I banged the inside of my knee on the corner of my nightstand. It was one of those completely improbable how-in-the-hell-did-I-manage-THAT? kind of injuries. It turned into a bruise in less than an hour. And all night long, whenever I’d roll over in bed and my knee would graze the sheet, it would wake me up. Ow. It still hurts today. I can’t cross my right leg over my left.

Moral of the story: I hope our kids don’t inherit the Klutz Gene from me. I don’t know if there’s genetic engineering available for such things, but man, it’d really spare them a lot of pain and embarassment if there were.

As for the subject matter of the aforementioned “long talk” – most of it is of a personal nature that really should remain between Dave and I. My marriage is sacred, after all. The short version?

We aren’t getting a puppy. We have four cats as it is, and that should be plenty to keep me busy.

I mean, the litter boxes alone… you guys just have no idea.

puppy obsession

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I totally forgot to mention that I had about 4 inches of my hair cut off on Friday. I’m not really sure why, I just got the sudden itch for a change. It’s cute, though – still long enough that I can put it up in a ponytail, and it doesn’t seem to take as long to style in the morning, so that’s good. I’ll have to post photos soon. Kris and I took some pictures at the park on Sunday, but I don’t have access to her camera at the moment.

In other news, I have apparently latched on to the idea of getting a dog – somehow my brain keeps thinking, well I can’t seem to get pregnant, but I can get a puppy! (I know I’m not the only person to have this thought process. See? It is so totally normal. I swear.) Dave seems to think we should wait a while, at least until I get used to the idea of Lucky not being around, to make sure I still really want a dog, and that we aren’t getting a “rebound” dog. It’s probably a good thing that I married someone who isn’t quite as impulsive as I am when it comes to making major decisions such as these.

Besides that, I can’t seem to figure out what type of dog I want. There are several types of dogs that I already knew I liked, but then I’d go look them up and find out that they’re predisposed to some major health problems, or they aren’t good to have around kids because they tend to bite, that kind of thing. It seems that people in our neighborhood tend to have big dogs, which makes sense because it’s the boonies and we all have lots of land. And I like the idea of a big dog because I’d feel safe on the nights when Dave isn’t around (not often, but sometimes he has to travel for work), plus big dogs are good for giving full-body hugs without the fear of crushing them. On the other hand, I tend to gravitate more toward the tiny, foofy dogs because my god, the cuteness, it is overwhelming. If you don’t believe me, go look at Sarcomical’s dogs – seriously, can it get cuter than that? I think not.

So I’ve somewhat narrowed it down to two different breeds – on the big dog side, we have the Australian Shepherd. Easy to train, good around kids, no major health problems. Check. And they’re pretty. Plus, the puppies that I’ve seen are just about the cutest little furballs ever. Although that’s the thing about getting a big dog – we would have to get a puppy so the cats can teach it who’s boss from day one. They tend to freak around dogs, but I think if they were around a puppy – which isn’t a threat because its size isn’t intimidating – they’d probably be ok. Lucky is kind of a big dog (35 pound range), and they were terrified of her the entire time she was here, even though she’s really good with cats because she was raised with Kris’s two kitties.

(Actually, that was funny, because Lucky wanted to play with our cats, but they didn’t know that, so the poor pup got swatted and hissed at on a pretty regular basis. She never seemed to understand why she couldn’t join in their reindeer games. However, Teenie, the one cat who had never met a dog in her life until Lucky, seemed totally unfazed by her and only hissed if Lucky was up in her face for too long. It pretty much cemented my belief that Teenie has delusions of grandeur and probably thinks that she herself is a dog. Which is why she hates the other cats and wasn’t the least bit bothered by Lucky.)

On the tiny dog side, I seem to have become obsessed with the Havanese. I’d never even heard of the breed before, but they’re related to the Bichon Frise, so you know they’re adorable. (Although the first picture on that link is not a good representation. I’m not into show dogs, so if I were to get one, it would have a cute short haircut, like most of these guys.) They seem to have a good temperament, get along with cats and kids, and allegedly can be trained to use a litter box(!). So major bonus points there. Plus, they’re just heart-achingly cute.

I don’t have any idea where this is going to end up, or if we’ll get a dog at all, but feel free to pitch in your opinion on the big dogs versus little dogs debate. I’m going back to searching Petfinder.

the Couch of Good Times and other stuff

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Kris moved out yesterday. Moving day was pretty uneventful since she hardly has any belongings here. I don’t know if I mentioned this, but the job she got is as an accountant at a retirement community. One of the residents there recently lost his wife, and he wanted to downsize from a one-bedroom to a studio. He offered Kris his sofa, but she insisted that she couldn’t possibly take it for free, so he said to give a donation of $50 to the hospice that took care of his wife. (Aww.) Obviously, she did. And the couch is really nice, because apparently the stereotype about how old people take good care of their stuff is actually true.

Yesterday, Kris and I, along with our rented U-Haul van, went to the retirement community to pick up the couch. I was parked illegally, so I stood guard by the van while she and the maintenance man went to retrieve the couch. Two funny things transpired inside that I truly wish I had seen:

1) The little old man who gave her the couch? Wouldn’t let her pick it up. Because she’s a woman. Of course. So the maintenance guy and this 80 year-old man with a bad back had to lift it all by themselves. (I asked Kris if he knew that not one but TWO women would be solely responsible for unloading the couch at our destination point. She said, “No, I was afraid he’d try to hop in the van and come with us.”)

2) As she was leaving, he got a little emotional (remember, this poor man lost his wife less than a month ago) and he told her, “Well, I hope you have as many good times on that couch as we did.” Kris said that if he hadn’t been a very frail 80 year-old man, it would’ve sounded totally inappropriate, but still, her first thought was, “eww, thank God I’m getting a slipcover.” Apparently even the maintenance guy had to stifle a giggle on that one. I don’t know that I would’ve been able to hold it in, so it’s probably best that I wasn’t there.

After the Great Sofa Expedition, we headed back to our house to get her things here. Dave helped us load up, and came along to help us unload at her new apartment, which was great because it seemed to go ten times faster than it would have if it had just been Kris and me.

Anyway, her new apartment seems really nice, and I know it’s good for all parties involved for Kris to have her own space – it makes her feel more established about living here, and Dave may not wear pants around the house for a month. (Poor guy, I think he really missed Underwear Time.) But honestly, when we left her at her apartment last night, I felt like I was abandoning her, and I don’t know why. It was a pretty awful feeling, though.

Then we got back home, and there was no dog crate in our dining room anymore, and the house just seemed totally empty. I sat on the couch and cried. Yes, I love our cats, but I totally fell in love with Lucky, and I’ve been getting doggie kisses every day for the past 2 1/2 months, and I’m going to miss them terribly. Dave suggested what Angie said last week – that maybe we could get a puppy. I think he’s also hoping that it’ll distract me from this whole desparately-wanting-a-baby thing, although I don’t know if that’s the best motivation for getting a new pet. Last night, I missed Lucky so much that when he suggested it, I almost jumped off the couch and said, “Ok, let’s go to the shelter and get a dog now!” But I know it’s a big decision, so I’m going to think about it for at least a few weeks and then see how I feel about it.

The other reason I was upset last night is because Beaumont disappeared on Wednesday morning and I hadn’t seen him since. Dave’s cats (not Teenie, since she has no claws) spend most of the day outside hunting for mice, but they always come in at dusk when I stand on the deck and do the “here kitty-kitty” yell. Beaumont had been gone for well over 72 hours, and even though Dave told me not to worry because he was probably just out having fun, I kept having visions of him getting mauled by a coyote or hit by a car. He finally turned up late last night. I cried again when I found him (obviously, I’m a tad hormonal), although he seemed to care way more about his kibble than in apologizing for his extended absence. Dave called him a “dirty little stopout” – I think that’s his official new nickname.

Oh, and I might have spent the rest of the evening online looking at dogs on Petfinder and our local paper’s pet listings. Maybe.