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Follow Friday – Anthony’s Birthday

27 Jan

My husband Anthony and I have theory that most people tweet while using the bathroom.

“You tweet pretty regularly,” you might say to a friend. “Good for you!”

Or, “I’ve noticed you haven’t tweeted in awhile. I’m concerned. Are you getting enough fiber?”

Today is the birthday of my husband and best friend. This one’s for you, love.

What is Follow Friday? It’s a Twitter meme that I have taken a couple steps further.  Learn more about it in my FAQ. See my nomination for a Shorty Award for Follow Friday here. You can read more Follow Friday goodness here.

lunchyprices I don’t understand why Beyonce and Jay-Z didn’t name their baby ‘BeJay’.

mocoddle Watching Futurama means that the main character of any book I read after will be voiced, in my head, by Bender.

UnicornFlavored Me trying to encourage a girl @ gym: “You got this, girl! You’re a unicorn!” Another girl: “I don’t..what..I don’t get how she’s a unicorn”

NicLewis BLAST RADIUS #NewSweatpantsLogos

ElKaboing Pimples and Dimples #NewSweatpantsLogos

mitdasein COLOSTOMY #NewSweatpantsLogos

NicLewis DINGLE BERRIES #NewSweatpantsLogos

owlparliament LOOSE STOOLS #NewSweatpantsLogos

owlparliament I AM CORNHOLIO #NewSweatpantsLogos

NikkiGlaser Shouldn’t PINK be on the front of Victoria Secret sweatpants?

RideOrDiePudge Every licensed beautician should know what you’re talking about when you say “Give me the Greatest American Hero.”

johnmoe When you watch football with a 3yo, you learn that all the mans are hugging each other.

missokistic Rick Perry says South Carolina is at war with the federal government. He does know how that ended last time, right?

MassageByTed If I say “I don’t watch football” & you hear “Let’s discuss yesterday’s games at length,” then CONGRATULATIONS you’re management material.

ScrewyDecimal While reading a book about bears during storytime, I accidentally asked the kids “What sound does a BEER make?” Worst. Librarian. Ever.

Toaster_Pastry I used to get a free pen. Now I don’t get a free pen. I can put up with a lot of bullshit with a free pen.

coldcarryouts The language is love. The grammar is tacos.

shariv67 Babies are like those popular kids in high school who you want desperately to like you even though they treat you like shit.

ElwoodJBlues It seems wrong to be eating toaster waffles and tater tots while watching #TopChef, but here I am.

Smethanie Just think how many MORE pics of cats there’d be on the Internet if felines had opposable thumbs to take and upload bathroom mirror shots.

BridgetCallahan If Edith Wharton were alive today, she would totally be writing for Gossip Girl.

pattonoswalt Here, this should cover Wikipedia for 24 hours: The Beatles, Shakespeare, Anwar Sadat, Rhode Island, & anal fistula

jwordfish the internet just occupied itself

theleanover I wasn’t concerned about SOPA/PIPA until I realized it could shut down Garfield Minus Garfield.

gabek I’ve never blacked out from drinking before, but I’m willing to find out what it takes to support our stand against #SOPA.

JoeVelouria Jokes on you guys. I boycott SOAP twenty-two days a month.

oodja Pluto is a planet. #FactsWithoutWikipedia (Too soon?)

robdelaney #SOPA me, motherfuckers & I’ll use your other enemy, the glorious US Postal Service to MAIL my tweets to your kids.

TwoAdults Yesterday Ezra asked me where the Elf (Elphabet…) was. “I haven’t seen him around, Mama. Where is he? IS HE EATING TREATS?!!!”

robdelaney Simultaneous orgasms are cool, but when you’ve been with someone for a while, simultaneous farts are fun too.

SpaghettiJesus “I CAN’T BELIEVE PAULA DEEN IS A DIABETIC!” – said no one bc Paula Deen is the historic source of all diabetes.

johnmoe Fun day of RTs. Thanks to Marvin Luther King, Martin Lutheran King, Martian Luther King, and the Luther Kings from all the other planets.

duckyouforever I’m live chatting Oprah’s interview with Gov. Chris Christie and there’s a joke in here somewhere but I think it’s on me.

MrBigFists Elevator? Nonsense. This is a traveling hugging booth and I see you’ve selected the button for 16 hugs. So let’s get to it. Come here, you!

shelikespurple I may not be planning to have any more babies, but I do plan to wear my maternity yoga pants for the rest of my life.

morninggloria Was disappointed to discover that mammograms aren’t short boob-related messages. Even sadder that there is no “singing mammogram” option.

owlparliament @exlibris Have I ever told you about the time I got confused with Swiper and said “Snatcher no snatching!” real loud?

tommycm my early misspelling of ‘existential’ has made the crisis all the more telling.

robdelaney I fucking jizz every morning when I tear yesterday’s page off my cat calendar & see a NEW cat in a fun situation!

thebryanchamp I’d like to have sex with a rich person because they’re really good at fucking the poor.

MagpieLibrarian SOMEONE ON THE INTERNET IS WRONG!

willgoldstein I already regret staying up this late for tomorrow. I pregret it. #newword #feelfreetouseit

thecajunboy Mitt Romney just asked the boys to toss some more cash logs into the fire.

SpeakerBoehner Man, I am DESTROYING this chair with farts. Is this thing over yet? #SOTU

markleggett Male cyclists shouldn’t be allowed to have ponytails, so I don’t have to question my sexuality on the drive to work every morning.

alwysabridesmd I hope no one else is at the gym tonight so I can pass gas with impunity during my run. Sorry I ate all those lentils you guys.

markleggett Last night’s dream starred Tim Curry. My imagination spares no expense.

theleanover Obvious joke? OK, Obvious joke: Hyperbole is the worst thing that ever happened to language.

Guydelines Anti-drug campaigns should simply be pictures of Steven Tyler with the phrase “He does drugs!”

MassageByTed I hope some casting agents saw my heroic sprint for the bus this morning.

finslippy I’m sure I can have one more cup of coffee and I’ll be just whoops I’m having a heart attack.

JRehling I just sneezed as I was about to click on something and now everything on my computer is in Malaysian.

pnkrcklibrarian Fell asleep last night watching Antiques Roadshow. Party hard, bitches! Party. Hard.

gonnakillhim “Teach me how to” may be the scariest words to type into Google.

johnhenrymuller Our 7-year-old started using air quotes. It’s about to get “real.”

mstcambot just watched a squirrel successfully pick up an empty iced coffee cup, turn it over, and drink out of the straw. DAY = MADE.

alwysabridesmd On the one hand, I just dropped a tampon on the counter while paying for overpriced water. On the other, I got the elevator to myself. Hm.

nickkroll I would totally elect Mitt Romney to be an actor in Viagra commercial.

shinyinfo I outreach like a son of a bitch. I am out reaching like no other person has reached out before in their ridiculous reaching lives!

thejohnblog Before Bruce Willis figured out he was a ghost in ‘The Sixth Sense,’ his character was probably worried it had been so long since he pooped.

robdelaney Women are like canoes. Actually they’re really more like kayaks. Which one has the pointy things? OK; I don’t understand canoes/women.

MassageByTed I think I’ll go home and record some club music by combining a super loud click track and the autotuned bleating of one wounded sheep.

luckyshirt I just wish facebook would try to fit more information into my eyeballs all at once.

duckyouforever Please be advised that there will no longer be a day known as Monday. In the Hobbit tradition, we now have Second Sunday.

rolldiggity “Yeah, I guess I’m a pretty good water receptacle.” -Glass that is half full of itself

justaboutagirl 10 am and we already need another pot of coffee. I’m so proud of us!

danforthfrance I may have had too much coffee, he said performing Chopin’s Military Polonaise as a hambone.

UnicornFlavored It trips me out that a lady wearing “mom jeans”, clogs, and a Navajo print mini backpack would be considered more fashionable than me.

gracehelbig Happy Butter, Paula Dean! Oh god, I mean birthday. How insensibutter of me. Ah! I’m butter! Sorry! Ah! Your heart works so hard!

thegrumbles dear @keli_h, i will share the same sage advice that was told to me as a boy-mom, “now you’ve had TWO penises in you at the same time.”

jenstatsky Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses — I’m making a weird ass collage.

OhNoSheTwitnt Apparently shouting “where’s your G now?!” on Monday mornings at all my coworkers who say “TGIF!!” on Fridays isn’t very “professional.”

chickenscottpie Accidentally said “automatic death” instead of “sudden death,” and now I think “automatic death” would make football way more interesting.

mikeleffingwell My favorite sequels are Wrath of Khan, The Dark Knight, and World War II.

UnicornFlavored I was going to ask Kyle if he’d get me a glass of water since he was near the kitchen, til I noticed he was elbow deep in a ball scratch.

pattonoswalt That long-handled shoehorn was the iPhone 4S of 1916. #DowntonPBS

pattonoswalt Is there a form of sexuality called “homo-Bates-ual”? #DowntonPBS

lauracope remind me to take all these browser tabs to the Goodwill when i get home.

nancyupton The ultimate first world problem? Getting truffle salt in your eye after making scrambled egg whites. Let’s all hate me together.

GoonSquadSarah Ian just told his playdate “It is your time to shine!”

alyankovic Paul’s First Blog Post to the Corinthians #UpdatedNewTestament

jenstatsky Just spent 15 minutes trying to zipper my coat, then sent my parents an apology for sending me to college.

RideOrDiePudge Apparently my efforts to lead an impromptu slave revolt went unappreciated by the management of Colonial Williamsburg.

JVdesigns And for those who think there is no good in the world, a dude just paused a drug transaction to tell me I dropped my glove

robdelaney DOCTORS ONLY: Did Paula Deen catch diabetes when that guy threw a ham at her face?

VegasWalkinDude “We built this titty. We built this titty from silicone. Built this titty. We built this titty from silicone.” – Plastic surgeon rock anthem

badbananaThrowing a pie in Newt Gingrich’s face is at least a two-pie job.

What is Follow Friday? It’s a Twitter meme that I have taken a couple steps further.  Learn more about it in my FAQ. See my nomination for a Shorty Award for Follow Friday here. You can read more Follow Friday goodness here.

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Snapshot: Making Personal Threats & Isobel’s Pencil Room

16 Jan

– Since it’s been awhile since my last snapshot, and since so much has happened, I’m posting it early this week.

– The biggest news (besides me having the most annoying and stubborn cold on the planet) is that we moved Isobel’s big girl bed from our bedroom into the Pencil Room. The Pencil Room is officially Isobel’s big girl bedroom, and now we refer to it as “your pencil room.” The first day was rough. At first she was so excited when I told he we were going to move her bed that she tried to move it herself and then excitedly asked me to help her. Once we got the bed in the room and all set up for her nap, she pretty much cried from nap time to bedtime. She was m-a-d. After she got that out of her system it wasn’t a problem and she’s been sleeping in there fuss-free since the 7th. Anthony and I are so glad to have our room back (bow chicka wow wow) but it did make me a little sad at first. I was so ready for her to be out I didn’t expect to be sad. Having her in a different room after two and a half years of cosleeping was an adjustment for Mama as well as baby.

– I’m almost done decorating Isobel’s big girl room. I posted a sneak peek earlier on twitter. I still need to finish some organizational things and Anthony needs to hang the finishing touches, but once that’s done I’m going to share it here. Hopefully sometime next week!

Bethylicious nominated me for a Versatile Blogger Award! According to the meme I’m supposed to nominate fifteen people and list 7 random facts about myself. I always have trouble coming up with these, so how about we do something else: I will answer seven random questions put to me by readers, either here in the comments, or via email, or on twitter. If I get seven questions I’ll answer them in a post and then nominate my picks for the award. I’m betting there won’t be seven questions.Go ahead and take that personally. It’s a threat. Or something. Yeah.

– The lovely and talented Erica made this gorgeous shawl for me and I am over the moon about it. The deep green-blue color, the delightful scrunchiness of the wool, the fact that it was nothing but a mere string a few short days ago has me swooning for it. Thank you so much, Erica. I hope the basket of vintage goodies I’m about to send you is satisfactory.

Recent Photos:

Little Big Links

I Can’t Decide On Just One, So I’m Sending Them All

25 Dec

Scrapbook: Christmas Parade

11 Dec

We went to the local Christmas parade last weekend with our friends the Waltons and the Serios. It was Isobel’s fourth parade but the first one she was aware of what parades actually were. Valerie brought a surprise for the kids–glow sticks, which (unsurprisingly) were a huge hit. Note to self bring glow sticks to the parade next year. They’d also be really fun during fireworks on the Fourth of July.

Each time a float rolled past us Isobel called it a bus, and she kept saying, “I want to go on the bus! Mama and Isobel go on the bus.” She said it so firmly, as if she said it with enough conviction it would come true. I didn’t feel like lugging my regular camera around so instead I packed Camera Jr, which means the photos are kind of terrible but I love them nonetheless.

Warriors, Come Out And Play

15 Nov

Imagine running three and a half miles in the dust, over hills, on a trail studded with giant piles of steaming horse crap. Imagine scaling walls, swimming through mud, and leaping over open flames. Imagine enduring this ordeal with thousands of other sweating competitors, some of them dressed up as batman, ninjas, or a banana. Imagine, doing this for fun.

Welcome, athletes, to the Warrior Dash!

When Anthony first told me he wanted to run in Warrior Dash with friends, I had only a vague notion of the obstacles. I naively imagined him leaping over hurdles and high-stepping it through a checkerboard of tires. So I invited my friend Angela, who recently took up running as a hobby, to join us. Our conversation went something like this:

Me: Anthony and some friends are going to run a race in October. It’s short and it’s supposed to be fun. I think it’s called the Warrior Dash. Wanna come?

Angela: Sure! Let me look it up online.

Me: Okay.

Angela: … This race involves jumping over fire.

Me: WHAT?!

Angela: Yeah. And a lot of barbed wire. And a blackout tent, and a mud pit, and two piles of fire.

Me: Oh. Well, do you want to come and watch? I’m not running, obviously.

Angela: No, I’m still interested in doing it. I’m just a little worried about the fire.

And that, folks, is why Angela is BAD. ASS.

The Warrior Dash is so popular that heats are scheduled on the hour all weekend long and each heat hosts five hundred people. They sell out fast, so while Angela registered for the noon heat, Anthony and our other friends had to sign up for the heat that started an hour later. When we arrived there were already thousands of people there, some covered in mud that was already beginning to crust and dry in the arid heat of the late summer sun. It was hot, hotter than usual for the foothills and hotter than it had been previously that week. It was only eleven in the morning and we were working up a sweat just standing there. The runners signed up for later in the day were going to have a rough time of it.

What sets the Warrior Dash apart from other obstacle course challenges is the light-hearted spirit of the event. Many runners wore elaborate costumes and everyone who participates earns themselves a t-shirt, a Viking hat, a medal and a free beer. It was a physical challenge, no doubt about it, but the emphasis was on fun. When I saw someone get stuck at the top of a 20-foot wall, the paramedics were arranging a way to get her down when she conquered her fear of heights and climbed down on her own. The crowd cheered for her ecstatically. This is what I loved about the Warrior Dash. The crowd could have looked down on her for getting scared. Instead, they cheered her victory.

After the race, mud-soaked competitors were invited to donate their shoes to a charity that would clean them up and send them to third-world countries where they were needed.

Before we even parked the car we started spotting costume after costume. Groups of people signed up to run the race a team all sporting themed costumes. Our friend Jaime, Alicia and her boyfriend all going to dressed in homemade Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle costumes. For whatever reason their heat was filled with people dressed as TMNT, despite the fact that none of the other heats seemed to have not so much as a non-mutant turtle costume. While I waited for Anthony and Jaime to run by I kept my eyes peeled for turtles and became disappointed each time that another competitor, dressed as a turtle, ran by.

I have to admit a small amount of jealousy for the mud-soaked competitors. Not that I wanted to be soaked in mud, because, uh, no thanks. But the race, as hard as it was, looked undeniably fun. Justin and I came along for picture-taking, bag holding, and moral support, and even he talked about running it with Angela next year. Just attending the event was hard enough for me. The standing and the walking was enough to make me stiff and sore and arthritic for the next two days. No Warrior Dash is in my future.

After watching the runners start the race flanked by plumes of fire, we waited for them in the spectator area where we could watch them scale two obstacle walls before witnessing the leap through fire and the slog through the mud pit. Angela climbed the rope wall with no problem. I saw many people skip this obstacle entirely.

Then she scaled the net climb with no difficulty.

I regret to say I have no photos of her leaping fire or treading through mud. The timing of the heats meant I had to leave in order to watch Anthony’s heat, but Justin followed her and got pictures, including this one, that I shamelessly stole from her twitter stream:

Afterwards, she cleaned up with a hundred other people in the one shower provided: a fire truck’s hose. She managed to change her clothes, but look at her hair:

While waiting for Anthony’s heat to run by we spotted some amusing costumes.

The 80s Aerobic group:

Fred & Wilma Flintsone… an amazing couple in their sixties:

A lady dressed as Mario:

Apollo:

A ripped bunny-dude:

A bunch of bananas:

Some convicts:

Reno 911 and whatever she is:

Tron:

Two Ghost Busters:

And my personal favorite, Colonel Sanders and a flock of chickens:

We kept spotting Waldos all day long, also:

Anthony’s group was at the end of line since we wanted to wait and watch Angela go by.

After seeing dozens of turtles run by (and I’m not just saying this, but their TMNT costumes were by far the best of the day), we finally saw our guys.

After they scaled the net wall Angela, Justin and I had to literally sprint all the way to the fire pits in order to watch them jump the flames. We barely made it in time for me to snap one of Jaime.

The fire truck shower kept reminding me of that Weird Al movie UHF, and the children’s show where Michael Richard’s character kept telling kids, “You get to drink from… the fire hose!” blasting the lucky kid right off the stage.

It’s a good thing that day was so hot, because the water was reportedly ice cold.

After we ate and everyone cleaned off we stopped Casa de Fruita for some pomegranate wine and miner’s hats and called it a day. The end.

Edit the Sad Parts

19 Oct

It’s like being trapped under dark water so cold you can’t breathe or think or move. It’s like being inside your own skin and desperately wanting to get out. It’s like being slowly, insistently poisoned by your own mind. There is nothing I want so much as to get away from myself. I haven’t been eating. I’ve been sleeping less and less to the point that one night I didn’t sleep at all.

It was my birthday and I was losing my mind.

I knew something was wrong as far back as Thursday. I could feel the burn of adrenaline streaking through my veins uncontrollably. I couldn’t concentrate. I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t slow my heart or control my breathing. Despite Anthony’s gentle, earnest and numerous attempts to calm me, I felt totally alone and was utterly convinced everyone hated me. I was completely unworthy of my husband and my beautiful child. I was losing my mind.

This was my first panic attack. But it wasn’t my last.

Over the next six days I had more, at first with gaps of recovering, head-clearing and feeling better, but always they returned, and worse than before. Then they grew closer and closer together until I had no relief. I have been seeing a therapist since I was diagnosed with PPD, and over the phone he assured me I was not insane. It took me awhile to believe him. I was convinced I was losing my mind.

I wanted to tell you this because my typical tactic is to keep everything to myself, even from my closest friends. Not many people know this, but I grew up in an alcoholic household and my mother and sister and I dealt with this problem by never mentioning it, ever. Not even to each other. Especially not to each other. I grew up knowing that something was very, very wrong, but I was never exactly sure what that was. One day, I realized it must be me.

We just didn’t talk about it, this problem that was making our lives hell, and life went on, until one day when I was about twenty my father had a seizure. Barely coherent from drinking, he fell to the floor in the living room, convulsing. Firemen saved his life and he was rushed to the hospital, no one knowing if he would make it. When I visited him he looked at me with his bright yellow eyes, not comprehending who I was. When it became apparent he’d survive, doctors still weren’t sure how full his recovery would be. We lived months with the future of our beloved Dad in limbo. He spent months learning to walk again and regaining his motors skills in physical rehab centers. After that, when it became clear his mind and body and heart will mostly recover, and he spent many more months in a drug and alcohol rehab center. I am so proud of him and his ten years of sobriety. He has changed, but I still cling to the old coping methods. I hold it all in, isolating myself from friends and family when I need them most. I still keep my feelings locked deep in my heart like they were shameful things best kept hidden.

Throughout these last six days I’ve lost 10 pounds and countless hours of sleep. At the advice of my therapist I saw my doctor to get back on the medicine I took for PPD. While I was in the doctor’s office sobbing, Isobel rubbed my leg and said, over and over, “Don’t cry, Mama. Don’t cry, Mama. Mama is sad.”

Mama is sad.

I’m sharing this with you because I don’t want to live with half my heart in lock down until the point it spills over into mental disorder. I’m sharing this with you because I want my daughter to grow in a healthier environment that I did. And I wanted to share this with you because I could use the support.

Life List: Whale Watching

17 Oct

To celebrate my birthday I wanted to cross something off my Life List. This year: whale watching.

I am experiencing something of a health crisis so I’m short on words but I wanted to share the photos. I’ll write about my trip another time. I promise. Despite my current issues, it was awesome.

A sweet couple celebrating their 40th anniversary brought enough champagne for everyone on the ship.

Dramamine made us sleepy.

Thrift Store Score: Tree House/Doll House

27 Sep

I am so excited about this Thrift Store Score and I’m sure this is partly because of how I discovered it. I had some time to kill before dropping Isobel off at my Mom’s house while I went to a doctor appointment, so I decided to stop by a thrift store. I still need some accessories for Isobel’s Halloween costume, my thrifting basket recently suffered an unfortunate accident (sad face), and I’m ever on the hunt for things for the shop, so I thought I’d just stop in for a bit since I was on that side of town.

I found a few goodies and I almost didn’t see this plastic tree in the kids’ section. It was folded up and looked like nothing of consequence, but my gut told me to take a chance. At best it will be a fun accessory for the hoards of LPS toys Grandma keeps giving her, and at worst we can donate it back to the store. I couldn’t figure out how to open right away and we were running late, so I bought it sight unseen.

It was a dollar.

Once we arrived at Grandma’s I brought the tree out and showed Isobel. She was immediately smitten. When I finally figured out how to open it (easy, really, push-button release) I gasped. I had thought this was a newish toy, but it was actually a well-preserved gem from 1975.

It was so much better than I could have possibly guessed. It came with a bed, three chairs, a daddy figurine and a little girl, who you will not see because Isobel insisted on serving her tea inside the jellyfish tent while I took these pictures.

I was so pleased with myself for finding this. Later when I triumphantly showed my prize to Anthony I couldn’t help but saying, “Isn’t this amazing! I feel like such a baller!”

Anthony thought for a second and then replied, “I don’t think you know what that word means.”

The tree was really a doll house, er, tree house, fit for the little figures that once inhabited it. I imagine a Mommy figure and a little boy figure probably completed the household. Even though this toy was before my time, it struck a familiar cord with me, as if I vaguely remember it.

As you can see in the photo above, the trunk has a little elevator that takes the little people from the house level down to the ground level of the house.

The little door opens and closes. The elevator works by turning a crank at the base of the tree. It needs a little work but I’m sure Anthony can fix it.

The tree has three rooms: a kitchen, a living room, and a bedroom. I could immediately tell this toy was a 1970s original just by looking at the furnishings and the carpet, and my guess was confirmed by a stamped date on the bottom: 1975.

The kitchen might be my favorite.

A little ramp sits to one side of the living room. It looks like it was longer at one point but became damaged over the years. I think one side is supposed to be stairs and the other side is a slide. At least I hope one side is a slide. That would be fun.

There is also a little area under the kitchen that I think is a garage. I really have a feeling a very 70s Volkswagen-style van used to park there, but if that’s an actual memory I have or just wishful thinking, I can’t say.

Here is the Dad. Very 1970s Dad-like, with his super wide tie and thick mustache.

The book shelf illustration is amazing. I’d love to have a bookshelf that looks like that now. What goes around comes around.

I think I’ve never really left the 70s.

Scrapbook: Jose and Lupe’s Wedding

19 Sep

I don’t think I could sum up all the fun we had at our friends’ Jose and Lupe’s wedding. A million wonderful things happened, large and small, and it seems impossible that all those events were packed into two short days. I’m not even going to attempt a recap, so instead I’m just going to share snippets of my my favorite memories. These are the things I’ll remember:

The Mexican folk sayings that were read as part of the ceremony. Anthony leaning over and whispering their meanings in my ear, as the entire ceremony was conducted in Spanish.

The absolute, exquisite beauty of Lupe. Gorgeous on a bad day, she looked like a goddess.

Stef and I dressing like identical little old ladies.

Melynda’s awesome black feather fascinator.

How skinny Angela looked.

How nice Zack looked.

How utterly happy Jose and Lupe looked.

How, as a group, we managed to stand in the least convenient spots for a group to stand in throughout our trip.

Heading to dim sum post-ceremony because Dave threatened to catch and eat lizards.

Stef and I spilling bits of dim sum on our dresses. I accidentally dropped rice in my bra and told everyone I’d be throwing it at Jose and Lupe later.

Seeing our friend Aaron again for the first time in years.

Everyone sharing whatever they ordered.

Dave ordering the giant meat balls.

 The inevitable piping match that broke out while waiting for the piñata.

Jake and Ben’s best men speech, and how they tied in Jose’s love of comics and superheroes.

The first drink I ordered wasn’t mixed properly and it came out so gross I couldn’t help but say, “Oh, gross! This tastes like the dentist!” This prompted so much curiosity from my friends that we passed the drink around the table and everyone sampled “the dentists drink.”


Jacob, who had been drinking, trying to convince his younger brother Caleb, who had not been drinking, to drive Ben’s car home because Ben is drunk. Although Caleb immediately agrees to drive the car, Jacob continues to try to persuade Cay to drive home for at least five more minutes, wherein Cay agrees to do it several more times. Fun fact: Ben is not actually drunk. At all.

Angela and I dancing to a song and realizing everyone knows the words to except us. Agreeing it’s not on our ipods nor is it from a children’s song. Realizing we are old.

The pastel song, and me explaining to everyone that the lyrics were basically “We want cake, cake, cake, cake, cake!” Everyone’s surprise at its meaning, followed by everyone agreeing that it was the best song ever. Angela declaring, “I want that as my ringtone!”

Lupe’s parents, who were among the first on the dance floor and the last to leave. They danced us all under the table.

The crazy crack-the-whip game the single men and women played before the bouquet and garter toss. The men flying by while we cheered for our friends. The line snaking past us and Jake shouting back, “I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!” Poor Zack at the end, taking a beating.

Dancing to Mexican music with no real knowledge of how to do so. Looking completely ridiculous. The wildly inappropriate dancing we were doing in general. The wedding photographers crowding around us to take photos of the crazy white people.

The little boy who crashed hard and fell asleep before the reception was over. How sweetly he was draped over his father’s shoulder as he was carried home.

Realizing we’re probably going to make fun of Angela’s mom when we’re ninety, at which point we’ll have to end each joke with “may she rest in peace.”

Being driven back to the hotel by Melynda and Justin and comparing Dick Cheney to a honey badger while drunk tweeting. The first tweet made me sound way drunker than I was because autocorrected changed almost every word in that sentence. In autocorrect’s defense, however, I have no idea what I was actually trying to say. And, incase you were wondering, yes, Melynda is my homepants.

The $4.00 bottle of water in every hotel room.

The imagining the people who used to live in historic Dolce Hayes Mansion.

The telephones next to the toilets.

Discovering the copy of the Teachings of Buddha in lieu of the traditional Bible in our hotel drawer.

Anthony falling asleep on the Walton’s hotel room bed, snoring in the middle of our conversation. Stefanie saying I was going to have to fireman-carry him back to the hotel room. Me waking him up and Anthony thinking we’re calling it a night because I’m tired.

Waking up the next day and finding our hotel to be out of the motherfucking coffee. Inconceivable! Doesn’t this hotel know that we are old and hung over and we need our goddamn coffee?

Stealing hotel chairs from the various lounge areas to add to the Walton’s hotel room as it filled with more and more people.

The table at breakfast with the inane graffiti.

Justin, grabbing my camera to take photos while I am dancing. As is our custom, we will each take the other’s camera and take photos on it when the other is not around, including at least one gratuitous shot of someone’s butt. Justin, upping the ante by taking three gratuitous butt shots, including one belonging to his dancing, and completely unaware, wife.

The constant, hilarious, occasionally staged, photo bombs. It practically became a competition by the end of the night.

Anthony waking up early and staggering into the bathroom. He makes such a strange noise I think he must be barfing excess alcohol. Worried, I rush in to find him standing at the sink, water bottle in hand, crying, “FOUR FUCKING DOLLARS?!”

Scrapbook: Yosemite

5 Sep

I hope you are enjoying your Labor Day weekend! Right now we are just getting back from watching one of our oldest friends marry another good friend. Recently, though, we took a trip to Yosemite. As I mentioned earlier, we’re not going to be doing this again until she’s older. We had a good time, but herding her around and making sure she wasn’t discovering creative new ways to injure herself took all of our energy. We felt like the Secret Service, clearing the perimeter, ensuring at least one of us had a visual at all times, and trying to convince our VIP that she shouldn’t wander into the bike lane. It was exhausting.

But we had fun! Our favorite parts involved water, and not just because Isobel enjoyed it so much: the temperature was in the high nineties and I wanted to keel over every time I ventured into the sun. I’m used to this baking, relentless heat in my home in the Valley as it’s a part of living here. But there’s something demoralizing about getting excited to visit a lush forest, a national treasure,  and finding you’d prefer to sit in the car with the air conditioning on full blast. Sacrilege, I know.

We found solace in the Yosemite river twice. First, before our picnic we stopped by the lower portion of Yosemite Falls. The river was so low families were climbing in to cool off their toes and wade as deeply into the frigid water as they could stand. We climbed down to the river bed and the water was as shockingly cold as the sun was scorching. Usually venturing into the water at Yosemite Falls is only for those with a death wish, but this late in summer the river is more rock than water.

After our picnic, which was punctuated with constant requests from Isobel to “go pet the squirrels,” we hiked down river and found shady little spot just right for exploring. This was the most relaxed we were the whole trip, and it was nice to sit on the cool rocks and listen to the shushsush of the water and watch Isobel contentedly pretend her stick was a fishing pole. The best part (and you can see this in some of the pictures on my flickr) is that after we got there some dude decided that this spot on the river was the perfect place to stop and meditate among the beauty of nature. Which, I’m sure it was, but nature’s splendor had to compete with the joyous cries of my daughter repeatedly saying, “HOLA! I’M ISOBEL! DO YOU WANT TO GO FISHING WITH ME? YAY, I LIKE FISHING! ME TOO!”

I mean, we were there first, so he had to know what he was getting into when he plunked down into the lotus position. If he was actually able to tune out Isobel’s voice then we may have been in the presence of a Buddha himself. Also, while she was singing and shouting and splashing she was also wading into the river up to her shins. It’s a good thing I packed extra clothes.

If you’re interested, you can see more photos from our trip to Yosemite here, including a shot of the smoke from the wildfire that detoured our route by a good forty minutes.  I hope your weekend was long and relaxing.