Friday, September 29, 2006

That ringing in my head is wedding bells

Don’t tell the Pretend Husband (who is already feeling a lot of pressure from friends– and from me, I suppose– to become the Real Husband)… but last night I dreamt he proposed. It was a very wacky dream. First, he did the whole on-one-knee and asking me to marry him, but the first thing I noticed when he pulled out the ring is that it had a gold band.

I don’t wear gold… never… not ever. And the PH knows this, so the chances of my real ring being yellow gold are zero. But in my dream, the ring had a big ol’ gold band. And it got worse… the ring was actually the name “Lisa” (no idea why) in tons of rhinestones. The letters stood about three inches off my finger! I didn’t know how to tell the PH that it just wasn’t my style. Especially because my name’s not Lisa!

Then he somehow got me a second engagement ring (perhaps we sold the first one to someone named Lisa?). But this ring was very flimsy. It had two white wires and between the wires were strung some beautiful, round diamonds. But they were strung on thread that broke as soon as I put the ring on my finger. So I was embarrassed to tell anyone that I had gotten engaged because I knew they would ask to see the ring, which was in tatters on my finger. Very strange…

Can you tell I’ve had weddings on my mind lately? We have two to go to in October, my sister and my best friend from high school are both planning spring weddings and one of the PH’s friends just got engaged last weekend. I know it’s going to happen for us and I’m in no rush. Sure, I like to tell the PH that people at work have a bet going about when he’s going to pop the question. It’s really not “if,” but “when.” I haven’t told him this because I honestly don’t want to pressure him, but I have the last two weeks of January in the office pool.

How about you, Internet friends? Care to get in on this one? I’ll figure out some fabulous prize (which may or may not involve having to design a new blog for us!) for the winner. Enter your guess (you can guess a month or half of a month) in the comment section. Let the proposing begin!

Thursday, September 28, 2006

I'm all bad-ass and stuff...

I got a tattoo. Well, not a real tattoo because that would totally hurt. I heard they actually use needles for the real ones and as someone who passes out at the thought of blood or needles (and don’t even get me started on needles taking blood out!), there’s no way I was going that route.

But I got a way-cool stick-on tattoo that has lasted five days now and has hardly even worn off (despite multiple requests from the Pretend Husband to remove it and some heavy scrubbing by yours truly). We went to an amusement park on Saturday and I noticed an airbrush tattoo place, something I had never seen before (mainly because I haven’t been to an amusement park since I was a kid and I think that’s before airbrushes were even invented). Anyway, for the very reasonable price of $5, I would have gotten a very badass “tattoo” of a flaming soccer ball. (I was going to request it on my breast because really, what says “family day at the amusement park” more than the chance for the kiddies to see real boobage?!?)

Anyway, the three adults I was with (last time I take adults to the amusement park!) vetoed the idea because they apparently would have rather spent their hard-earned money on things like “lunch” and “gas.” I did, however, convince one of them to spend some of the tickets we won at the arcade (not too adult for Skee-ball, apparently!) on two barbed wire press-on tattoos.

So I slapped that baby on my ankle (I didn’t even cry!) and headed out into the world to prove that I’m one of the cool kids. Of course, I totally forgot about my gynecologist appointment on Monday morning so I not only showed up with a barbed wire tattoo on my ankle, it wasn’t even real! Rather than let her wonder what kind of 29-year-old goes around with a fake ankle tattoo, I tried to explain (i.e. lie). “I was hanging out with some kids this weekend and they convinced me to put on a fake tattoo with them.”

So yes, I let the idea of all the cool kids at the amusement park getting the airbrushed tattoos convince me that a press-on one was a great way for an adult to be looking. Just don’t say, “if all the cool kids were jumping off a bridge, would you?” Because I just might if it involved a flaming soccer ball on my boob.

Wednesday, September 27, 2006

More Coding Fun

It seems we had a minor technical glitch (minor, as in "our entire blog disappeared except for some funny-looking characters"). But it seems to be back to normal now after some tweaking on my part (funny how the coding gets left to the person with the least knowledge on the subject). Hopefully, it looks somewhat like it did before and I will continue to test my skills by playing around with it.
Any advice (this mean you, Molly!) can be mailed to us at our brand-spanking-new email address at right. (We've actually had it for a few days now, but haven't gotten any mail). So, step right up and be the first to break in our inbox (just like with that boyfriend in high school, but with less panting and more satisfaction).


i don't know how it happened, but um... our blog disappeared. i logged on to check out KAT's post and suddenly -- it was the equivalent of standing in our underwear. there we were. exposed to all the world with our code showing...


but we're back in business. minus a few of our witty comments on the side there because i was in a rush to republish and don't remember all of the great funny things that KAT had up there -- and i certainly don't remember what i wrote.

so yeah -- did i mention how non-tech savvy we are in the past few days?

Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Hair today, gone tomorrow.

Seeing as how it’s such a pain to always eat well and exercise as much as I’m supposed to, it was great to discover two weeks ago that I had lost nine inches. Unfortunately, they weren’t from my butt or my hips, but from my head.

I have had a long and sometimes weird history with my hair, beginning from when I was a child with long, luxurious locks who spent about an hour after each bath crying her eyes out as her mom tried to untangle those locks. Up until my senior year of high school, my hair was down to my waist. I wore it in a braid most days and my soccer coach used to jokingly approach me with scissors and threaten to cut it off.

The day before the first game of my senior year, I snuck out to the salon and had them cut my hair from my waist up to my shoulders. We took the braid and presented it to the coach before the game as a joke. Well, being a pretty weird guy (he was also the school’s biology teacher and his running joke was to tie fishing line to one of the huge worms we were about to dissect and have it “jump” out of the bucket at the first student to approach), he declared that the braid would be the team mascot and every player had to touch it before every game for good luck.

I don’t know what happened to the braid. It could still be hanging in the biology classroom at my old high school. Since then, I have kept my hair at various lengths between my chin and shoulders. I’ve experimented with bangs versus no bangs, but it’s been pretty standard otherwise.

About two years ago, I was asked to be a bridesmaid in a friend’s wedding (that happens a lot!) and decided to grow my hair a bit so it would go into an updo. After that wedding, in anticipation of another wedding I was in the following year (told you!), I decided to keep growing it.

Then it got to the point where I either had to cut it or get off the pot (or however that saying goes). Still feeling a bit guilty that good Samaritans everywhere send their hair off to Locks of Love to be made into wigs for kids with cancer and I “donated” mine to the high school soccer team (but we did have an awesome season with the braid as the mascot!), I made it my goal to grow my hair until it was long enough to cut for a good cause.

The time was right two weeks ago and I chopped it all off. I’m mailing to ponytail, which was about nine inches long, to Pantene’s Beautiful Lengths, which makes wigs for women affected by cancer. Here’s a photo of my donation. Want to touch it for good luck?

A lesson at the gas pump.

an open letter to the guy in the pickup truck on the merritt parkway near the orange rest stop:

you are an idiot. you honked your horn, loudly and obnoxiously at me while i tried to merge into your lane in order to get gas. you are an idiot because you thought that it was a better idea to try and pass me on the right rather than slow down to let me in. you drag-raced me for a half mile before the exit, as i tried to move over. so when i cut you off to get over into the rest area, don't honk you horn at me, idiot. honk your horn at your own poor driving skills and ineptitude. you don't need to go 75 in the right hand lane of the very dark, windy, park way. rather than honking your horn to make everyone pay attention to you as you angrily sounded off at me while i pulled in to get gas, you should have just silently merged over to the left hand lane and went about your way.

you're an idiot. hang your head in shame.

and now to the other idiots. the man who took 5 minutes to pump $3 worth of gas for his suzuki motorcycle - mostly because he was busy flirting with one of the three idiot girls in front of me that could not figure out why the gas would not pump. after several minutes of all three investigating, they went to get an attendant.

because i have a tendency to think the best of people and not just assume that everyone is an idiot (unless they're bad drivers who honk at me), i would not have guessed that they didn't realize that in order for the pump to work, they had to lift the lever.

now, there are really only three basic instructions for pumping gas, written in plain site on the pump. 1) Pay by cash inside or insert your credit card. 2) Remove nozzle. 3) Lift lever to begin pumping.

Apparently, Exxon needs to look into this matter, because 3 college students (I presume, from the Fairfield University sweatshirt and sticker on the back of the Pontiac) couldn't figure this out.

So that was my Monday.... hopefuly yours was better.

Thursday, September 21, 2006

Adventures in dating

A writer at another blog I read wrote about some of her dating experiences and the deal breakers some of those dates brought to the table. It got me thinking about my varied dating past (winners, losers, older, younger, foreign, American-born, football watchers, soccer players, etc.) There was the guy whose girlfriend called me to ask about the date (never a good sign that things are headed for eternal bliss). So I gave him the boot a couple of weeks later. (Did I get you? C’mon! I was never that desperate! I never spoke with him again, of course.)
There was the guy who kept rearranging his silverware so it was all perfectly lined up (hello? Diagnosed with Obsession Compulsive Disorder much?) The best line was probably from a guy responded to my saying, “I don’t want a one-night stand” with “I’m hoping this won’t be.” (Yep, never heard from him again!)
One guy told me the story of how his date went to the bathroom and never came back. I thought that was such a cruel thing to do to a person… until I had sat through an hour of the dude’s lame stories and was plotting my own escape… or death… or whatever it took to get the hell out of the restaurant.
There was the gentleman who (freaked out to discover I was taller than him when I stood up from the table, I think), led me to the parking lot at a slow jog. Did I mention I had a sprained ankle and was in an air cast at the time?
There was the guy I dated in college– a “devout” Mormon– with whom make-out sessions included his hand on the back of my head trying to nudge my face… well, you get the picture. Note to men: grabbing the backs of our heads and trying to push us into your crotch is not sexy… not attractive… and not OK!
Ahh, the single days. Don’t miss ‘em a bit! The only positive thing I can say about them is they gave me enough dating stories to write a book… which I am currently working on (on pace to set a record for the longest time ever to write a book). As for red flags, I guess I found them on a case-by-case basis. I tried having that list of attributes a guy had to have for me to even consider going out with him. My three standards were: he must be taller than me, he must be older than me and he must make me laugh.
The Pretend Husband… well, he makes me laugh hysterically and often. So much for that list.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

it's a good thing i don't have cable.

so i'm a loser who spends too much time working and at night, when i want to unwind, i often end up watching TV (it's usually circa 8 p.m.). that's just to set the stage for my comments below:

1) i only get a few stations -- ABC, CBS, NBC, Fox and PBS. And kind of, if i squint and feel like adjusting the rabbit ears -- the WB or CW or whatever that station is called. all i can really say - since i don't regularly watch it- is that the ad campaigns for Fashion House were eerily similar to the campaigns for the BBC shows that PBS airs -- except with the extra gaudiness that we've come to love in our nighttime serialized dramas in the US (i give you melrose place and dallas).

2) i often find myself too tired to change the station, so that's how i end up watching some of these shows that ordinarily i never would have watched, like for instance, how i met your mother and grey's anatomy. and i really got addicted to a few, but i don't subscribe to any TV guides to actually know when they're on, which is how i've fallen out of love with las vegas and law and order (although, happily, there are so many versions of l and o that if i turn on nbc any given night, i'm bound to find an episode, which i love. it might be just me, but i find vincent d'onofrio such an attractive nut-job. and hello? mr. big!

3) how is two and a half men still on the air?

4) likewise with "according to jim?"

5) confession: i refuse to watch lost because j has become so addicted that he owns seasons 1 and 2 and has rewatched them at least 3 times each. so mainly out of principle, i refuse to watch.

i'm not exactly a couch potato, since i'm rarely conscious enough to watch that much, but i do love a good weekly dose of catfights, murderous vendettas and steamy love affairs. and for the most part, i'd prefer that such drama be reserved for television.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006


i slept for 12 hours last night, and it led me into the strangest dreams ever.

i was on stage with the beach boys, riding on horseback, back in middle school and even turned into someone else. but i've also had "brian wilson" from BNL stuck in my head for a day and a half, which i think accounts for the beach boys appearance.

i also had a dream so realistic that it woke me up to check my email, as i was more than half-expecting an email from ed mcmahon.

and not at all related to the publishers clearing house, so, yeah, a little odd.

Monday, September 18, 2006


just some quick quotes that I gathered haphazardly throughout the trip:

“mommy no like rollercoasters. mommy not brave. mommy scared” – 4 year old W, commenting on her mother’s attempt at the kiddie rollercoaster ride.

“what if… what if an alien spaceship came between the clouds and struck everything with lightening and then all of the houses – the houses were gone and on fire but nobody had any jobs – except to build houses – and everyone was on the roads and darth vadar was getting them all with lightening and then we had to go in the swamps with sting rays and the crocodiles?” - 5 year old E defying my logic when I explained that you shouldn’t be in a swamp during a thunderstorm and that it wasn’t possible for every house on earth to be struck by lightening at once.

“I’ll have a glass of chardonnay.” - kim

“I’ll have a bud light.” – me

“I wanna go five times!” – W.

“I love you Minnie Mouse. I love you Mickey Mouse. I love you Goofy. I love you Sara.” – W

back from disney world and boy are my arms tired.

i'm back!

let's review the quick highlights:

1) i rode the goofy rollercoaster 4 times -- which is more times than i would have pictured myself on the goofy rollercoaster, but my 4-year old cousin's daughter was too cute and she couldn't go on alone....

2) i also rode just about every single ride in all of the disney non-water parks, minus a few notable exceptions including the safari ride and stitch's great escape. everything else was fair game.

3) i spent three nights at jellyrolls, a duelling piano bar. partly because a) as we all know, it is a hidden passion of mine that i wish to be a piano bar lounge singer and b) it was an absolute blast. there were three particularly good pianomen, and notably one who did a spot on kermit the frog impression.

4) sadly, i spent not enough time enjoying the best coffee in the world (norway) and instead stuffed in every minute i could amongst the heated throngs trying to find the disney princesses, mickey and other favorite characters. w, the little girl that attached herself to me, developed a super big thing for minnie and goofy.

5) if i could be a disney princess, i still pick snow white (arguably, my pallor could also make me sleeping beauty). and hello, prince charming is a hottie! (and fyi - alladin totally has a bouffant -- and way too wiggish)

so what disney character would YOU be?

i do have a million other stories about our weeklong trip -- including my venture out into public in my care bear pajamas (i was babysitting on friday -- which apparently is a really popular night on the boardwalk for trendy people who generally do not wear care bear teeshirts).

i also have a wicked nasty cold, which apparently is a side effect you get from hanging out with two little germ factories all week long (but, albeit, very cute germ factories).

fun times, kids!

We have officially become “those people”

You know, those people who think it’s cool to make their dog look like a person. When we first got our cutie Peekapoo, the Pretend Husband decreed that she would never wear clothes. I had always had German Shepherds and other big dogs when I was growing up, so I agreed it was a ridiculous idea to dress dogs in clothes.
But there’s just something about a little, fluffy puppy that yearns to be dressed like the child we think we have. It all began with a Red Sox collar that Molly’s grandparents bought for her. It was allowed by the PH, but the rule was, “The only item of clothing the dog is allowed to wear is her Red Sox collar.”
Over the months that Molly became a full-fledged member of the family (and we quickly became slaves to her every whim), the PH seemed to waver just a little. I told him that a coworker recommended we get a sweater for Molly in the winter because her tiny little body would get cold in the snow. We watched her shiver last winter every time it took her too long to “go potty” and I think that made the PH nervous.
So, a couple of days ago when it was raining too hard to us to do much on our vacation, we ended up at Petco with Molly. And we somehow found ourselves in the doggy clothing aisle looking at very reasonably priced coats, vests and shirts. There were actually some dresses and some suade booties too, but the line had to be drawn somewhere.

So Molly went home sporting a very stylish pink and blue striped sweater (picked out, I might add, by the PH himself). And I refused to promise that it would be her only piece of clothing because once I got a look at how cute she is in clothes, I’m not sure I’ll be able to help myself.
I’m still not entirely comfortable with the idea of being the kind of person who dresses her dog like the child she has yet to have (is it weird that the PH and I refer to one another as “Mommy” and “Daddy” when speaking to the dog?) But she is just so cute in the sweater. And you have to admit she’d look damn cute in a jean jacket. Stayed tuned for those photos just as soon as I can get back to Petco.

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Tylenol for Two

The Pretend Husband has watched me leave for soccer game after soccer game (and sits in the stands for many of them), and often laments that he doesn’t have an activity to keep him busy and in shape. He mentioned a month or two ago that he would like to join a soccer team, which he hasn’t done in more than 15 years.

We went to the soccer field one night to kick the ball around, but the topic wasn’t brought up again until this weekend. One of the teams I’m on is having a “rebuilding season” where we’re struggling to get enough players to games. We’re in the most beginner division in the league and some players haven’t played in just as long as the PH.

Which led to the PH, who had gone to the game with the intention of reading the paper and enjoying the sun, borrowing a T-shirt and some shin guards and getting into the game. The poor guy actually had to play his first game in cargo shorts and sneakers– which are slippery on the grass and didn’t do much to help his play.

Mr. “I-Have-The-Endurance-I-Just-Need-To-Practice-My-Skills” got five minutes into the game and one length of the field before feeling like he had to vomit. To his credit, he played the entire game and was still on his feet at the end. And he even touched the ball twice (although both times were when someone kicked the ball at him and it kind of bounced off his body in a random direction).

And now he’s a hurting puppy. He is sore from head to toe, although not in the places he would have expected. Rather than having blistered feet or sore thighs, it’s his back and ribs that hurt the most. I’m not allowed to make him laugh because it hurts. Hugging is not allowed either. And I think he sometimes even holds his breath because that hurts too.

I don’t like to see him suffer, but I especially don’t like it when it affects me. I asked him last night if he wanted to “fool around” and his response was, “Go ahead.” Apparently, I’m allowed to fool around all I want as long as it doesn’t involve him having to move!

I tried to play the sympathy card by pointing out that I played three games in three days and was a little sore myself. But I was told, “You’ve been playing for 20 years so it’s not the same kind of soreness.” We both have the next couple days off from work and it’s going to be interesting to see if we actually leave the couch to do anything or just sit around nursing our sore bodies.

I’m proud of the PH for playing the entire game (even as a part of me wants to shout “I told you so!” when he mentions what a tough sport it is) and I’m even more proud that he intends to keep playing. I’m sure he will be in soccer shape in no time. In the meantime, I’m buying stock in an ibuprofen company.

Monday, September 11, 2006

Lest We Forget

Five years ago today, I put on a blue button-down shirt and black pants and left for the car dealership to get an oil change. Within a few hours, I was at work writing articles about the terrorist attacks on America. A few hours after that, I was on the phone trying to find information about a college friend who worked at the World Trade Center. Still in the blue shirt and black pants, I covered two vigils that night to write about them for the paper I worked for. The last thing I did before I went home that night was talk to my friend, who told me the amazing story about his day in New York City.
As I went to bed, knowing he was safe, I thought about everyone who had yet to hear from their friends and loved ones who had left for work that morning as though it was any other Tuesday. Even at the time, I knew it was going to be a day that meant something to me for the rest of my life. A few days after the attacks, I sat down and wrote out my memories of the day, recording what the events meant to me. But I didn’t have to read back over what I wrote to remember the blue shirt and black pants– that’s just one of the many details about the day that will forever be etched in my brain.
Just like the crayon-blue sky. I attended a ceremony this morning to mark the five-year anniversary of Sept. 11, 2001 and couldn’t help but notice the same brilliant blue sky that backdropped those horrible events. Such a terrible day that began so perfectly.
I will not share my views of the war that ensued or the political situations that have swirled around the events of Sept. 11. This is the time to remember those people who started the last day of their lives when they left for work five years ago today. Everyone who lost a friend, a parent, a sibling, a child or a coworker is in my heart today. God Bless America.

Friday, September 08, 2006

Schmaltzy stuff about my boyfriend (consider yourself warned!)

As part of my perpetual research into the human psyche, I read a lot of blogs (unless you’re my boss, then you should know that I’ve never read a blog in my life and have dedicated every minute I’m in the office to doing work. Personal email? What’s that?)

Anyway, through my “research,” I’ve learned that pretty much anything is fair game on the Internet. I think people feel the anonymity of a blog allows them to say things (or rant, if you will) that they might not say to the person they are jonesing to smack upside the head. But this is pretty much what a blog is for. The part I have a hard time understanding is the people who share such intimate, personal details about their lives.

The idea of sharing such personal stuff– and the things people write at True Wife Confessions (really… check this site out)– got me thinking about what complaints I have about the Pretend Husband. We’ve been living together now for a number of months so there must be plenty of things he does that get on my nerves, right? Well, actually, there aren’t any (and I’m not just saying that so he’ll read this and love me even more than he does… he assures me he’s never read the blog and I don’t think he’d be able to find it even if he did want to read it). Feel free to try to find something to complain about in this:

The guy takes the morning shift for the dog every single day. He’ll get up at 4 a.m. when she starts whining and bring her to bed. When he gets up for work, he takes her outside and gives her breakfast. Admittedly, there are some Saturday mornings when he just can’t deal with another early day (or with the fact that I tend to sleep through Molly’s whining) and he pokes me in the back until I wake up. That’s when I will gladly (OK, maybe not gladly, more like sleepily) take the dog out in exchange for the five mornings a week I get to stay in the warm bed.

I’m a kept woman. I often arrive home from work three hours before the PH. Do I then slave over the stove to have dinner waiting for him when he gets home? Sometimes, but not often. More likely, I take the dog for a walk, do some laundry and then sit down to read or do the crossword puzzle until he gets home to make me dinner. We’ve decided he’s a much better cook than I am and although he works a much longer day than I do, he enjoys cooking. Who am I to question that?

He has never gone more than a day without telling me he loves me. In fact, I often get a text message when I wake up reminding me how he feels, voicemails throughout the day that end with “love you” and the occasional email with the same sentiment. He’s also never gone to sleep without kissing me goodnight, regardless of how miffed we might be with one another.

I figure that’s enough personal stuff about us for now (hypocrite alert: she complains about other people posting intimate details then does it herself!) but I can honestly say that he is the first boyfriend I’ve had who I don’t have any complaints about. Love is love; true love is being able to say that.

Wednesday, September 06, 2006

html really stands for hate those mediocre laughs

that's my theory as to why we've had such a hard time with our template.

that, and because we don't know what we're doing.

but, my sister, bless her heart, has been sending me a number of mock-ups of html edits to get us back in business. and then she sends me notes like: you have to change the section with brackets that says something about h3 title complete with funny punctuation.

like i know what that means. funny girl.

so i figure if we amp up the funny, the html gods will smile once more on our endeavors to get creative.

in an effort to gain funny material, i'm about to embark on a week-long vacation to disney world with my cousins and their two children. the formula at work here: me + husband + two children = hilarity.

i'm going to bring a journal to write down those precious moments spent waiting in line at buzz lightyear ranger spin.

Tuesday, September 05, 2006

A failed experiment

Ok, our blog is probably looking a lot like it did last week. We tried to make it snazzy and eye-catching and more visually interesting... and we failed. Actually, to be fair, most of the changes you'll find on the blog were made by SJ. It seems her way of doing things-- actually knowing what you're doing when you write computer code-- is far superior to my process-- randomly changing code and seeing what happens.

We are not completely defeated, though. I would expect that you may see some changes here and there until we get the kinks out and can have a completely revamped image. In the meantime, please keep coming back and commenting-- especially if you know html!

Friday, September 01, 2006

please pardon our appearance....

as we undergo some minor cosmetic surgery.

so neither one of us are programmer type -- or, okay, remotely web-savvy enough to write our own html.

we're doing a little cosmetic touch-ups, and it may take us a few days to get this whole thing looking completely pretty.

but bear with us! we're getting there.....