It’s funny that even after almost six and a half years of marriage I’m still all about proving a point. Sure, I fully acknowledge marriage is about give and take, open honesty, and all things good. But let’s face it- we’re still women, and we don’t like being wrong.

Which means there are times in which we do silly things out of “principle” to ensure we’re always right.

Let’s begin in 2008.

When we first moved from Kuwait and into our house the previous owners left some pretty maroon curtains behind. I had my own plan for the curtains in the living room, however they were nice and I didn’t just want to get rid of them. So- Will thought they would fit nicely in his future “man room,” fill of OU crimson memorabilia and all things boy. I sort of scratched my head as to how regal curtains such as these would fit into the Room O Testosterone- but whatever.

We took them down and hung them nicely in the closet of Will’s future OU room.

And didn’t think anything else of them.

Last spring, the spring of 2009 mind you, I was in Will’s room and came across the curtains. I had intended to get them dry cleaned after taking them down but had long forgotten to do it, so I decided what better time to get these curtains dry cleaned?

I took them to my local dry cleaners that spring. The spring of 2009. I dropped them off- 4 curtains total (they were doubled up on each side of the rod) and was on my merry way.

Hmm… let’s camp out at the dry cleaners for a second. It’s somewhat necessary for the story.

To my knowledge there are only 2 dry cleaners in close proximity to me. This one, and another one. This one is what I would consider a “fancy” dry cleaners. Mainly because I’m a dork. It’s in a nice shopping center and the building is nice and the inside is nice and the people are nice, and well- it’s just nice. I feel like my clothes are properly tagged and put away and nicely cared for.

And the other one? Well it’s okay. I’m sure it’s a quintessential dry cleaners. Only, when compared to the “nice” dry cleaners, it just seems pretty dumpy. I don’t like going in there and I fear that as soon as I drop off my clothes they’re being worn my some old cougar with fuchsia lipstick.

So now that we have an understanding of the differences of my dry cleaning establishments, let’s move on.

A few days later I returned to the nice dry cleaners and paid and picked up the crimson curtains. I brought them home and put them in Will’s closet, where Will proceeded to tell me, “You know… those don’t look as thick as before. Are you sure you got all of them?”

Rolling my eyes “Yes, Will, I got all of them.”

“Are you sure? I’m telling you, I really thought these looked thicker.”

“Yes, Will. I’m sure. I wouldn’t have forgotten them.”

And then on and off for the next three days Will proceeded to make comments about how he really thought the curtains looked fuller before and how he was afraid I didn’t get all of them.

To which I continued to assure him that he was wrong, and I was right.

What’s funny about this whole scenario is that neither of us ever bothered to open the plastic bag they were wrapped in to count them.

Ha.

Anyway- about 2 weeks later, during the spring of 2009, I received a phone message from the nice dry cleaners. They had my curtains! I had in fact only picked up 2 of the 4 and I needed to get the rest! Opps. So now not only was I wrong, but I had to pick up the rest of our curtains and somehow explain to Will that he was right and I had not paid attention- despite promising that I had.

Which wasn’t going to happen.

Unfortunately, through a series of events, I never went and picked up the curtains.

And every three months or so, the nice dry cleaners (because they’re so darn friendly, of course!) called and left me messages to pick up my freaking curtains.

Only for some reason, like a bad episode of Seinfeld, the calls deterred me from going. Too much time had passed! It would be too awkward! I was “that annoying girl with the two curtains!” I just couldn’t do it. Not to mention I wasn’t going to be wrong. Let’s not forget that whole matter.

Which is funny too because at some point Will would have opened up the bag to hang those girly curtains in his man’s room only to realize he was missing two.

However, when you’re doing stupid things such as avoiding picking up curtains YOU OWN from your dry cleaners, you’re just not thinking logically.

...

Okay, so anyway-

Let’s not forget that throughout this time I still had to get my clothes dry cleaned. Only, I for sure couldn’t go to the nice cleaners! How could I show my face there? I was the weird girl with a complex that wouldn’t pick up her curtains FOR NO GOOD REASON. So, I had to resort to the sketchy cleaners.

And soon realized that I couldn’t do that for long.

And then it turned 2010.

A new year. A year of new chances. Perhaps I would pick up my curtains?

The truth is, by then I had totally forgotten about those curtains. I mean, it had almost been a year. A year!

So pathetic.

I was quickly reminded of the curtain issue yet again when I needed to get something dry cleaned. Only I didn’t and nicely laid the item to the side in my closet.

And did it again.

And again.

And again.

Until my nice little pile became a little ridiculous. Plus I’m pretty sure Will began to wonder what in the world I was doing.

“Oh sorry honey- I don’t want to risk you coming home while I’m sneaking in the curtains I swore to you were already there!”

Did I mention pathetic?

At the time it didn’t seem so awful. Only now do I realize how utterly ridiculous I was.

So, two weeks ago I got another call from the cleaners saying that if I didn’t pick up my curtains within 30 days they were going to get rid of them.

I mean, even nice dry cleaners have their limits, right? Understandably.

So I realized I was going to have to do something. I began laughing to myself over the whole entire series of events, which meant I had to share my story with someone.

My mom and sister are visiting for a couple of weeks, so I told the whole lame story to them- which made them laugh. Of course they had the same expected questions of, “Why didn’t you just get them!?” and “Didn’t you think about the fact that at some point Will would have found out there were only 2 curtains instead of 4?”

Good times.

Anyway, we had a good laugh about the whole thing and I decided that I was going to go in there and get those freaking crimson curtains. I was going to use the whole, “My phone changed and I just checked my messages recently” excuse.

You know, because that makes perfect sense.

So I was resolved to go and do it, only later that day I got a text from my sister telling me that she had beat me to the punch. Apparently my mom went and got them for me! And not only that, but that awkwardness I had feared for so long? Wasn’t there at all. My mom had used the truth, “I have been out of the country for a while,” which made me laugh. What’s really annoying is that I had already paid for the curtains! I’m so weird sometimes.

My mom had saved the day, and I really could have taken care of the whole thing an entire YEAR before, had I not been such a crazy.

The only thing that remains now is to bring them home, as they are currently hiding out in my parent’s house. After having to go through this whole rigamarole I wasn’t about to just parade them into the house, so I will sneak them in later this week.

Because that’s what crazy wives do. And they’re always right.

Always right.

1. I do not understand NASCAR. I mean, I understand the general concept. However, I do not understand how my husband can watch three hours of it in one sitting. The man doesn’t even like to watch me pull out of the drive way, yet if you put a man in a fancy suit full of various company patches and let them drive as fast as they want he’s enamored. I don’t get it.

2. Will got chocolate covered honey buns- and yes, they’re pretty freaking good. However, they’re like 350 calories for one. Do you know how much Special K with Strawberries I can have in place of that?!

3. I had black coffee last week which really surprised me. I’m much more of a skim milk, two sugars kind of girl. But last week was a pretty bad week, and therefore I draw the conclusion that I had to hit the hard stuff.

4. I’m really loving Mary Kay’s new Vitamin C Serum. It’s like magic.

5. It’s only 2 weeks until I’m reunited with my lovely ladies Sarah and Theresa and get to share in Theresa’s very special day. Actually, days! Her birthday is the day before the wedding. Pretty great.

6. I start school next Monday and am sort of freaking out.

7. Will and I are contemplating a December trip to Minneapolis. It’s not like an extravagant trip or anything, it’s Minneapolis, but if you’ve read my blog since 2005 you know it’s been a place Will and I have frequented and have definitely enjoyed each time we visited. I don’t want to go because in my mind we should just save our money and go somewhere we’ve never been, but Will’s argument is that it’s just a small “mini trip” and a getaway would be nice. Oh the fun of trying to make a decision. We shall see!

8. It’s fantasy football time again. For the first time in my married life I’m fully embracing being a football widow. I’m sure I’ll provide you all the details very soon, so we’ll just leave it at that.

9. Have you ever had a Whataburger with cheese? If you haven’t, you aren’t living and should really do it. Right now.

10. I’m really hoping for a good rain. We need it, but I also enjoy the rain. In fact, I have a few rain showers and thunderstorms downloaded on my ipod for when I can’t get to sleep. I feel sort of like an earthy hippie type writing that. I have no idea why.

There’s something about the middle of August, whether you’re in school or not, that signals the beginning of things- or perhaps, depending on how you look at it, the end of things.

No matter how old I am, every time I’m at Walmart and see the aisles of school supplies go up, advertising sales on brightly colored folders, and fresh, crisp paper, I get a little nostalgic. A little bittersweet. Sad for the end of summer, but excited for what the fall has in store.

Today I had one of those “nostalgic” moments. My mom and sister bought me a lunch box. A 27-year-old grown woman. With a lunch box.

Actually, it’s more of a cute “bag,” but for the sake of this post let’s just call it a box.

It’s actually for work.

I’m the classy one that carries my food in a uber chic Walmart plastic bag, plonking my stuff right next to yours in the fridge. I always have that annoying rustling plastic sound about me as I walk to my desk each morning, and as I leave each night that fancy bag crunches and swishes beside me. Very classy.

Anyway, my mom and P decided it was time that I get a grown up bag.

Which made me laugh.

I guess what seems somewhat funny to me about the whole thing is that yesterday I found out that I’ll be heading back to school this fall (assuming everything works out… long story. There’s always a long story.).

Getting a new shiny lunchbox is one of those “back to school” things you did back in the day, and it’s perfect timing that the purchase of this fancy and warranted Thermos sack coiencides with the start of a whole new chapter in my life.

I sort of feel like my old self again, getting ready for the “big first day.” Packing my backpack and making sure all my arrangements were in order. Comisserating over the perfect thing to wear. Only this time I have small forehead wrinkles and have slept with a boy.

Good times.

I’m not sure it’s fully hit me that I’m going back to school. Willingly. Going back to school!

All that stuff I just said about how it hasn’t hit me is probably true- but I guess I’m exaggerating a little because it’s definitely hitting me right now.

So that’s my big news. Another chapter in my life begins. Here’s to lunch boxes and late nights and thumb drives.

Should I bring my teacher an apple?

After almost six and a half years of marriage you would think I would know by now not to ask my husband the loaded question- “Does this make me look fat?”

I mean- we all know how ridiculous it sounds coming out of our mouths, and we know how our husbands shudder the second they hear, “Does this (insert clothing item here -> X <- dress, blouse, skirt, bikini, stirrup pant) make me look...”

we don’t even have to finish the sentence. They know exactly how it’s going to end the second we start in.

At this point they mentally go into the fetal position.

Yet for some reason we feel compelled to ask anyway. It’s almost as though we anticipate a brutally honest answer- which is what our head totally wants, but let’s face it- our hearts and our saggy butts really want a different answer.

What makes me laugh the most is that Will has the same answer all the time. Again, you’d think by now I’d know not to ask- yet I do. Because that’s what women do. We silently torment our husbands with unnecessary questions we already know the answers to.

I mean, let’s be honest here- if we have to ask the question? You shouldn’t be wearing it. I think that’s a good rule of thumb.

Let’s agree on that.

Sorry- we were talking about Will’s habitually exact, right on par, answer, weren’t we?

Anyway, anytime I ask Will if something looks okay or fits alright or makes me look fat Will always answers safely.

“Haven’t you been losing weight?”

As if to say, “You’ve been losing weight, so of course it fits, right?”

Verbatim, word for word, that’s what the guy says. Such a people pleasing politician.

Then he always talks about how much I work out. As if to say that I could eat 4 deep dish pizzas and work out for 10 minutes and be able to easily hop right into a pair of skinny jeans.

What a funny guy.

Apparently Will “believes” that I’ve been consistently losing weight since the day we got married. In fact, at this rate I should be able to start shopping at Gap Kids this November.

And what makes me laugh just as much is that he thinks I really think he thinks that I’ve been losing all of this weight for the last 6 years (wow- there was a lot of thinking going on in that last sentence! I’m tired).

So after he gives me the, “Haven’t you been losing weight? So it should fit- right?” statement I laugh to myself and agree with him. I could have buttons busting left and right but I would still agree with him, just because he’s so funny, and really thinks he’s mastered the right way to answer.

Every now and then I’ll throw him for a loop and go into how I weigh more now than I did when we got married, but now I have a lot more muscle, and how I’m not necessarily losing weight but I’m toning up, etc.

And it really throws him off. As if I’ve totally shaken his steadfast, firm- AND RIGHT (ha ha)- answer. So I try not to incite panic in the poor guy.

It’s bad enough that I ask him, and then I have to challenge the fact that he’s saying I’m losing weight? “What more do you want from me, woman!?” is what I see when I go into my tirade.

And the truth is, nothing. Again, if I have to ask I shouldn’t wear it. I don’t know why I even bother asking.

Because I’m a woman. There’s really no other good answer.

Here’s to pants that fit well!

I’m definitely getting my fair share of family this summer.

Ha- when you put it that way it sounds pretty bad, doesn’t it?

The truth is, it’s not bad at all. In fact- it’s pretty darn good!

This past weekend was spent with my dad’s side of the family in Iowa celebrating my Gran’s 80th birthday. I hadn’t seen her since my wedding, 6 1/2 years ago. Which, yes, officially makes me the worst granddaughter ever. It was nice to get to see her and celebrate her special day. I was also able to spend time with the rest of that side of the family which was really great too. It’s funny how you can simply pick up where you left off with your extended family. There’s something comforting about being able to do so.

So to bore you I’ll give you a super short yellow and black striped Cliff’s Notes version of the weekend:

-Thursday night I flew into Chicago, where my sister is moving into her totally great and grown-up new apartment. I spent the night at her new place while my parents stayed in a hotel.

-Friday morning we had The Bongo Room for breakfast (yes, although this is a Cliff’s Notes recap, The Bongo Room is worth mentioning) followed by shopping and getting some things finished for P’s apartment. Then we made the 6 hour drive to Iowa where we met up with my Gran.

-Saturday was the big birthday bash. It was nice to catch up with our family and celebrate the big occasion. We all got t-shirts in honor of the day which were color coated by family. We had a photographer come and take pictures of everyone which was fun too. Then we had an “after party” (Um, I use this term very loosely. It was a far cry from a Jay-Z song) and spent some more time together.

-Sunday was spent travelling home.

So there’s the recap. Now, let’s camp out a little on Saturday. It was a good day. However, it’s a day with family which definitely means there was a bit of drama to share, right? I mean, let’s be honest- who doesn’t have something to talk about after leaving a large family gathering?

Family is an interesting thing. We all know it. We all talk about it. Because it is.

I can treat P like yesterday’s old rolled up ragged newspaper that’s been rained on and peed on by Gus, the neighborhood wandering dog- but if YOU treat my sister like yesterday’s old rolled up ragged newspaper that’s been rained on and peed on by Gus, the neighborhood wandering dog you’re in big trouble!

Because then you have to deal with me. And I’m really scary.

And mean.

...

Really- I am!

Okay, so I’m not.

But you get my point. Some innate protective wolverine-like nature comes out in us when someone is mistreating our family. I’m sure we’re all familiar with this feeling.

I had the privilege of meeting my uncle’s first second third fourth wife for the first time this weekend. I had heard plenty about this woman, but the stories really didn’t do her loquacious and rude character justice. You had to see her in the flesh to really experience the full affect.

So we get to the party and the very.first.thing out of her mouth is directed at my sister- “Oh… you dyed your… hair,” she said in this really condescending tone.

Ha.

I was expecting a, “Hi! How have you been?!” With the potential for an awkward and uncomfortable obligatory hug.

“Why did you do that?”

Sidenote: How is it that a grown woman can go 50 years on the Earth without learning basic extended family gathering etiquette?

To which my sister, utterly shocked, stammered something somewhat coherent. Only I don’t really remember because I had my head cocked to the left with my mouth opened thinking how incredibly CRAZY this woman was. WE DON’T EVEN KNOW YOU. As you can see, my uncle totally married her for her sweet, graceful personality.

So we immediately moved onto other, more jovial family members. Only an hour later to have her say something about it again. “So… do you dye your eyebrows? I mean, because you’d have to, right? That’s NOT your natural color.”

I’m so confused! This is my Gran’s birthday! When did this become an episode of MTV Boiling Points?

“Am I about to win $100 Grandma Betty? Is there a camera crew hiding in the bathroom that will jump out the second I get ready to deck this lady?”

Why is this lady randomly asking my sister about her hair color? Why do I feel like I’m in a really strange scene from Silence of the Lambs in which this lady is going to ask to wear my sister’s hair or something utterly terrifying like that?

By this point I think we’re all not only shocked at her blunt comments, but also really irritated. I don’t care if my sister’s hair was painted like the American Flag- you’re not part of our family so get over it!

Geez.

So the party continues and she continues to offend and control all the conversation and monopolize everyone’s time- and then we move to the after party. After a couple of Smirnoffs she’s now touching my sister’s hair and pulling it up at the nape of the neck, “trying to find her natural color” while talking to my dear old Gran.

Which means my sister doesn’t want to hurt my Gran’s feelings or make a big deal of this crazy lady’s antics on her big birthday. However, at that point we were so out of there. What a weirdo. I’m pretty sure she won’t be around at the next family gathering. Only… after meeting number four I’m terrified to meet number five!

So that was one of the weird familial moments I thought I’d share.

This weekend should be much less eventful, which is definitely a good thing.

This weekend Will and I are headed to Branson to celebrate his dad’s 60th birthday. This weekend will only be spent with his parents and his brother and brother’s wife. So while I anticipate blog-able moments, I highly doubt I’ll be able to share how someone asked Will to wear his skin (shudder).

I’m definitely looking forward to this trip. It will be super quick, and mostly spent in the car, but it should still be nice. Regardless of the fact that Will’s dad is into virtually every travel oddity in the world. “There’s a 25 foot ball of belly button lint 5 miles away! Let’s stop in and check it out!”

Yes, it will be an interesting trip but in a different way.

More to come…

Yes. I get it. My last twenty-five posts have somehow centered back to food. I clearly have a problem. I should be on Maury or Montel or The View discussing my awful obsession with frosting and dinners and celebrations that center around both.

Or maybe just the sick obsession with frosting.

I realize the food posts need to stop. However, today something happened that I simply had to share. I found myself hovering over the sink thinking, “Wow. I really don’t want to tell anyone about the shame I just experienced.”

And then five minutes later I was in the car laughing thinking, “Ahaha, I have to tell someone about this.”

So here we are.

Tomorrow is Will’s birthday. Yesterday we drove down to Will’s parent’s house to celebrate his birthday. We went to eat and afterwards Will’s mom sent us home with a dirty cake.

Heh heh. Dirty cake.

Doesn’t it just sound sleazy? Like you need to be listening to Keith Sweat or R. Kelly while you take the lid off? Or like you should be slathering it in some sort of edible oil?

Sorry for the visual. Let’s get back on track.

Anyway- dirty cake. Us. Taking it home.

We brought the cake home but didn’t have any last night. Which meant there was untouched cake in my house for more than 12 hours, which is pretty much a miracle.

In fact you may want to check page 22A of your local newspaper. I bet I’m in there.

So today for lunch I had to run to the post office to mail off my transcripts for my school application. I had already brought my lunch to work with me, so there was really no need for me to go home for lunch yet somehow I found myself getting into the car, as if on autopilot, and driving home. You know, to let Boz and Lucy out. Wink.

So I get there, let them out, and am standing around the kitchen thinking, “What am I doing here?” Knowing full well what was really going on in my mind. The cake.

So, I play with a little fire and open the fridge- and there it is.

In fact, as I opened the fridge I’m pretty sure I heard some Marvin Gaye playing in the back of the Crisper area- and as soon as I shut the fridge the music went away.

I peeked it open again, to be greeted with the same sound. Only this time I exercised some degree of willpower and got a nectarine.

Because, as we all know, nectarines are just as satisfying as chocolatey cake, yes?

I finished the nectarine and really realize I need to go back to work.

I mean that is Will’s cake! His mom made it for him! It’s meant for us to share it together in honor of his special day. What sort of sick, awful, hormonal person eats their husband’s birthday ca…

And before I could finish the word, there I was. Standing over the sink trying to slyly carve out a tiny piece of dirty cake so that Will would never know someone sampled it before he did. Only the tiny sliver soon became about half a cup.

Wow.

An all time low, I thought to myself.

So what was I to do!? I couldn’t let Will know I was such a selfish awful wife!

Think, Brittny, Think!

Ahaha!

If you’ve ever had dirty cake, you know that it’s topped with whip cream.

So, in my genius, I went to the freezer and pulled out our gigantic tub of Cool Whip.

Because, as you know, every two person household has a costco size bucket of Cool Whip in their house.

I went to work, almost artist-like, filling in the “tiny” hole I had created, and spreading the oreos overtop.

Brilliant.Before I knew it- Tada! Good as new. Like I never ate a giant hole through Will’s birthday cake.

So now I don’t feel so much like a heel. Now I simply feel like I need to spend all week at the gym.

I made myself laugh, so I figured I’d share the moment with you all.

Happy Monday!

Before we get started I just have to laugh and share. So I just wrote this post and reread it and see that on this same page, just a few posts down, I posted about cake in April. Nice. Does this mean I have a problem? Actually… don’t answer that.

Will turns the big 3-0 next week.

The big one.

Well, one of the big ones. A major milestone for sure.

We decided in honor of the big event we would take a trip. However, with a trip to Branson for his dad’s 60th right around the corner, Theresa’s wedding, oh and a small insignificant nuissance called OU football season, we decided it was best to put the trip off a few months.

Plus, I think I’m way more into this birthday than he is. Likely because it’s not me who is turning 30. It’s him.

So we’re doing a trip later this year or early next but I still obviously need to acknowledge the day of his birth right?

I mean, in my mind sure a belated birthday trip is great and all but to me it’s just a great trip at that point. You’ve been 30 for 5 months. In fact, let’s just celebrate your 30th and a half birthday while we’re here, yes? So to quell the craziness in my mind I have been pestering Will nearly to death about making plans for this weekend.

In fact, I’ve been annoying him so much he may die and never make it to 30.

“29 year-old man dies just short of his 30th birthday due to wife’s constant nagging for a ‘plan.’”

I can read the headlines now.

Will’s mom always makes a cake, which is so great and thoughtful and delicious and great. But I want to make one too. Which is wonderful in my mind, right? One cannot have too much cake. There is no such thing, and I’m sure it’s written in some sort of statute somewhere confirming I am correct.

Will doesn’t want me to make another one- “One is plenty,” but we all agree above that the statute will not allow me to just settle for one. I have to produce one as well. I don’t make up the rules. I mean, I don’t even like cake all that much.

(lying. totally lying through my teeth)

So I found out today that Will is going to spend most of the weekend running back and forth from his parents town getting our cars detailed, which is what he really wanted for his birthday.

With all of this time on my hands (when I’m not scouring the house, volunteering at the senior center, and working on my secret patent) I figured I’d make something delicious.

Only, I have this awful feeling I’m going to make it and then as I sit there waiting for Will all day I will find myself in a goey frosting stupor, wearing chocolate and crumbs all over my face.

It is a definite possibility.

Hey, I figure 30 is a big enough celebration to be shared.

Bring on the cake.

Disclaimer: The decision to eat an entire cake all by myself for Will’s 30th birthday in no way hinders my decision to shed a few pounds for Theresa’s wedding. Actually I’m lying. It does. It really does. Please disregard this post. I would delete it but, well, I’m lazy.

So I got my bridesmaid’s dress fitted for this gal’s wedding (so excited by the way!) and went to pick it up today. It fits like a glove.

Almost.

Almost as in it fits so great and snug and secure that I know after 10 minutes of having it on- or eating- I will be turning blue from the lack of oxygen to my brain.

Okay I’m exaggerating. Plus now I have Theresa in a panic that my dress is too tight (don’t worry, it’s not. It’s blog exaggeration). Plus- that’s what they make Spanx for, right? I will say, however, Theresa- I vow to try my hardest to get rid of some arm fat to ensure that my bouquet is held nicely and that there is no bulge in any of your pictures.

And I will try to forego seconds on desserts.

Every other time.

<3

I can’t watch the show Intervention.

It gets me way too fired up and I end up yelling at the TV and quite simply, my bad attitude towards the show warrants its own intervention.

That is all. 

I think there’s something about getting older that seems to squeeze the fun spontaneity and creativity out of a person. I was convinced that would never be me. Ha! Let a mortgage and responsibilities turn me into a boring old tool? Never! Well- here I am at home on a Friday night blogging. I might as well be drinking Metamucil and reading an AARP magazine. Perhaps the lack of creativity and the pain I experience trying to squeeze some amount of pithiness on this screen has kept me from blogging- oh, you know, for like a YEAR now.

Did you guys know that when I started blogging, way back in 2005, when my posts were actually pretty funny (and annoying. I went back and read some the other day and wow- I found a way to add a smiley face to freaking EVERYTHING. It really annoyed me. A lot. In fact I contemplated going in and removing the thousands-yes thousands- of smileys that occurred from 2005 to about 2007 but I refrained) that it was mostly right after I moved to Kuwait and wasn’t working? Translation- I had hours upon hours of time on my hands to create brilliant works of art (okay- I’m kidding, but you get the point). I would spend a ridiculous amount of time phrasing each post. Putting a lot of thought and love into every smiley face I placed (haha).

Then I started working. I use that term loosely. My boss once told me to shop online for work. Yes. No lie. Your tax dollars hard at work. Which meant once again I had plenty of time to blog and pontificate and create smiley works of art (again- kidding with the works of art stuff).

And then I changed jobs. And was actually busy. However, I still had access to my blog at work which meant I could type a few sentences (with smileys of course ) here and there and by the end of the day have a full fledge post ready to go.

And then we moved to America. Where I had tons of time on my hands all of a sudden. What a weird feeling. I should have been a blogging machine! Yet I wasn’t. When I look back at the decline of my posting it all started when we moved back, which is sort of weird. I’ve contemplated it before and there are a lot of reasons. Don’t worry. We won’t explore them. I guess I thought being back here would make me more consistent and it did the total opposite.

So lately I’ve wondered if I actually still like blogging anymore. And I haven’t come up with an answer. I hope it’s okay to be this honest with you. I really don’t know if I like posting anymore. I used to love it. It was my “passion.” My “thing.” Wow! Getting a little crazy with the quotations. They may be the new smileys.

That’s me being honest. I don’t know how I feel about blogging anymore and honestly it sort of makes me feel sad. It makes me feel sad that something so important to me could possibly not be important to me anymore. I know it sounds silly to feel sadness when I think about it, but I do. How is it that you can feel so strongly and so resolved about something at some point in time only to change your mind? I mean, I know that sometimes circumstances change the way you feel about something, but my blog didn’t change. I didn’t really change… I just sort of stopped caring. Why do you think that happens? I mean, I still enjoy writing. In fact I’m willingly freaking enrolling myself in school to pursue my masters- where I will be writing and writing and writing until I might want to die. Yet, again, I enjoy writing. It’s something I like. So why the blog lapse? I know that’s what you’re thinking.

Anyway, I’ve thought about a few options if I’m going to keep this thing active. I think I will try them and see how it works. Don’t worry, I will not now go into some long drawn out vow to post. Scouts honor.

Wow. You guys got like this whole long blog history. Definitely more than you wanted or bargained for. I will say, though, I have this feeling few people are reading my blog these days and the crazy thing about that is that it makes me SO HAPPY. I know I said I wouldn’t get into the reasons why I went “dark” (Ahh! Again with the quotations!), but I will say that very issue is definitely one of the reasons. I went from being a blog attention sleaze- pay attention to me! Read my blog!- to really resenting the fact that people I knew personally were reading my blog and judging me and that the potential for running into them at Walmart was all of a sudden a real possibility. That is one thing that I really hate. Which can be remedied I suppose…

Okay. Enough of the blogging talk. I’m annoying myself which means you- assuming you’re still reading- are VERY annoyed. Oh, sorry, I mean “very annoyed.”

So there’s actually been some things going on in my life. Where should I start?

Let’s not waste time elaborating on crap. I’ll just give you the high points.

I got a promotion this year! I now how a fancy, shiny “Sr.” in my title. Something about being a senior- a S-R-period- is so exciting to me. I was pretty excited about it.

I decided to get my Masters. Mainly because I’m a glutton for punishment and obviously don’t like myself very much. I’m going to study Organizational Communication. I tried, really tried to make myself get my MBA- because really, isn’t every other Masters a waste?- but the more I looked at everything and considered the whole package I wanted to drive a stake in my left eye, so I decided if I was going to willingly go back I should study something I would like- hence the degree choice.

Will and I are the same. Actually, we’re pretty darn good. We went through a rough patch over the last few months, which was the first one we’ve had in our 6 years of marriage, which I guess is pretty good? I don’t know. I guess it’s normal, which is what I had to realize. For so long I was used to us having this picture perfect life and marriage and then to go through a period where I was frustrated all the time was sort of like a reality check- like “Hello!! You’re freaking NORMAL. It happens sometimes.” You know? Anyway, it was sort of like- “Ahh, okay- so this is what that whole for better for worse stuff means.” (Wow. Again with the quotations. Sorry! I will now supplement with a smiley. Because we all agree they’re so darn great, right? )

I turned 27 this April. Which isn’t old, yet in some ways it seems as though it sort of is. My 20s are starting to come to a close and I’m a big fat grownup. I have been for quite some time now, but turning 27 really hit me. Not necessarily in a bad way.

Will turns 30 on the 27th. Which may hit me harder than it hits him. We shall see. Will’s dad turns 60 this year and we’re going to do a weekend a Branson (a quick whirlwind weekend full of lots of driving there and back) to celebrate. Will and I hope to take a trip for his big day but it will be postponed.

Still no babies. Which makes our families sad. But it’s just not something we’re talking about yet.

Speaking of families, I did mention to you that my parents are moving two doors down from me, right? If THAT’S not enough to thrust me back into the blog world quite honestly, I don’t know what is.

I still eat like crap most of the time. I don’t think there’s any need to elaborate on that. Besides, there’s like a daily story about it.

I got a personal trainer for a month and it was so freaking great and I loved every painful, sweaty, drippy, yell-y minute of it. I only wish I could afford him all the time. Plus I’m pretty sure it would allow me to justify a calorie increase. Bummer I can’t really justify it now.

We have a wedding tomorrow and Will gets to dress up again which is exciting since I never see him in a tux. In fact that’s one of the reasons that I’m still awake.  I couldn’t take off work today, so he went to the rehearsal by himself and I stayed here. He’s on his way home (it’s a 2 hour drive) but I figure by the time I get to sleep he’ll come in and wake me up so I might as well just stay awake. And possibly eat something terrible. I rarely stay up past 10 but I’ve been told that people that stay up late snack. I believe it’s called a “midnight snack?” (AHH! Attack of the quotations). Yes… a midnight snack sounds great.

So I think that’s the recent highlights since my last post. I guess in a sense, the highlights were of themselves a bit of a snack. Tiny pieces of information totally unhealthy for you yet necessary at midnight.

Help me to remember to tell you guys the life group story. It’s pretty funny and worth telling but I think I’ve written enough for tonight.

And it feels good to just get on here and unload. Really good.

Thank you blog, for putting up with my crap and just being here.

Thank you friends, for reading and understanding.