The Best Laid Plans Are Not Surprises.

Can I just start off by saying that about 2 months ago, I bought a new bra on CLEARANCE at Victoria's Secret. It cost $42 with shipping. It was the first bra I'd bought in about 2 years. I'm not going to name names here, but SOMESKIPBODY thought it was OUTRAGEOUS that I would pay that much for a bra!

Anyway. Moving on. Apparently, my husband is not the only one who has recently failed in the "surprise your spouse" department. I recently made the move to wean our family off of red meat. It doesn't work well with my insides, so I figured we should probably eat less of it. I did, in all fairness, tell the family about my plan.
Then I made ravioli for supper. Ordinarily, the ravioli will contain sausage or beef. I whipped up a fabulous marinara sauce, simmered my tender pasta pockets, and served up a meal divine. I sit with the family, and I notice it's not going well. By "not going well" I mean "people are making gagging sounds, eating with clenched teeth, and saying things like 'this is pretty disgusting.' "
So I yell "SURPRISE! IT'S CHICKEN AND CHEESE RAVIOLI!"

No one throws confetti. No one plays "Hail to the Chief". No one even says "Gee Mom, thanks for thinking of our health and replacing cholesterol-laden red meat with a leaner white meat!"

Mostly all they said was, "Do we still have to eat it?"


Maybe we just need to stick with a straightforward approach around here.

To Err Is Human, To Plan a Bad Surprise for Your Wife Is Not a Good Idea and Very Undivine

You will all remember the story of my husband's recent suit purchase. Mm-hmm. Well shortly after that purchase, my husband discovered that the Men's Wearhouse was having a sale: buy one, get one for $100. Needless to say, he phoned the store and squared away the issue toute de suite. We drove up the next day to select his second suit. I was totally on board with this, because now he was getting $1500 worth of suits for only $600. He will wear at least one of these suits when he is buried, and since we are planning a long and healthy life together, I feel this was money well-spent. Also, as soon as he found out, he called Paige to tell her the good news. I kid you not. And she suggested he get a summer suit. He was thrilled with the idea.

The suits are tailored, and we are expecting them via UPS by Thursday of this past week. They never show up. I start panicking, recalling our recent home invasion. I begin to think that someone is watching our home and stealing from us at every opportunity. I call the Men's Wearhouse on Saturday, and after checking the tracking numbers, they assure me it was delivered on Thursday. I am angry at the oddly effeminate clerk, even though it's not his fault. I am less than polite. I spend my entire morning sick over the theft. I finally meet up with my husband in a neighboring town where he is preparing to march in a local parade. I can hardly stand the angst. I tell him my suspicions and how sick I am.

*blink*blink*blink*

"Baby. They came. I hid them and was going to put one on Sunday morning to surprise you."

Sure enough, there in the garage amidst my potato pearls and red wheat is a box from the Men's Wearhouse. Mm-hmm.

I call the extremely effeminate salesclerk back and apologize profusely for my rudeness. I tell him he can stop trying to track my package, as my husband received it and was planning to surprise me. Mr. Effeminate immediately takes my side and says, "That was a VERY BAD surprise! VERY BAD!!" I tell him I completely agree, and that I love his shoes.

But seriously, how can you stay mad at this:


Sweet mother of Abraham Lincoln. He tried them on today and then made it up to me by allowing me to photograph him in the lost-no-more suits. Back up off the screen, ladies. He's a kept man.

Also, he is awesome because of this:

Referencing the earlier break-in, you will recall my phone was stolen. I resist change. I loathe it, actually. I am a creature of habit if ever there was one. So having to get a new phone was torture for me. I loved my ancient Motorola. Yes, it is thicker than a quarter pounder with cheese, but I love it. So my finely-clad man went on Ebay and found the same ancient model. (Yes, I did inspect it thoroughly to make sure we didn't just buy my actual phone from the thieves themselves. It was missing a key scratch on the antenna. I know these things.)

Anyway. I am happy to have "my" phone back. I know which buttons to push and how it works. I am happy my husband, in spite of his "surprise" of $600 being flushed down the toilet, looks so damn good and is equally as happy.

Life is good again.

Shallow and Insignificant, with Bad Pictures.

So. I've recently tried a new curlier approach with my hair. Frankly, you people have made me blush with your inordinate amount of compliments. Thank you very much. Just be glad you are not my husband, though, because here's how the compliments played out there:

Yesterday, I straightened my hair again for the first time in months.
B: Babe, I really like your hair straight.
Me: Thanks.
Me: Wait. Are you saying you DON'T like it curly?
B: *Blink*Blink*Blink*
Me: Your tone implied that maybe you PREFER the straight to the curly. Is that the case?
B: No? *Blink*Blink*
Me: So you like it both straight AND curly?
B: Yes? *Blink* Blink*
Me: You like it better straight though?
B: Yes?
Me: Oh. Okay.

See how difficult it can be being married to me??

Anyway. I have put together for your reading pleasure a tutorial on how I do my hair. In case you care. First of all, you have to go to a great stylist who does NOT work at Fantastic Sam's. I finally learned that ten bucks will get you just that... a ten dollar haircut. Pay for quality. Get some long layers cut in, and some side-swept bangs.

Then:



Brush only the bangs over to the side, and define your part. Make sure you have a pained look on your face while doing so.


Get some good frizz-controlling mousse (thanks for the tip, Diane). Scrunch the mousse all throughout your wet hair. I do it upside down to loosen the hair a bit.



Then I pin back my bangs with a bobby pin, so they will dry sleeker. Following that, I release many pent-up frustrations by scrunching my hair in what appears to be a fit of rage.




Then you have to wait and let your hair air dry. This is better than blowdrying, but you have to plan it into your routine. I like to give about an hour, but sometimes I can only spare 15 minutes. In the meantime, I get dressed, apply makeup, eat breakfast, and listen to music.



Once my hair is only slightly damp, I finish off with a light blowdry. Reminiscent of the 80's I also do this upside down. Unlike the 80's, however, I don't shellac it while doing so. Blowdrying upside down gives it more body. Scrunching while blowdrying gives it more curl.



When you finish that step, you will look like this:
This is acceptable only if your last name is Frankenstein. Otherwise, it's time to tame.


I use a one-and-a-half inch barrel curling iron. I only curl the top layers, to keep it looking more natural and less Pollyanna. I spray my hair with hairspray before I curl, which prevents the nasty sticky curls you get when you spray after curling. I curl some towards my face and some away from my face, again to keep it looking natural. I NEVER smile while doing this part.


Then I take the bobby pin out of my bangs, and smooth them with the iron.


Lastly, I separate the curls, which step apparently makes me look constipated.







My hairdresser once used the phrase "back comb" in my presence. ONCE. Back comb and "bump-it" just don't work for me. But a little height does add body and volume, so I take a teeny bit in the front, lift it, and spray.




So here you have it. I can see a few other spots that need attention here, but you get the general idea. It actually takes me less time to do this than it does to straighten.





So if you all want to look exactly like me, now you know how. I am considering starting a small army of hair clones. Let me know if you are interested in enlisting.

WHAT A BARGAIN!

Today my husband and I stopped in at a little establishment known as The Men's Wearhouse. He is in need of a new suit, hence our visit to said establishment.

The guy who waited on us was a teense on the pretentious side for my taste. Here's how the whole thing played out:

Mr. Big Stuff: Let me just measure you here. Mm-hmm. I see. Mm-hmm. Athletic build. Follow me please. Here we have a classic black. Let's give it a try, shall we?
B: I like that. It looks nice.
He proceeds to try on a few other jackets until he finds one that he wants to try on in full.

Mr. Big Stuff: Follow me into my office please. Mm-hmm.
His office is a fitting room with lots of mirrors.
Mr. Big Stuff: Let me get a darker pair of shoes and a different shirt for you to try on. What size shoe is the gentleman?
B: Twelve.
Mr. Big Stuff: Twelve. Mm-hmm.

My husband tries on the suit in full, with the shirt and shoes. He looks good. Mr. Big Stuff begins to mark the suit for alterations.

Me: So apparently this is the suit we're getting?
Mr. Big Stuff: Yes. This is a custom-tailored blah blah blah with horse hair lining, made by blah blah blah in some uppity country yadda yadda for five hundred dollars.

My husband is now changing, and I am left with Mr. Big Stuff.

Me: Five hundred dollars? How much are the alterations?
Mr. Big Stuff: Five hundred dollars is an outstanding price for this suit.

My husband comes out of the changing room. He loves the suit. I tell him it's entirely up to him. He is thrilled. We go to the counter to pay.

Us: Do you give a military discount?
Mr. Big Stuff: Our prices are already deeply discounted.
Me: So in your own veiled way, you're trying to tell me that you don't offer a military discount?
Mr. Big Stuff: Our prices are already deeply discounted. Do you know how much this suit would cost at Nordstroms? I suggest you make a trip and find this same blah-blah-blah brand name suit on a rack there. The $900 price tag will be hanging from the sleeve.
Me: So you're insinuating that I will feel better about dropping five hundred dollars if I see that someone else may have paid nine hundred for the same item?
Mr. Big Stuff: Sir, how will you be paying for this?

Obviously, I was glossed over. We pay, step out to the car, and I tell my husband that five hundred dollars is a lot for a suit. He says (and I am not making this up) "Maybe you should talk to Paige about this."

Pulling out of the parking lot, we pass a building that says "Community Cremation Services". I point it out to my husband, who says "What the heck? What is it, like discount cremation or something?" To which I reply, "Yeah. Do you know how much that same cremation would go for at Nordstroms?"


At least they're shipping the suit to us after the alterations so I don't have to go back up there and listen to Mr. Big Stuff imply that I am cheap and difficult.

And I Get To Kiss You, Baby, Just Because I Can

Do you see this guy? Do you LOVE HIM? I do. See how he is kinda closing one eye when he smiles? He does that when he's laughing at me a little bit. Like when he thinks I'm being a little weird. It's sort of like a courtesy laugh, only he really thinks I'm funny, so even though he's pretending to laugh at me, really, he is laughing with me. I love that about him.



Most of the pictures from our trip are horrible. For some reason, handing my camera to a stranger and saying "would you mind taking a picture of us?" never turns out any way other than blurry. I don't get it.

I love him because he will kiss me any time, any place. He really loves me. That is so awesome.


We actually ended up having almost six whole days together before any kids showed back up. It was total bliss. We didn't argue even one time, and we laughed and talked and stayed up late eating cheesecake even after we were already ridiculously stuffed from Benihanas and every other thing we shoved in our mouths all week long.

We went to Jazz Alley and caught a pretty cool show. We love music.


Our waiter obviously didn't get the whole "wait til it's focused" concept. Oh well. This is us, in case you can't tell.


And the self-timer didn't work out so hot either.

Anyway. He's home. We're home. There's lots more to show and tell about, but for now, I just want to climb into my own bed with my husband and be happy that we're here. Together. Finally. I really love him.

I'm Kind of Like Grizzly Adams

This is my friend Mindy. When we moved here, I walked into church one Sunday and said, "Hmm... I'd better find a friend. I think I'll pick her." As it turns out, super choice. She was good enough that I haven't needed to find any others.

This weekend we decided to do some mountain biking. Here's how that went down.

1. Supposed to hook up with other friends in the mountains. "Hooking up" with people "in the mountains" can be a bit vague, and they might actually be hard to find... it being "in the mountains" and all.

2. Couldn't find friends right away. Bummer: friends had Mindy's kids' bikes. So we pulled off nearby where we thought we should meet them, and found this killer little stream.

3. Played in stream for an hour. Got very wet. Had lots of fun. Lost my sunglasses when they fell in the current. Bummer.


4. Discovered that rock bugs are real. Taught about them in 2nd grade science unit on camouflage. Thought they looked cool; sort of doubted their existence. Doubt no more.

4. Walked back up to car to get out lunch. Found this special delight:


5. Mindy and I worked on changing tire. Got very dirty. Here you will see her, dirty. It pays to be the one holding the camera. Our other friend showed up while changing tire, and got to take over and do rest of labor. Thanks Jeremy.

*Must be rough to be filthy and STILL so hot, right??

6. Finally got on some bikes. Yeaaaaaahhhh baby!!!

7. Had panic attacks. See this tunnel? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? We had to go through at least ten of them. PITCH BLACK. We had some headlights, but they were feeble. It was super cold, and completely dark. Stalacites hanging from the roof, dripping water onto us. I almost couldn't do it. Oh, and guess where the deer like to hang out? Yeah. In the caves. I watch the news. I know how these deer are nowadays. Totally unafraid of humans. Not only unafraid, but they hate us to the point where they attack. I could have been killed... or worse... maimed.

*Picture on right shows degree of darkness at end of cave, as well as deer contemplating vicious attack on bikers.


8. Did deep breathing exercises and survived. Hit the pinnacle, and looked over to see this:

Picture "A"

See that trail? That's where we were headed. It was breathtaking. We were up above everything, the weather was unreal, and the scenery was not to be believed.

9. Biked about 14 miles on dirt/gravel trails. Got around to the other side in one piece. Not too shabby.

All told, it was an amazing trip. The biking was pretty easy for us, but the kids worked their tails off. I missed mine terribly, but was super proud of Mindy's for being hard workers with good attitudes.

I was a little nervous driving home on the donut. It was a three hour ride with 2 women and 3 children on back roads at night. Not my number one choice for safety. We made it, however, and both showed up to church on time today... looking and smelling WAAAAYYY better than we did last night.

One Hell of a White Picket Fence

After my stay with Paige, I went to go meet Jeni. I have gotten to know her really well, but have never had the chance to meet her. Let me tell you. It was well worth my effort to impose on her. She is something else.

As an aside, I have to restate here that for some reason, everyone I visited feels like they didn't do enough to "show me a good time". First of all: there's only one person who can REALLY show me a good time, and none of you are him. Unless, of course, you're reading this, B. Second of all: I think you are all insane, because every one of you took me someplace, fed me, gave me a bed, kept me company while my family is gone, and really made my trip wonderful. So no more of that talk from any of you.

Anyway. Back to business.
Can I just say that sista can COOK? Wow. We had shrimp, salmon, tri-tip steaks, brown rice, tomato salad (eat your heart out, Rachel!) and homemade white rolls that ripped me from my standard whole grain regimen. I secretly think people were conspiring to fatten me up. Frankly, I was a willing guinea pig.

Jeni's family was fun. At first I thought her husband was ignoring me. Then I discovered he is the witty, silent type. Turns out he's actually as crazy as Jeni. And her boys were so funny! I will keep all the family secrets quiet (no need to go public with who likes to wear what while watching a movie...) but suffice it to say, they wasted no time in making me feel like part of the family.

We took a day trip to Columbia, which is sort of like a refurbished old ghost town. There were tons of things to take pictures of, and I learned a lot about California state history. This is important because my husband is from California, and now I feel closer to him.

Here you will see a picture where I busted Jeni and Byron sneaking out of the Fun Sex bathroom. They were both giggling, plus Byron had that brown bag with a bottle in it. I knew the only thing to do was take a picture and ask no questions. So naughty.


There was panning for gold, shopping in an old country store, and a lot of laughing and playing.


Another treat was a visit from Denae. She lives by Jeni and Celia. So we sat around and talked until Celia's husband made her come home. He's such a ball and chain, that one.

My vacation was amazing. It is such a nice feeling to have friends. I cannot imagine sitting home by myself for six weeks. I would die of loneliness. Or I would die from running out of things to organize. Either way, I am really thankful I have the opportunity to travel, and the friends to make doing so worthwhile. So THANK YOU a million times over to everyone of you and your families for making me feel loved. And stuffed.

If You Should Ever Need a Substitute Family...

After I left Lisa's, I imposed myself upon my friend Paige. Paige was one of the first blogs I began reading, before I even had a blog. I spied on her and her sister Celia for a few months, and I found them to be witty and entertaining. Eventually, I decided I would make myself a blog, and after that, I began commenting on theirs. The rest is history. Is it crazy that you can become friends with people this way? Who knows.


I really love sports. We went to a Giants/Astros game. I pretended the Astros were the Red Sox, and it was really a lot of fun.

We walked around a lot during the game. Paige got checked out several times by guys. It was funny because she was completely clueless. I watched them all look at her, like what they saw, and then look down at the three small children trailing behind her. Suddenly, they weren't interested anymore. At least you know you still got it, mama.

Lots of the family was at the game. I met them. Here you can see Ellie's devourable baby, Sylvie. Ellie's blog is private, plus she never posts anymore. Hence the no linky. I loved meeting Ellie. She told me I was cute, and I'm always a sucker for the ego-stroke. Paige's kids were so much fun. It was late, and they didn't even whine or anything. If you have blog friends, you should try to meet them and their families in person. You will be so glad you did. You will all be nervous because you're worried you won't be as likeable in person. Turns out, you all really are.

The thing is, though, you have to keep an eye on these people. They secretly want you dead. You know this because they will make you buy these garlic fries. They know that if you eat them, you will probably die of a heart attack. So be careful when meeting blog friends. Sometimes they are actually vicious killers.

After the game, there was a fabulous fireworks display over the water. (Holy smokes, Christie, can you even believe these pictures???) Paige's family is very theatrical. I mean, really, they are into theater and stuff. They are not ashamed to be loud, or to perform in public. I am not ashamed to take pictures of them being that way.

Lastly, the fourth of July was celebrated with a delightful BBQ and baseball game at Mr. and Mrs. Paige'sparents home. They were very nice people, except for the part where the mom bossed me. I was planning on skipping out on the baseball game, but she made it explicitly clear that I would be playing. I said, "How about if I just take some pictures!?" And the Mom said, "No. You're playing. Everybody plays."

So I played. And it was fun.

I missed my family a lot. Holidays are not the same without them around. I am glad I have friends who are kind enough to share their families with me.

Produce, Poop, and a Party

At this point in the story, it becomes necessary to give a teeny bit of history.
Lisa and I have been friends for about fifteen years. We have travelled a lot together. We have weathered hideous missionary attire, awkward hairstyles, and a million life challenges. Other than my husband, she knows more about me than any living soul. This is why I keep her close. (As you can see in this shot, Mr. Potato head obviously missed the memo about wearing overalls that day. The rest of us clearly got it. Which is a shame.)



She now lives in the greater San Francisco area. Or the East Bay area, as some are prone to call it. So she showed me her city. It was terrific.
We hit the farmers market, which is basically a souped up trip through Costco on a Saturday afternoon. The free samples were out of this world. I just about lunched on them.


In spite of the excessive snacking on fresh wares, we were still hungry. So we stopped at a lovely restaurant on the water for some lunch. It was chillier than I had anticipated, so I opted for a warm, hearty bowl of clam chowder.


In this series of pictures, you will see me posing for a ridiculous shot by myself. Immediately after Lisa snapped the hideous tourist-at-restaurant shot, I heard a huge splat and felt all this warm stuff on me. I looked down, and wouldn't you know it... poop. Right there on my placemat. Splattered into my chowder and all over my arms. That was certainly a first for me. So much for dining al fresco.

After lunch and a bath-by-napkin-and-Aquafina, we walked around and checked stuff out. I grabbed some souvenirs for the kids, and even saw Alcatraz. If you ask me, that doesn't look like a very difficult swim to shore. No wonder they shut the place down.


And then we were at Ghirardelli Square. So we went in. It smelled so good. I saw these huge cookies. I wanted one. They were $3.50. That is outrageous for one cookie. I bought it anyway. IT WAS HORRIBLE! I am still in the process of writing the company to complain. It was like eating a hockey puck. Or so I would imagine. What a disappointment. At least Lisa shared her not-gross ice cream with me.

We hit Chinatown and Haight/Ashbury streets. The psychadellic, acid-trip street art was amazing. I wasn't even high, and I totally appreciated it.

Around supper time, we ventured into Little Portugal. We found a restaurant and ordered bacalhau to go. Bacalhau (which you will never, ever pronounce correctly) is dried salt cod. They reconstitute it and cook it with potatoes and olive oil. My dream in life is to soak in a tub of this stuff. Okay, that would be disgusting. But my point is that it is so delicious, I want to eat it a lot. Plus, it brings back great memories. Food memories are the best.

Lastly, her daughter had a birthday. She's six, like my Noe. Lisa threw together the most adorable 4th of July themed party. It made me feel slightly guilty for the lack of effort I've put into my kids' birthdays lately.

San Francisco is a cool place. I prefer to do my travelling with B. However, when he can't make it, Lisa is my next best choice. She is patient and funny. She is snippy when she needs to be, and I admire that in a woman.

'brigada, nha querida. Nta gosta tcheu de bo. Semp nta tene bo saudade.

Beijinhos.