Have officially made New Year's Day plans . . . whew!

Me: So we should start making plans for New Year's Day.

GH: [grunt]

Me: Except . . . huh. I'm not sure what there is to do. Seems like most things are closed.

GH: Hmmm.

(See how good he is at pretending to be engaged? I can't even get mad when he suddenly shakes his head and says, "I'm sorry, I wasn't listening to any of that. You had better start over." Because then I get to tell my stories twice, which, for a chatter-box, is pretty much like getting free dessert.)

Me: I mean . . . they made it a holiday, but what are people supposed to be DOING on that day?

GH: People are hung over that day.

Me: Oh . . . right. Well then I really don't know what our options are.

Except today my long-awaited copy of The New York Regional Mormon Singles Halloween Dance: A Memoir by Elna Baker has arrived. So I know exactly what I'll be doing that day: reading this book, eating leftover chocolate fondue with a spoon (read: my fingers) and laughing my sober heiney off. Not a bad way to start a year, right?

Happy New Year, everybody, no matter how you celebrate it!

Please enjoy:

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Countdown

Tree trimmed--Check, including the Gentleman Husband's beloved Sputnick.

Car prepped for the Christmas journeyings--Check, including a fresh battery for the flashlight.

Cameras and video cameras charged--Check, not that I will remember to use either of them.

Cookies baked and plated for Visiting Teachees--Check.

Cookies delivered to VTees--Nope, and now they are stale and gross.

Crucial Christmas movies watched--Joyeux Noel, A Muppet's Christmas Carol, and Under the Greenwood Tree so far. Doing good!

Knitted gifts completed--Um, still scrambling there. May be delivering some IOUs tomorrow morning.

Gifts wrapped--Yeah, not so much.

Christmas cards--Nope. Keep an eye out next year, though!

Groceries purchased & laundry done--Check, thanks to furloughed GH who gets to be my handsome house elf for the week.

Bathroom cleaned--Check, thanks to ME, and I feel I possibly deserve a major award for my efforts there. Have had to stop myself from dragging guests back there. "LOOK! The bottom of the tub is WHITE NOW!!"

Slavering over tonight's menu--Ooooh, check. My responsibilities include crab-stuffed mushrooms and the brussels sprouts + bacon from Thanksgiving because I didn't get to eat enough of them then.

Moments where I have felt the Christmas spirit--Check, check, check.

And now here's hoping that we all have several days full of peaceful, Christmas-spirit-feeling moments. Merry Christmas, everyone!

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I might be going to hell

Unless, of course, hell is for people who write crap Christmas songs.

Last month I was out buying Christmas gift supplies when it started to snow. I decided to turn on the Christmas stations in the car in the hopes of enhancing the holiday buzz.

My two choices were a) that song about the kid trying to buy his dying momma shoes for when she "goes to see Jesus" that night, or b) a song, sung by a child, in the form of a letter to "Mister Jesus" pleading for an end to child abuse.

Um . . . yeah. Not so much buzz-enhancing . . .

First off, if the Wikipedia article is to be believed, that Christmas Shoes song took 4 minutes to write. This . . . does not surprise me.

Secondly, a child-abuse awareness song? Really? Was a well-meaning radio station person sitting around one day and thinking, "You know, a lot of people feel really good at Christmas. Let's fix that."? Because I looked up the song and it appears to have been written about 15 years ago and has absolutely nothing to do with Christmas.

Note: Before outraged people start saying that I don't care about child abuse, I DO care about child abuse. I just don't want to hear about it when I am trying to listen to Christmas music. Plus that little girl could barely sing. (Aaaaand here comes the lightning.)

But speaking of people who can't sing, you should check out this Christmas concert clip Sahkmet sent me. It actually will get you feeling the Christmas spirit, in between giggles.

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Looks like somebody out there was thinking positive thoughts!

The universe kicked in! GH has a new job!

One minute I pretty much resigned myself to the part where he would always be working the night shift for $4.25 per hour and that one day he would die of insomnia-related causes and I would be left a zit-faced widow and that would be it. The next minute he was getting a call about a job that he barely remembered applying for over a month ago.

The interview went well and all weekend we crossed fingers and prayed that this could work out. On Sunday a man in our ward gave a talk on adversity and said that in the last year 3 of his sons have lost their jobs and he himself has had to lay off two-thirds of his own workforce. Which was a nice little (or, you know, huge) reminder that even if GH doesn't find a new job any time soon, the part where he is employed at all is a huge blessing.

This morning they called and offered him the job. He starts at the end of the month. We are both pretty much giddy--GH moreso than me because he hasn't actually slept in two days. It's a PR/Social Media sort of job. He'll have to commute about 30 minutes to the northern part of Utah County, which isn't too bad. (Aaaaand this is the part where all the Cache Valley dwellers sit up and gasp. "Utah County!?! Dat's duh debbil's land!!!" Um, guys, the two counties aren't that different from each other, and please remember whose land it is that smells like poop.)

Here are just a few of the reasons why this is wonderful news.

1. The pay is a little better than what he's currently making and hi, it's in the DAYTIME.

2. Also the health/retirement benefits are better. But I must say I just love the part where to cover 1 person on the cheapest plan it's $8 a month. To bump that up to two people it's $188 a month. Not even lying. I am also not negating what a blessing to have a job right now that offers any sort of health insurance benefit. No matter how limited and expensive that insurance may be, we're better off than the millions who don't have that option. I don't even want to get into the accounts I've heard from friends and coworkers who have to purchase their own insurance because pretty much all the stories are awful enough to make my brain explode. ("We won't cover you because 47 years ago you had a wonky mole, sorry.")

3. This could possibly be the end of GH's insomnia and the fun "guess the new stress-related physical symptom" game. (We all know mine is eye-twitches. GH moved from eye-twitches to tension headaches to back pain to, funnest of all, chest pain. Show-off.)

4. We just might get used to sleeping in the same bed at the same time.

5. GH will be working for a company that actually makes money, where he will get to do things like take lunch breaks and not write the news every day under crazy deadlines.

And, in what is perhaps the best news of all . . .

6. . . . This place has a dress code. So instead of wearing his hoodies and Vans to work every night like a skater or car thief, he will have to start wearing grown-up work clothes. This means that I get to take him shopping and dress him like my very own hot live Ken doll! (Note: Oddly, he does not see the dress code as a plus. But maybe not everything is about him.)

Best. Christmas present. Ever!

(Except for, you know, the first Christmas present which was the baby Jesus. Close second, though!)

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Christmas gift for the Beatlemaniac

Sorry to interrupt my regularly scheduled NOTblogging, but I figured I'd better send out the word. Just in case anyone out there is a Beatles fan or may be shopping for one, you may be interested to learn that Amazon is offering The Beatles Monopoly (normally priced at $39.99) for $9.99 right now.

So, you know, kind of a good deal.

Except maybe if you're normal like me you shouldn't buy this for someone unless you know for SURE that they will have other people to play it with. I tell you. When I opt out of a game of Monopoly, I promise it's an act of mercy. Because bored, cranky, sick-of-Monopoly me is only a notch or so down from hungry, premenstrual me.

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Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages

Multiple points for you if you catch the reference. Plus it will make me happy to think that there were people out there spending just as much time NOT kissing boys in high school as I was.




Last week GH and I hit the new In-N-Out that opened up in Draper. There were several highlights, the most surprising of which was GH's strawberry milkshake--I don't even care about strawberry milkshakes but daaaaang that was good.

Also there was the part where we really were, in fact, in and out. Even though there were loads of people, they had everything moving at a very fast and smooth pace. Within 10 minutes of walking through the door we were sitting down eating on a clean table. They imported a seasoned crew from California to get them through the first several weeks, which seemed very smart. You could tell that there was plenty of training going on and all the staff seemed cheerful and capable. (Then again, after the baptism-by-fire that was the opening weekend with its traffic directing and 2-hour lines, our crowd could have seemed like nothing.)

This is where I have to tell a story that is not mine. From the looks of things, everybody in the store was trying to be courteous about the seating thing. There was maybe a tiny bit of circling and hovering as people tried to stake out tables, and people who were eating left quickly when they were finished. So it seemed like everyone was being taken care of. When I told my sister about this, she shared with me the awesome experience that just happened to my friend (and blog designer) Jeri. Jeri and her crew went to In-N-Out, got their food, waited for a table to be cleaned, and then made their way over there. Just before they sat down, a woman behind them threw her purse over their heads so that it landed on the table, then shoved her way past them and sat down, all the while refusing to make eye contact. So Jeri, her small children, and her pregnant sister-in-law just sort of stood there, stunned.

At this point a nearby group of men, who had seen the whole thing, started laughing at that crazy beast and invited Jeri and her family to come over, where they made some room for them to sit. Because they were nice. And not crazy insane people like some other purse-throwers I could mention. Seriously, people. It's a table. At which you are going to eat a burger. Seriously. Do you really want those kind of karma points over a burger? Technically you should never behave like that at all, ever, but it just seems especially stupid over something so small.

But back to my meal, which did not contain purse-throwing. It did contain highlight #3, which was when an attractive, smiling woman stopped by our table and said "Excuse me," just as I was unhinging my jaw to take another bite out of my Double-Double Animal Style burger. For a second I thought maybe I had accidentally inhaled a small child of hers during my frenzy and she wanted it back, but no. Turns out she is a reader of this blog and just wanted to say hi. (Hee! I got to feel semi-famous!) So I chatted with the lovely Marci for a minute, which was delightful. After she left I realize that I forgot to properly introduce her to GH, because I am a jerk like that. I did, however, also refrain from introducing her to the massive zit on my chin which is named Chuck. So it's kind of even, I think.

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Can you keep it down, there are children trying to scream here!

A woman came in today looking for a certain parenting book, and I have to say that it's not a minute. too. soon. This is judging from the way her offspring bellowed and climbed and fought and screamed the entire time they were in here, while she ensconced herself in what appeared to be a cocoon of obliviousness.

Everyone is coming in to pick up holds and get DVDs for the long weekend and audiobooks for the long car rides. I myself am very excited to hit the road tomorrow and let the weekend of merriment and feasting begin. In the last few weeks I've been trying to eat better (read: less) and so my pants have gotten slighty looser just in time for that new-found space to be filled with pumpkin pie and yams and turkey-and-brie sandwiches. I am nothing if not a planner.

Good Thanksgiving updates:

The venue is being moved away from the potentially-smelly gym and into Grammy's house. Which means that we will all be very cozy and I will possibly not be able to bend my elbows and will instead ask the person across the table to please feed me.

I've been asked to bring a green vegetable and have decided on 101 Cookbooks' Golden-Crusted Brussels Sprouts--if you've never liked brussels sprouts, or if you've never tried them, this is the way to do it, I promise you. I'm going to up the ante though by adding crumbled bacon. Aw yeah.

The day after Thanksgiving, instead of participating in the Black Friday madness, I'll be knitting, eating, and choosing a hot spring to go soak my bloated carcass in. Doesn't that sound wonderful?

What are you most looking forward to this weekend?

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Yep. I'm done.

I think I am done with errands now for at least the next 4 weeks. My leached-out soul may have recovered by then. So have fun looking for updates from the woman who is refusing to leave her house even to buy such things as milk and toilet paper. Junk mail was good enough for my pre-toilet-paper ancestors and it can be good enough for me.

One of the things I did today was return The Boots. I know, I know, they were cute and wonderful but I just wasn't feeling it for the schizophrenia of it all. So if anyone would like a pair of those bad boys in a 37 they are at Nordstrom in Fashion Place mall reduced from $225 to $129. So, you know, go get on that.

Meanwhile, I'll be waiting for these sexy beasts to go on sale. Rowr.

And when they do I will not be buying them from the salesperson at Macy's shoe department whose idea of greeting customers is to grill them about whether or not they are going skiing now that there is snow and why skiing is just better and how are they not even a skiier because they should be skiing and it's not even cold when you ski. Seriously, dude. Back the heck up off me, because I didn't want to be conversing with you in the first place. And since I'm not on the clock, I actually get to make that choice.

The thing that made the errands bearable was listening to this song on repeat in the car. Probably everyone knows about it already and it may not even be cool anymore because that's just how far behind I am in all things musical, but seriously.

I dare you not to bop.

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Perfect Timing

When you're out, minding your business, running errands on a sunny Saturday and then all of a sudden the sky fills with dark clouds and it starts blizzarding sideways and you are firmly resolve that there is NO WAY you are going home until you've brushed the snow off your car and completed your errands, that is the perfect time to discover that the sole of your cheap years-old pair of stinky Payless flats has a big ol' crack in it.

So every time I got out of my car and scampered through slushy parking lots my left shoe filled up with ice water. This culminated in a moment at Nordstrom where I had to bring my sodden lint-covered trouser sock out of my nasty shoe in order to try on a pair of boots and realized that the horrible smell in my nostrils was not coming from a raccoon carcass someone may have dragged in and deposited nearby (as I desperately hoped) but was in fact the product of my foot.

Sigh.

As if the perfumed, MAC-wearing Nordstrom employees needed yet more proof that I don't belong in their store.

I ended up buying a pair of boots in part because I felt so bad for putting them through the indignity that was My Left Foot, and also because I didn't want to go home to think about it and have them sell out. But now I'm having second thoughts. They are Danskos, very comfortable, and very discounted. (And yes, Oprah. I wear Danskos. While you may have a problem with that, I'm not actually in a position to buy $200 flats like some people. I think we all know now the kind of flats I can afford. So don't you be giving me looks.) I very much like that the heel on these is tall enough to make me look less stubby, but not stiletto-y enough to kill me. I'm still not sure about the two-toned thing, though. It's like the shoe is having an identity crisis, or is maybe too trendy for the long haul. (Because hi, if I'm going to spend actual money on them, they need to be long-haul boots.) What do you think?

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I should be talking about Thanksgiving here

But today's post over at Petit Elefant got me browsing Martha Stewart's list of Easy Holiday Crafts (cuz hi, that's really the only kind I'm up for even considering) and pretty much slavering over all of the Christmas cuteness. I also owe the good ladies at Petit Elefant a thank-you for another act of online service. Ali, you will be happy to hear that your post on eyebrow grooming gave me the pants-kick I needed to round up the hedge trimmers and do some long-procrastinated maintenance on mine. And now instead of looking like a crazed old wizard whose eyebrows are trying to seek new residence somewhere in my hair line, I look like a Real Girl. Thank you for that.

I get that it's not time to be decorating for Christmas yet, but surely it could be time for the making of plans and the foraging for supplies, right? I would be more excited about Thanksgiving decorations but I'm not really in charge of any Thanksgiving festivities this year. We're doing Thanksgiving up in L**** and my contributions to that huge (45+ people) party will consist of 1) The Cheeseball and 2) NOT playing volleyball. It's going to be held in GH's old elementary school's two gyms. So in one gym people will be eating until stuffing runs out their ears and in the other gym will be the running and jumping and, most likely, the vomiting. Guess which gym sounds more my style. GH is concerned about trying to eat actual good food in a space where the smell of so many bad foods still lingers. We'll see how that goes.

But yeah: Christmas crafting. I went to Michael's this week and pounced like a ravening hyena upon their "2 for $5" skeins of Patons New Wool (seriously, knitters and felters--you need to lock that down). If all goes well with said skeins, I will be the most popular person in the family in Christmas morning. No lie. But if all does not go well, then forget I ever said anything.

These are the projects that so far are my favorites:

(all images taken from Martha Stewart Living)

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Gentlemen Broncos review

The other night GH and I went to a free advance screening of Gentlemen Broncos, Jared Hess's latest film. I will start by saying that the pre-show experience was somewhat spoiled because I was sitting next to a woman in her 60s who was, inexplicably, speaking loudly in a fake British accent with her companion the entire time. I know it was fake because 1) it was awful and all over the place, and 2) she would occasionally drop it to discuss things like "how those Mormons control everything here." She commented on my knitting bag (Britishly, referring to the British china patterns that it resembles) and in our brief conversation I was so very tempted to ask her what part of England she was pretending to be from. But I haven't worked in public libraries for the past several years without learning a little something called "Do not engage with the crazies."

Seriously. Just don't.

But now on to the movie.

The basic premise is that a nerdy small-town home-schooler named Benjamin (Michael Angarano) submits his sci-fi manuscript to a contest while attending a fantasy writer convention. One of the judges is the pompous Chevalier (Jemaine Clement from Flight of the Conchords), a famous author who is going through a dry spell. Under pressure from his publisher to produce something new, he appropriates Benjamin's work, makes a few changes, and submits it as his.

And there you go. The plot. A bunch of other stuff happens too (like a local homeschooling duo who turn Benjamin's story into an awful movie just as Chevalier's new novel is being released) but it's not very interesting.

Now, I liked Napoleon Dynamite. I thought Nacho Libre was amusing, but not my favorite. This film I liked not at all. It is not surprising to find toilet humor and boob & gonad jokes in a science fiction manuscript written by a 15-year old. The problem with this movie is that it seems a 15-year-old boy may have been at the helm for the entire thing, because all told we had . . .

. . . Count 'em:

Regular Vomiting
Projectile vomiting
Kissing immediately after vomiting, resulting in vomit chunks on the mouth of both actors, resulting in me coming quite close to dry-heaving
Explosive diarrhea (from a python, no less)
Poisoned darts dipped in poop
Poisoned poop-dipped darts that are accidentally shot into a woman's breast
Sci-fi characters ingesting "yeast cakes," which strongly resemble cow pies.
Sci-fi boobs that shoot lasers
Sci-fi boobs that shoot bombs
Sci-fi sight gags involving surgically-removed testicles
Sci-fi bobcats eating said surgically-removed testicles
A female sci-fi character inviting a male sci-fi character to visit her "yeast cavern." You heard me.

It got old.

Also, remember how in Napoleon Dynamite you had a bunch of odd-ball small-town characters who were still, for the most part, believable? Yeah, not so much with this one. The quirkiness is taken so far as to be practically grotesque--from Hector Jimenez's creepy perma-grimace as Lonnie, the wannabe filmmaker, to Jennifer Coolidge "fashion designs" that make her seem completely delusional. (Note: Jennifer Coolidge got the shaft here and she deserves better. Woman gets a dart in the boob, for pete's sake.) There's just no one to really root for, here. Protagonist Benjamin is such a passive wimp that by the time he finally stands up for himself it's hard to care anymore.

Highlights, however, include Jemaine Clement as the pompous, plagiarising Chevalier. I perked up for all of his scenes.



Sam Rockwell is good (if slightly unrecognizable) as Bronco/Brutus, the sci-fi warrior imagined by Benjamin and then renamed and "turned into a tranny" by Chevalier. The science-fiction scenes based on Benjamin (and, later, Chevalier's) imagination were entertaining, involving things like missile-mounted deer. And the opening credits were fun, in which the cast and crew names appear on the cover of 1970s sci-fi paperbacks.

But yeah. Not really worth seeing, unless you're a Jemaine fan--in which you should just rent it and only watch his scenes. I am much more excited about next week's release of The Fantastic Mr. Fox, in which George Clooney will do dapper, daring things with a minimum of poop.

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Burning a hole in my pocket

Remember that one time when I was one who bikes? Yeah, that didn't last super long. For the last year my sweet bike has just been sitting on our third-floor balcony, all exposed to the elements. (Note: Please do not mimic my stupidity in this way. Get a dang tarp and cover your poor bike.) I haven't ridden it once, mostly because I couldn't stand the thought of having to lug it up and down three flights of stairs every time. Plus GH didn't have one so it wasn't something we could do together on the weekends like the fit kind of Smug Marrieds. Also there's just my natural sloth.

So I bit the bullet and posted the thing on KSL Classifieds. Two hours later I had a call, which I took in the bathroom of The Pie Pizzeria and which made for lovely accoustics. Less than 24 hours later a guy and his wife came to look at it for their college-aged daughter. I'd hauled the bike inside from where it was acting as a tomato-plant trellis and cleaned off the dust and grime. This was when I gained first-hand knowledge of WHY WE COVER OUR BIKES RATHER THAN LEAVING THEM OUT IN THE SNOW TO GET ALL SAD-LOOKING AND RUSTY. They looked it over, I threw in a brand-new bike lock, and we made a deal.

Their daughter gets a bike for Christmas, I get $120 cash.

Best. Ever. Now I'm wondering what else I can sell. And what to do with my loot. Anybody want to share what they would do with $120 free and clear dollars? I could use ideas.

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Thank you anyway, universe!

For those who wanted the update, GH did have his job interview (it was an in-house sort of thing). Although he of course went in with amazing ideas that would have revolutionized the program and the world, there are a few other "in-house" factors we now know about that make his shot seem a bit slimmer. So . . . even though nothing has been announced, I'm not going to hold my breath on that one. Am just telling myself that what the universe (read: all of you lovely people) is really sending our way is a much BETTER job that we just don't know about yet but will blow us away with its amazingness. And then GH will be able to stay home at nights and he won't need a walker for a Christmas present and we will buy a 100+-year-old home in the countryside and we will have precious pygmy goats in the backyard and a couple of chickens and a garden that I somehow don't kill and which grows itself and maybe even a magical pony and we can argue over the covers every blessed night. So thank you for helping to bring that future just a little bit closer, everyone!

And thank you to everyone with the thyroid encouragement. I know from the way I was talking everyone assumed hypothyroid stuff, only check it out: My bloodwork actually showed hyperthyroidism, which led to a conversation like this.

Medical people: These results are interesting because the symptoms you described were more of the hypo variety. So, have you experienced any feelings of nervousness or anxiety?

Me: Nope.

MP: Difficulty sleeping?

Me: Huh-uh.

MP: Fast or irregular heart-beat?

Me: Nnnnnope.

MP: Difficulty keeping weight on, or maybe even losing weight?

Me: BAH-hah-ahhahahah! Yeah . . . not so much.

They're 90% believing that it's something called thyroiditis, which is sort of a "hello, let's play the fun game of watching your thyroid levels go up and down" thing. But I'd take that over Graves' disease, which is the other potential option and does not seem like much fun as it can cause things like miscarriages and actual cobwebbed ovaries. But the nice part is that right now I feel fine so I'm going to go back in in a few weeks and then they'll take more blood and see where things are going. (Note: I have had blood taken twice now for the first time in over 10 years and I'm happy to say that both times I was SUPER BRAVE. Just wanting to get that out there. When things like flu shots and mole removals make you black out, a blood-letting that doesn't involve passing out, whimpering, or running away is a triumph.)

The doc did warn me that I'm likely coming down from the "hyper" part and could soon be showing "hypo" symptoms such as fatigue, etc.

Me: And weight gain?

Dr: Well, I wouldn't really think so. It is possible . . .

Me: It's just that with the holidays coming up and everything, that would be a really awesome thing to be able to pin it on.

Dr: Oh? Yes, that is true. Well, you go right ahead.

Me: Thank you. I believe I will.

Oh, pumpkin pie? Get on over here, lover.

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Calling upon the universe

GH has a job interview on Monday! For a real job like real people have! Everyone please pray hard!

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See?? THIS. This is why I did not want to turn 30!

GH and I both turned 30 this fall. Except I did it a month earlier than him because I am 1) competitive, and 2) a cougar.

For me, counting down to 30 was fine. Piece of cake. GH approached it with a bit more trepidation and apparently he had the right idea. Because since we reached the triple digits, we have both started falling completely apart. First GH's back decided to just quit working. It's most likely brought on by stress, working the graveyard shift, and working the graveyard shift on really crappy chairs. The poor guy can barely get up and down and is using me as a pulling-self-up-on tool. And a poor one at that, if this morning's pained " grumble grumble useless grumble" mutter is to be believed. He is now wishing that someone thought to give him a cane for his birthday. For my part, about the day after my birthday I turned into an insane(r) person who didn't really feel like doing anything (see: blogging, cleaning, being nice to people, etc.). Come to find out I'm having a problem with mah thy-roid. So, you know, will be getting that figured out. Also I'm coming down with a cold and woke up this morning feeling as though someone were trying to slit my throat from the inside.

So after GH got home from work we're both lying in bed moaning and groaning (and no, not in the good way) over our various ailments while we also tried vainly to be sympathetic, comforting people to each other. It was pretty pathetic. Welcome to 30.

That's probably why they kick you out of the singles wards after your 30th year. They don't want the fresh 18-year-olds to be freaked out by all of us stumbling around with walkers and losing teeth and limbs right and left.

Ageists.

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Girl's Relaxation Day, Part Deux

Much, much too long ago (nearly two years) my sisters and I had a Girl's Relaxation Day in Park City, where we retreated from our lives and painted our toenails and stuffed ourselves with brie, which we could technically have done in our own places of residence but felt (rightly) that it would be better to do it somewhere else.

This fall we decided that it was time for another much-needed Girl's Relaxation Day, and since Park City had treated us so well last time we made that our destination. The nice thing about Park City, I think, is that even though it's not that far away it still feels like a different sort of place. This is probably because they have coffee there.

Spitfire booked an amazing spot for us to stay and treated me and Jen to an evening of luxury. For, lo, she is awesome. We were at the Westgate Resort, which was just beautiful and perfect and wonderful.

Resort highlights included:

A full kitchen and living room.

A hot tub in the bedroom. (Aw, yeah. Except, you know, not so much, since I was there with my sisters. No Victoria Secret bubble bath parties here, sorry.)

A huge stone shower with both a regular shower head and a waterfall shower head (the kind that comes down from the ceiling.) The shower also has a bench built in and functions as a sauna. (So, um, all other showers can kind of eat it now.)

An outdoor heated pool (lovely) and two outdoor hot tubs. We chose the one that came with the Speedo-wearing European man. As you do.

In true Girl's Relaxation Night style, there was toenail painting and brie-eating and pumpkin-pie-eating and TV-watching. No no-bake cookies this time, probably because my sisters remember almost being gassed to death last year. There was also much sighing at the catalog of spa services offered downstairs, which sighs then turned to chokes and seizures upon the reading of the prices. We watched the TV channel advertising the spa for a little bit but then had to turn it off because it was just too tantalizing (ahhh, spa porn). Our new plan is that one day when we're all quite rich we are going to book ourselves into a spa for a weekend. It's gonna be great. We then piled into the king-sized bed, which fit all three of us easily, and slept soundly. That is until my cell phone alarm went off at 7:00am, please do not ask me why. It seems that I am alarm-challenged.

For breakfast Jen made crepes. I would have helped, but I was Experiencing the Shower. She did Julia Child's crepe recipe with a savory chicken-bacon-mushroom-leek-pure-crystallized-crack-cocaine filling. And for calcium we added slabs of warm brie. Women need calcium, you know. My bones start to deteriorate this year--gotta stave that off. There were also nutella crepes with fresh raspberries, real whipped cream, and sauteed apples. Because we know how to party.

Once we got cleaned up and I'd done everyone's eyebrows and eye makeup (remember, girlie weekend) we hit the outlet stores. And yes, I'm sure there are some friends out there right now thinking, "Wait. YOU were the one doing people's eye makeup? Uh . . . " But what they do not know is that I've totally figured out how to do one really nice-looking smoky grey-blue eyeshadow thing. So that's what we all got. And we looked hot, I tell you.

Jenny took in the biggest shopping haul as she was on a mission to buy new church-going clothes. I got two nice tops and mentally purchased an entirely new wardrobe for GH at Banana Republic. As a heterosexual male, he would probably object to most of my choices. One day, though. One day.

So yeah. We've decided this needs to be an annual thing. And maybe we should spend two nights instead of one. And we need to check the closets more carefully when we leave because if we don't then the housekeeping staff will steal the black J.Crew shirt Jenny accidentally left hanging in the closet and then the hotel will just pretend like we maybe imagined the black shirt and that possibly Jenny did not actually wear it to the hotel but just turned up to check in wearing nothing but a bra. (I'm kind of glad now that I forgot to leave a tip for those stealers. Except . . . maybe that's why we're in this situation now. Huh.)

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Welcome, and thank you for making Jenny an aunt

My brother and his wife had their first baby this week. My s-in-l was in labor for, no lie, eleventy hundred hours before she ended up having a C-section. Everyone is doing fine and they're home.

And here's precious baby Madeline:


Lookit that li'l rosebud mouth!


This was the conversation I had with Jenny during the Multiple Days of Labor while we were waiting for news.

Jenny: ALSO! I AM SO EXCITED TO BE AN AUNT!
SO EXCITED!
I mean, I know I technically am one already but it doesn't feel like it.
I think I'm going to like this being an aunt stuff.

Me: Oh my gosh, that's right! You've NEVER BEEN AN AUNT!
How did I not realize this? The rest of us have been aunts but you were always the mom!

Jenny: I need to MAIL HER THINGS.

Me: YEAH. Yeah you do.

Now Jenny gets why I was always turning up with baby clothes and accessories and books and toys for Savannah. You become an aunt and some sort of switch goes off and you Must. Buy. Things. For. Baby. It is a very, very real force.

They're coming out in January for coolboy's wedding and I cannot wait to eat that baby's face.

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My new favorite thing

Is when families go to the doctor and their children are diagnosed with H1N1 and are told to go home and get themselves quarantined. The family then leaves the doctor's office to go home . . .

. . . and stops by the library on the way home, where they all spend an hour choosing all the books and DVDs they'll need for the week.

Thanks for that, guys.

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Not pregnant, sorry

Although that would be a fabulous excuse for not posting as opposed to, "Nope, I really am just that lame all on my own without any gestating feti, actually." But thanks for asking.

For those who participated, I hope your Weekend o' Conference was good. Mine was one in which I was a Domestic Goddess Type Person.

Evidence:

Sunday morning made breakfast of pumpkin waffles with real maple syrup (using last year's frozen pumpkin puree, aw yeah), Julia Child's scrambled egg recipe, fresh apple juice, hot chocolate, and really cheap-trash bacon. We invited coolboy and his charming new fie-ance (Yep! Seriously!) over to share in the bounty. Then I lured them into staying longer by making chocolate-chip-Reese's-pieces cookies. Which were amazing, and I am right now eating the leftover dough as my lunch.

Dinner was a crockpot roast with carrots, potatoes, onion, and sides of fresh corn and peas. And a couple of Rhodes Rolls that didn't rise properly and therefore resembled hockey pucks in both taste and texture. Because maybe I need to be kept humble.

GH did the dishes like a champion, which meant that by the time it was all over he had washed nearly every dish and pot and pan we own.

During the different sessions, which were all great, I took notes and worked on Savvy's socks. And I pondered the same semiannual questions I always ponder, such as:

"Is it possible for Elder Scott to not seem like he's peering directly into my soul?"
"Which musical and/or poem will President Monson quote this time?"
"Do these women go to training sessions to learn to talk like that?"
"Should Sister Dibb be smiling quite so broadly when relating the story of a deadly construction accident?" (I'm putting that one down to nervousness at speaking in front of millions of people.)
"Do I need another cookie?" (Answer: no.)
"But do I want another cookie? Or four?" (Answer: Yep and Yep. And they were great.)

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So . . . um, it's snowing

In September.

Not cool.

Also I am not dead, just in case I caused anyone to wonder about that. I am quite alive but just haven't had any good stories/rants/whatever to tell the Internet (at least none that I can tell without getting fired but trust me, there have been some reeeeaal psychos wandering through my doors lately). So I did myself a favor and just didn't worry about posting anything--which was quite a liberating feeling. I highly recommend it.

But here's what's been going on in the last weekerso:

Finished a couple of knitting projects and started working on a pair of knee socks for Savvy. This is my first foray into sock yarn. To get a taste of what that is like, go fetch some dental floss and two darning needles. And then turn that into socks.

Married off the Gentleman Husband's baby sister over the weekend. Everything was lovely, except for the group waiting for the wedding after ours who possibly felt that the inside of a temple is the equivalent of somebody's barn and therefore chose to carry on an incredibly loud reunion therein. No lie, when the temple worker came in to shush them, they didn't even notice him. But the bride was beautiful, the sealer did a great job, and everyone was happy. Afterwards drove through Utah's Fruit Way (scored amazing peaches, corn, butternut squash, and pumpkins) to Maddox with GH's family, where we stuffed ourselves on the fabulous food. Fact: One of the ways GH wore me down back in the day was by taking me to Maddox so that I could have quite-possibly-sinful relations with their steak. Pavlov would be proud.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go defrost my feet.

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Yet another reason to love the Dollar Store

I was in The Dollar Tree today buying $1 fall decorations. (4 dollars later my house is now at least 55% more festive--go me and go the Chinese!)

I have decided they have the best music playing over their sound system. It's no-holds-barred shameless cheesy stuff, and yet. You cannot resist its lure. I caught a woman browsing next to me singing along under her breath. One time I possibly bopped around in the aisles at some completely embarrassing ghetto song from my junior high years (and no, I don't remember what it was). Today there was David Bowie and "Afternoon Delight."

I didn't notice the music so much during my last visit because the elderly woman behind me in the motherlong line was having back trouble and so to distract herself she engaged me in conversation. Unfortunately, most of the "conversation" consisted of her remarking on every item included in the at-register display and expecting me to say something back. This including the ovulation calculators, at which point I was at somewhat of a loss. I finally tried, "Yeah, I hear they have good pregnancy tests too." To which she answered "No, dear, this isn't a pregnancy test, it's a test to tell you if you can get pregnant." Ooookay then.

But anyway, I'm interested to know what company comes up with their playlists because the style is very much "Music People Would Never Admit Liking But They Will Still Find Themselves Singing Along and Bopping and Possibly Having Arrested Development Flashbacks."

They are evil geniuses, I tell you.



And now for the challenge: when next you visit your local dollar store, especially if it's a Dollar Tree, take note of the music. I shall do the same.

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I am sorry if your family is perhaps not as photogenic as my family

(Note: This may also have something to do with the part where I am in none of these pictures.)

After Baby Hudson's baby blessing last month, my b-in-law held a little family photo shoot.

You may want to clap your hands over your mouths now, because you are about to see The Baby Sweater COMPLETE WITH BABY.








. . drumroll . . .






YEAH. Can you even deal with that???? I certainly can't, and have been whimpering at my desk now for about the last hour. If anyone asks what's wrong I'll just tell them I have a disorder. And that, you know, my right ovary just exploded. Or I'll just show them the picture and they can start making baby animal yelps right along with me.

Here is my hot mom holding Master Precious III.

And here's my dad, who pretty much turns into a puddle of (very manly and tough) goo over babies.



(See also: From Whence I Inherited The Eyebrow)




And here are the happy grandparents with their grand-progeny. Please don't ask me what Ethan is doing--this is the same boy who, in all of my wedding pictures, is trying to pull his shirt up over his head.

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Feeling Glee-ful

Reasons why I am enjoying the new show Glee perhaps a little too much:

I am a geek who did band/orchestra/drama in high school.

The music, like this number from the premiere.

Cutie-pie Matthew Morrison as Spanish-teacher-turned-Glee-coach Will Schuester

Jane Lynch as cheerleading coach Sue Sylvester

Sue Quotes:

"You think this is hard? Try being waterboarded, that's hard!"

"Lady justice wept today."

Sue (while offering Will an iron tablet): "Keeps your strength up while you're menstruating."
Will: "I don't menstruate."
Sue: "Yeah? Neither do I."

Waiting for Rachel and Finn to get together.

Waiting for Teacher Will and Guidance Counselor Emma to get together.

The moment when Teacher Will, um, sort of takes his jacket off and starts dancing around and suddenly it's kind of awesome because I did not even know Teacher Will was just walking around with arms like that. Even if he is singing a song that Kanye "I Kick Puppies and Clearly Have a Disorder of Some Kind" West wrote. (See below.)

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Check out my new baby

Yeah. She was my birthday present from GH, and I have named her Flip Mino Camcorder. Or maybe somebody else named her that. I forget. Anyway, turns out that ever since I mentioned, months ago, that it might be cool to one day get something like this, GH had been watching the deals websites and came across a gorgeous refurbished one for a ridiculous price. Which I find insanely hot. The thing weighs less than my cell phone and is tiny and fits easily in my purse. (Or in my knitting bag, which I may or may not have taken to work so that I could show off my bunny and then left sitting underneath the information desk with the video camera inside it. Not that we are ever telling GH that part. Ever.)

Thank you to everyone for their lovely birthday wishes, I did have a great day. Friday night GH obliged me with a screening of Julie & Julia (Meryl Streep + France + food + bloggers = fab). Truthfully I was more interested in the Julia Child half of the movie than the Julie Powell half, but whatevs (as my sister Spitfire would say).

Mom and Dad sent a package with a really cool bag and some Bday money. My dad sent me flowers and told me that no one had prepared him for the trauma that comes when one wakes up and discovers one is now old enough to have a 30-year-old child. So . . . everyone please feel sorry for my dad. Because it was a hard day for him. The flowers are amazing, though.

GH's sweet family got me gift cards to Knit Picks, which means that soon, oh so very soon, I will own the set of knitting needles I have coveted ever since Daltongirl taunted me with hers. Now I can join the ranks of People Who Perhaps Enjoy Their Knitting Needles A Little Too Much.

Jenny & Co hosted an afternoon birthday event, complete with chocolate-raspberry cake, fresh raspberries, and vanilla bean ice cream. Special guests included Daltongirl, Daltonboy, Cicada, Murray, and baby Gulliver. Both Daltongirl and Cicada made me delightful, thoughtful birthday gifts (a knitting needle organizer and a very cool desk calendar). Cicada's desk calendar might be one day available for you to purchase and enjoy. But Daltongirl's gift was just for me.

Me, GH, and a too-cool-for-this-picture Savvy

Jenny and Ed

Cicada and Murray. Realized too late I did not have a picture of Gulliver. Please go here to see his sweet face. (Note: Once you see these pics, your birth control might stop working. You have been warned.)

Coolboy and the very cool Aubrey. She will need to tell me if she wants a sweet code name. (Note: Not their baby.)

Heh. Ethan, who was very invested in me getting good shots of him enjoying his cake.

After the cake and ice cream, GH and I went to dinner at Tucanos (story coming) and then hit the Laughin' Nite of the Timpanogos Storytelling Festival. We ended up sitting near the lovely Marie from Make and Takes, who was soon joined by Ali from Petit Elefant. And she sat right next to me and was hilarious. Because awesome things happen when I turn 30. Ali and I met at Cicada's wedding but I hadn't seen her since. And during that moment of Hi, I'm so-and-so, Cicada's friend, yadda, she said, "That's right, and you're Jenny's sister!"

Friends, I called Jenny as soon as I could to tell her what just happened ("and then she said, 'Oh, you're Jenny's sister!'") and if the triumphant donkey-braying I received in response is any indication, that pretty much made her Middle Child Syndrome year.

It was a Birthday Miracle.

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The Labor of my Labor Day

Have much birthday loveliness to report on, but first I have to show you what I did yesterday. I watched Pride & Prejudice (you can read my original fan-girl review here) and finished making a little something for my brother Dave's soon-to-be baby girl.

Dave & Valli, if you want to be surprised then you'll need to not scroll down or turn images off or something.





. . .









Ready?

Tah-dah!

I flatter myself it's quite adorable, even if I did come really close to chucking the thing off the balcony a time or two.

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Languages of Luuuuuuurve

Some of you may have heard of the 5 Love Languages, as outlined by Dr. Gary Chapman. (I've also heard other people refer to it as "love currency.") The basic idea is that people give and interpret love differently, so it's important to understand how to best show love to those around you and to let them know what kind of gestures are the most meaningful to you.

I started thinking about this a couple of months ago and wondered if it might be helpful to see if GH and I are actually doing the things that mean the most to the other.

SO. Here are the different Languages of Luuuurve, according to this one guy:

Words of Affirmation
Quality Time
Receiving Gifts
Acts of Service
Physical Touch


Turns out my "primary love language" is Physical Touch. I have been suspecting this for a little while. Also this is funny because I'm not an incredibly touchy person normally. But it turns out that in romantic relationships I'm a big toucher, which makes a lot of sense when I think about how as a dater I was always about thiiiisclose to getting myself into trouble. This is probably why Heavenly Father thought it would be best for my eternal soul if I didn't date very much. (Note: it would have been helpful to know if that was the reason my ovaries were spending all that time shriveling.)

Now, it would be nice if GH could be one of the Physical Touch people too. Then we could just spend every day fused to each other and both be happy as clams. He is very good at being married to a toucher, though, and never even says words like, "What the heck, Remora Woman, give me my space!"

But it's not the remora action that makes him feel the most loved and appreciated. Instead, he is an Acts of Service person. Which means that to make him feel special I may actually have to get up off my butt and do stuff for him. To him, nothing says "I love you" more than "Hey, I just took care of your oil change and your car registration so now you don't have to do it."

So here's him: "Wow, if Nem would take care of those errands for me that would be amazing. I would feel so loved."

And here's me: "What am I, your mother? Don't your legs work? I don't ask you to run MY errands, do I? GOOOOooosh!"

This was before I got it about the Love Language thing. Sure, I think it would be easier if I could just, like, touch his knee every now and then. Cuz that's free and I don't actually have to expend much energy to do it.

But I'm trying to be better. I even conducted an experiment last week to see about filling GH's, ahem, "love tank." His younger sister is getting married at the end of the month, and he's doing a video for them (like the one he did for us). She gave us a whole bag of photos, but we needed to pick which ones to use and then scan them. GH was not looking forward to this part. So while he slept I chose the best 40 pictures, scanned them, cropped and edited them, and got them all organized in one folder, which I left open on the computer. I also went to Costco and bought a huge pack of paper towels, which I'd been holding off on doing on account of they kill trees. Except GH loves them and has been sad and mopey and (and this is the real problem) less kitchen-cleany ever since the previous Costco pack wore out. So I bought them and put them in the middle of the living room floor. Because our kitchen table would have collapsed under their bulk.

The plan was that he would wake up and when he went out to get his cereal he would see the paper towels. And THEN when he sat down at the computer to catch up on all his nerd websites, he would see the folder with all the scanned and ready-to-go images. And then he would be all overwhelmed with love for me and might even send me an email at work declaring said love.

Which is pretty much exactly how it happened, so I think I am possible on to something here.

And now am off to work like a busy beaver until I can go home and begin my birthday weekend. I turn 30 tomorrow, y'all! Will be bidding farewell to my twenties with homemade chocolate raspberry cake courtesy of my sister Jenny. Which will take quite a bit of the sting out, I am sure. I hope everyone has a great Labor Day weekend!

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No tights, just leather pants. Which, hey, I'll take it.

Cedar City was marvelous. I did not go with GH, I actually went with a lovely L**** friend whom I will refer to as JJ. She's the one I went to Hawaii with last year and the Shakespearean Festival (again, some more) the year before that, and a better traveling companion you will not find, I tell you. She actually likes driving, so I didn't even have to do any of it.

One thing I've noticed is that whenever JJ and I get together, even though we are generally upbeat people, the conversation always tends to turn to dark topics. And since we had quite a long drive there and back, I joked with her beforehand that I was going to time us to see how long it took before we were earnestly discussing self-mutilation. We never got there, but instead covered health care; racism; spinsterhood; bipartisanship; family issues; gender politics within the Church; education; food production; and our country's high C-section rate. We are pretty much a laugh riot. But hanging out with JJ was the biggest highlight of the trip.

The second biggest highlight was the part where I only heard ONE cell phone go off during a play. (Which is one more than last time, but whatever, I'll take it as long as it's not the complete cell-phone-insanity-fest that was 2005. It seems that maybe the old people got their grandkids to teach them how to turn their phones off in the last 4 years). The phone that did ring had the same ringtone, however, as mine. Which made me crap an absolute brick until I reminded myself, "You turned off your phone outside and then you double-checked just before the play began. You know that's not your phone. Please resume breathing."

But still. It was pretty terrifying. Because if that had been my phone ringing during the first act of The Secret Garden when poor Archie and Lily are singing about their doomed love I would have had to throw myself off the balcony. Which would have likely injured the people below me.

Anyway, for those who asked, we saw The Secret Garden, Henry V (wherein Brian Vaughn did indeed spit him up a storm), and Foxfire. All were wonderful, more on that to come!

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Barding it

Hello, everyone! I hope you all have great weekends--I am off to Cedar City for the Utah Shakespearean Festival, because it has simply been too long since I've watched men prance around in tights.

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All parents are not created equal

Today a mom noticed that her toddler had located a little kids magazine and was beginning the "I'm going to rip this magazine because I am in awe of my strong ripping powers!" process. She rushed over to stop him but got there about a second too late. So she took the magazine away, informed him that we do not rip things, and found him a very sturdy book to read. She then brought the magazine over to me, told me what happened, and asked if she needed to pay for it.

I told her not to worry about it, that it looked like something I could easily fix with a bit of tape, and thanked her for bringing it over. Then we shared a laugh about toddlers and their Destructo ways.

This mommy is one of the good ones and I will always think of her this way unless something drastic should happen, like if I find her changing her baby's diaper in the middle of the children's section, using pages from a library book as wipes. Something like that.

Last night, the other kind of mother was here. She wasn't paying attention to her two little ones and they were running around like crazy loud dervishes. Crazy barefoot loud dervishes. One of the librarians went over and told her that her children needed to wear shoes in the library.

Mom: "Well, they chose not to wear shoes today."

Librarian, probably doing a massive internal eyeroll: "Well, if you choose to come to the library they need to have shoes on."

The mom proceeded to talk about how every time they come here someone ruins her children's library experience by saying things like "your kids need to wear shoes." And how we are making the library "not fun." And she wants to come back and speak with the director about how not-fun-making we are.

I wish I'd been there. My response would have been simple:

"Ma'am, sick people cough and spit on our floors, teens have thumbtack wars in the children's area, and a couple of weeks ago we found poop on the carpet. Still think your kids should be barefoot in here?"

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Oh . . . karma. But with a surprise happy ending!

So remember that one time when I talked about how yay and happy I was on account of we just paid off my student loan and how I'm fer shure going to get us living off one income and maybe the Obama administration should call me to get my budgeting advice because I'm Just. That. Awesome at it?

Yeah.

As my dear superstitious GH would say, it's like you're just giving karma the chance to come after you.

Our first month of just-living-on-one-paycheck-except-for-the-part-where-we-treated-ourselves-to-an-anniversary-getaway also turned out to be the month where:

#1. Our electric bill went from $40 to $100, thanks to the freaking A/C that we probably don't even NEED because the pioneers didn't have it and they were fine.

#2. I went over on our cell phone minutes for the first time in EVER, resulting in a bill that was $50 higher than normal. Awesome.

#3. The annual Tivo bill arrived. (See "things we don't need because the pioneers don't have them." Note how I only use this argument on the things I don't care about.)

#4. We drove a whole lot, doubling our gas expenses.

#5. GH's car broke.

This last one was the best. The power window on GH's 1992 Honda Accord has been on the blink a while, causing the window to work its way down until we could force it back up. It decided last week to break down completely, leaving the window stuck in a half-opened position, just begging the many car thieves and smash & grabbers in our area to come take a look.

(Before I continue this story, I have pretty much decided that power windows are of the Devil and are just an excuse to put one more thing into your car that can break and have to be expensively fixed. Cuz really, it's not like much could go wrong with the manual kind. And when you inevitably roll off the road and land in a river and are supposed to swim out through the window because you can't get the door open, are you really sure those power windows are going to work underwater? Yeah. Thanks for letting me just drown there with my hypothetical babies, power windows.)

So we take the car to our usual place and they say the necessary part will need to be ordered and should cost between $110 and $130. And then the labor will cost about $150. Great. Perfect. Except that night GH caught me online while I was at work to have this conversation with me:

GH: pep boys just called, they say that because it's an american car they can only find the piece they need from the dealer and that because of that the total is going to be 600 dollars!!!
me: blink. blink blink.

And that's when my brain completely imploded. This, for a car that is maybe worth $1500.

He asked if he should call them back and tell them to go ahead and I said NONONOnonononono, wait until we could talk about it. Two hours later, he got back online for this conversation

GH: you there?
me: Yep, what's up?
GH: hey I think I just found the part i needed on ebay for forty dollars.
me: Are you for sure serious?
GH: I called the website and he said it was what I needed... then I called pepboys to see if they'd install it if I brought the part in and they say yeah... there just wouldn't be a warranty.
me: Wow. When I get home, [very specific promise that I won't repeat here].

So yeah. He totally found the right part. It arrived in a few days, we drove it over, they installed it, it works, and the peasants rejoiced. And we paid about $100 less than we would have if they'd just found the part initially for the price they first gave us. (Big note to self: Always try this online thing it is awesome.) And now I'm not even so upset about the way our budget went all to crap this month since we dodged such a huge bullet.

I've been telling everyone who will listen about the genius I married. Then GH confessed to me that the only reason he even thought to look online was because he desperately did not want to experience what I would be like if we actually had to dump $600 into his car over a window.

I think that is what is called Being a Good Team.

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Ruminations upon the subject of library parents

Rumination #1: When I politely inform you that your child is too young to be left alone in the children's section, the right thing to do is to log out of your Facebook page and go read with said child. A lesser option would be to make the child sit at the computer with you while she wonders aloud what bad thing she did for the librarian to banish her from the children's area.

Rumination #2: You just now realized we have a summer reading program, 4 days before school starts? And you want to enroll your kids?

Rumination #3: I really don't think your 6-year-old actually wants the book Twilight as his summer read prize. But way to make him pick that one anyway.

Rumination #4: Why would someone pay big bucks to adopt a tiny spicy exotic baby if she was just planning to take him to the library in a few years and then ignore him while he runs out the door and into traffic? Because really, it seems like there are other ways to blow your money.

Just, you know, things I get to ponder.

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Goodbye

To the remaining readers of this blog, I have moved to greener pastures. You can locate me at http://lingnemesis.wordpress.com/.

I hope to slit you there swoon. =D

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Commemorating One Year of the Thermostat War

So it's kind of hard for me to believe it, but the Gentleman Husband and I passed our 1st wedding anniversary on Sunday.

To celebrate we went up to L**** for a little getaway, which was relaxing and lovely and full of good foods, as any self-respecting getaway must be. More to come on that.

A lot of people's first year of marriage, while great, grand, and wonderful, is also a very difficult one. This makes sense because if you think about it, it's kind of a big year.

It's the year you learn to live with this other person who, as it turns out, believes that the inside of the toilet bowl is really only a loose sort of goal rather than an ironclad, electric-current-bordered target. (Seriously, can someone please make an electrified toilet rim? And maybe do the floor, too? I would appreciate it. You know, for a friend of mine. Who you don't know.)

In turn, they learn how to deal with the fact that sometimes you're just going to cry and be a rage beast for no (real) reason, and how to navigate that without losing an arm or other valuable body part.

It's the year you begin learning to balance loyalty and responsibility to each other and your own new family with all of the events, traditions, and expectations of the families you grew up in. (Note: Good luck with that.)

You're learning how to have a good physical relationship, which comes with a significant learning curve and the potential for unrealistic expectations, frustration, and hurt feelings.

If one or both of you are moving to a new town or starting new jobs, there's the stress of those transitions.

You have to deal with things like January. And February. You know--awful, awful cold things.

So yeah. When I think about this, it's not hard to understand why someone would say that their first year of marriage was the hardest. And when I report that for us this has not so much been the case, I am fully aware that this is because it's going to be some other year--maybe even this coming one, that will deliver the real pimp slaps.

But as far as this year goes, it really has been great and fast and surprisingly smooth. GH has been more patient and understanding and kitchen-cleany than I expected or deserve. I like to believe that I have been more silly and less the Enemy of Fun that he was prepared for. (I mean hi, I played Rock Band last night. And I ruled at it.) Our families have been great as we've tried to get our act together and balance our time between them. Rather than pestering us about when we are going to reproduce, our ward members have for the most part ignored us. (Except I will say that whoever reported that they home-taught us for the last two months is going DOWN, because no way is that true. Ignore us all you want but don't pretend otherwise, friend.)

And now this is the part where you can look away because I am going to thank GH for what has been the best year so far of my life. And that's INCLUDING that one time when I lived in England. So, you know, this is serious.

But now I'd like to hear from you, gentle readers. If you are married, what has been your hardest year so far? Which transitions have been the most difficult--and was it something you could have foreseen or did it come as a complete suckerpunch? If you're not married (or you just don't want to talk about your own relationship because you have standards like that), feel free to pass on what you've heard or observed, because I know you know stuff too.

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Now I am a movie critic too, because I can do pretty much whatever I want

And today I wish to discuss the movie 500 Days of Summer.


I do realize it's already been reviewed by both Handsome Gentlemen and cool Jet-setters. But I want to chime in too, dangit. Because it was wonderful.

Like the awesome-voiced narrator tells us in the very beginning, "This is not a love story. This is a story about love." It follows Tom, played by the surprisingly n adorable and charming Joseph Gordon-Levitt. Tom is a 20-something young pup who studied architecture in college but now has a job creating copy for greeting cards. He believes in destiny, fate, soaking it up in a hot tub with his soul mate, all of it. He meets new receptionist Summer (GH's GF Zooey Deschanel) and, on the basis of her attractiveness and their similar taste in music, decides that she's The One. Unfortunately, although she likes Tom, Summer does not actually believe in love, or marriage, or soul mates. Tom is so infatuated with her, however, that he . . . chooses to kind of ignore this. Until she breaks up with him and he falls completely apart and is determined to win her back.

First off, I would like to say kudos to a movie that actually casts two people in their 20s as romantic partners, with the kinds of jobs and friends that people that age would actually have. This instead of pairing 29-year-old Zooey Deschanel with, oh, I dunno, 47-year-old Jim Carrey and then pretending like the 20-year age difference doesn't even exist. Way to suck, Hollywood.

This movie was pretty much perfect, I thought. It was funny and sad and real--oh my, was it ever real. In fact, there was one point in the movie where Tom stands up and makes an impassioned speech in front of his coworkers about three-fourths of the way in. That was the first time I ever thought, "Um, but would a person really DO that?" That's how I know that I was watching something that was 500 times better than your (sub)average recent romantic comedy. Because those movies expect you to suspend your disbelief before you even leave your dang house. In any other romantic comedy the impassioned speech would have come from Matthew McConaughy to an entire ballroom of people, during a wedding, and maybe he would be naked and holding a pillow over his bits, and then at the end of the speech everyone would be crying and clapping and curing cancer and adopting tiny spicy exotic babies left and right. In this movie there was none of that mess.

The filmmakers did some really clever things that I think worked extremely well. The narrative isn't linear but instead flips around, with title cards letting you know which day of the 500 Days you're on. It makes sense, though, and leads you through the story in a way that is really quite moving. And it also made me want to watch it again to see which little moments and call-backs I could catch better the second time around. One great visual involved a split-screen device that shows Tom's expectations of a reconciliation with Summer on the left and what actually happens on the right. Heartbreaking, but also very funny.

This movie also contains the most sublime moment I've seen on film all year, which occurs as Tom walks through LA after spending the night with Summer. I won't describe it to you, but I was giddy with delight. What happens is not based in reality at all, but the feeling it portrays most definitely is. And the soundtrack is great.

There were other scenes, however, that resonated in a different, slightly painful way. Because I have done some of the things Tom does here. I have been in relationships where I saw every insignificant little thing as further evidence that this guy and I were MFEO. I have been unwilling to recognize red flags. I was unwilling to actually listen to the words this person was saying and to realize that perhaps they did not bode well for our future together. I can laugh about it now, but at the time I was just setting myself up to be heartbroken.

A few days after seeing the movie, GH and I listened to a podcast featuring one of the film's two writers. He talked about how in test screenings, the people who loved this movie the most were men. And how men are, unfortunately, the least likely to be the ones running out to tell their guy friends that they have GOT to check out this new romantic comedy. Except GH did because he's secure (and hot) like that.

It's true, though. He laughed even harder than I did and there were moments during Tom's angst and dejection and misery where GH just nodded his head and said, "Yep." And then I'd lean over and stroke his arm and whisper, "I'm really, really sorry. Remember how I married you in the end, though?"

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Speaking of corn

On Saturday the Gentleman Husband and I were driving down to Provo for a BBQ with my family. On the way we listened to the songs on his iPod because he has attitude about the songs on mine.

A song by U2 started to play (I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking for) and I asked a question that has long puzzled me.

Me: So what's the King of Corn?

GH: The what?

Me: You know, in the song. Bono says he "believes in the King of Corn."

GH: I . . . don't think that's what he's saying. Wait, do you mean when he says "I believe in the Kingdom Come?"

Yeah. He pretty much has not stopped laughing over that one.

But speaking of "Corn is King," have you seen the new high-fructose corn syrup commercials put out by the Corn Refiner's Association? You need to watch this, and then watch the response put out in the next clip.

Heh.

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