If you think Autumn's eye is gross

You should smell her burps. I don't know how I ended up with a dog whose burps (burps!) smell like diarrhea. It's gross.

I am making a face right now. An I'm-smelling-something-gross face. In fact, Jeff just came downstairs and said, "Why the face?"

Then he decided to go back upstairs because it stinks in the living room.

Something I figured out

I am new to the world of short hair, and I am a little slow sometimes. Here is something I just figured out about my new, short hair.

The trick is not always to get your hair to do what you want. Sometimes that is impossible. In those instances, you just gotta make it LOOK like you got your hair to do what you want.

And then own it.

Another way to get people to come to your blog

Post pictures!!

Okay, so I read Staci's blog. She has basenjis, which are African hunting dogs. African tribal hunters used to carry these small dogs in what is called the native carry.

Here's what it looks like.

As a part of her 365 self portrait project, Staci took a picture of herself doing the native carry with one of her own dogs.



Looks easy, right?

I don't have an African hunting dog. I have a Welsh herding dog. But I decided to try the native carry anyway.


Yeah, not really the same effect. I mean, I look okay in this picture, but poor Dylan looks like a tubbo. I swear he's not fat. Corgis are just thick dogs. Really.

Why I don't post often enough

I'm not going to discuss all the reasons. I'm not sure that I even know all the reasons. (Some of them have to do with my mental/emotional condition at the moment.)

But, I have figured at least one of them out:

I think too much about who is reading this.

Thinking about your audience is usually a good thing. It helps you figure out topics and language and stuff. But this is a blog. And what are you supposed to write about on a blog? WHATEVER YOU WANT. This is about me. I get to write what I want.

But still, I get stuck on that.

Here is a sample thought process: "Do I really want that former co-worker who I know reads my blog to read this?"

Then suddenly, I can't think of anything that I want that person to know.

Of course, I could also be thinking of someone I work with NOW, or someone I go to church with, or a high school friend who found me on facebook or an old boyfriend.

It doesn't matter, the result is the same. I can't think of anything I want to say to any/all of those people.

I don't like that. I'm going to try to get over it. If a person is afraid of others knowing their thoughts or interests, they shouldn't write a blog.

Capisce?

What I want versus what I'm willing to work for

I like having people read my blog. That may not come as a surprise to you. A friend once told me that my favorite subject was me. He's not wrong, but I suspect that is the case with most people, so I feel okay with it.

I think I have figured out one of the tricks for having a blog with high readership. Are you ready for this?

Post often enough.

I don't think there is a magic number of how often is often enough. Depending on your content and your readers, you could even post too often. (If the content is cute/funny pictures of animals, or of evidence of people doing dumb things, this does not apply.)

I think maybe three times a week is good for the kind of content I'd like to have on my blog.

So why don't I do that?

Check back next post.

Introducing Autumn One-eye Winterspring

A few months ago, Jeff and I got a new dog. Like Merit, Autumn is technically just a foster for now, but we are hoping our home is her forever home.

A police officer found her roaming the streets in north Philly and took her to the shelter. For the most part, she was in good health, but she had a pretty gruesome eye injury.

Nasty, isn't it? (Click the image for a larger view.)

The shelter gave us some pills to give her and some ointment to put on her eye. Let me tell you, it's REALLY hard to put ointment into the eye of a squirmy dog without damaging her eye even more.

After a few weeks, her eye was looking a little better, but not a lot. It wasn't as red and had become more pug eye than boil.




Over the next few weeks, we tried to figure out if she could see out of her injured eye. When we threw the ball for her, we noticed that if we threw it towards her good side, she could follow it, but if we threw it towards her bad side, she would lose it. She also bonked her head on things a few times. All signs pointed to her being blind in one eye.

We still wanted her to keep the eye, even if merely for aesthetic reasons. Two-eyed dogs don't look as freaky as one-eyed dogs, and Jeff and I are pretty big on our dogs being cute. (Have you seen Dylan? OMG, he's a freaking cutie!)

When we took Autumn in to get spayed, the doctor told us her eye wasn't looking as well as he would like and he wanted to just take the eye out. It was a little sad, but we knew that Autumn wouldn't be able to tell the difference since she was already blind in her "dead eye."

After the surgery, Autumn looked terrible. She acted just as happy and squirmy as ever, but she looked pretty disgusting.



For starters, half of her head was shaved, but also, she still had iodine on her fur, her wound itself looked like a hack job*, and her eye was oozing blood. Pretty freaking gross.

It has now been two weeks since the surgery and she's looking MUCH better, even if she still is a freaky one-eyed dog.



Autumn is still a puppy, and therefore is still troublesome, but she's a good girl who is learning quickly. Now if we can just get Dylan to stop being afraid of her, we can all live happily ever after.

*I imagine that shelter dogs serve as practice for vet students.

Why I like Facebook

I can manage to come up with something interesting to say that is approximately one sentence in length.

Beyond that, I somehow just end up complaining.

Troublemaker

One of the reasons that moving to Philly was hard for me was that the church that Jeff and I attend is pretty different from my church back home. And it's not just the style of the church that's different. The people are different. When I came here, it was hard for me to really believe that the people were going to accept me.

Honestly, I still don't know.

But that fear has actually made it hard for me to make friends, because I have been reserved and quiet. But you know what? That ain't me. And I want to be done with that.

So this is where I start. Here is where I will say who I am, without being coy or evasive.

-I recycle. But really, only because it is convenient.
-I use Round Up in the back yard on the weeds (including poison ivy, so I'm not even sorry.)
-I am a registered Republican. (I might be the only one you know!)
-I voted for George W. Bush in 2004.
-I voted for Barak Obama in 2008. (I wanted to vote Republican, really I did. But they just made it too freaking hard. First of all, who was that angry, desperate person who claimed to be John McCain? He ran a terrible campaign, at least here in PA. And Sarah Palin... she just ain't ready for the big league.)
-I don't use biodegradable tampons. I use the ones with the plastic applicator.
-I use 7th generation laundry detergent and dish washing detergent.
-I use method floor cleaner and an omop.
-I don't want to buy my clothes from a thrift shop. I want to buy them new from the mall or Target or something.
-I like to buy lattes from Starbucks.
-I don't think Wal-Mart is the devil.
-I would probably get more of my furniture from garage sales if only I didn't have to get up early to find the good deals.
-I am not a pacifist.
-I like to wear makeup and get manis/pedis.
-I like country music.
-I am not a vegetarian.
-My favorite color is purple. (I know that doesn't really have anything to do with this, but I really do like purple.)
-I want to live in the suburbs, with a garage and a yard bigger than my living room.
-I take public transportation.
-I believe that just because someone isn't black, poor, about to have a baby, about to lose a baby, or dying of cancer doesn't mean that they don't still hurt or that they don't need someone to love them. Why am I on no one's radar?
-I like games, but I am not a gamer. (My husband married "outside the tribe.")
-I like exegesis.
-I haven't yet decided what I think about women leading churches. There is a part of me that is offended by the notion that women shouldn't lead churches, but in the search for truth I must at least be willing to accept it as a possibility.
-I believe the man is the head of the household, and women do a disservice to their husbands, their children, and themselves when they usurp that authority.
-I live in a two-car family.

What do you say, folks? Where is this community I hear so much about? I know, I know, I'm being antagonistic, and that hardly encourages new friends to flock my direction. But what do I have to lose? Keeping my mouth shut hasn't done me a lot of good.

Hemispherectomy

I have two sides to my brain. Don't worry, it's normal. You have that too.

Lately, one side of my brain has been very busy. It has done a lot of sorting and analyzing. Not the math kind, the emotional kind. Figuring out and understanding the present, trying to create a vision of the future. Trying to freaking relax, and understand the source of all the tension and what to do about it. Man, that side of my brain is tired.

But the other side is bored. It has sat idly by, watching half of me freak out about things it doesn't understand and can't control.

So tonight, I'm going to activate the bored side and let the tired side rest. How? Solitaire. Lots and lots of solitaire. In varying forms.

Too bad I can't play Nertz by myself.

Just for a minute

more animals

Ways in which I am broken

Sometimes it’s hard to be married. Let me be clear. I love my husband. He’s pretty freaking great. He’s my favorite person to talk to. Or watch Scrubs with. Or wash dishes with. Of all the guys I’ve dated, I married the guy who made the best husband.

But that doesn’t mean that life is always peachy. It's just he doesn’t always let me have my way, see? And I don’t mean in a temper tantrum “I wanted the purple fork and not the orange fork” sort of way*. More like, “Yeah, I think I’d just rather not talk about money, thank you very much” sort of way.

I WANT to be grown up and mature. But I’m not. I’m sinful and broken and childish. And I have a thing with money. It’s not like I’m a crazy spender. I’m not. I spend more money on eating out for lunch than I should, but it’s not like I’m going to Chili’s everyday for lunch. (As if going to Chili’s were the ultimate extravagance.) Other than that, my spending is normal. When I need clothes, I buy them. I SOMETIMES get my nails done, or whatever. But it’s actually pretty normal. Nothing really worth avoiding. Except I do, as if my life depended on it.

Which is tough because married couples gotta talk about money. Which leaves poor Jeff always being the bad guy. He makes me talk about money, but then I have to tell him I didn’t move that money to savings like I said I was going to, and I feel like a terrible person because I didn’t do it, and now I can’t because I spent some of the money on eating out, and I’m a terrible person and a terrible wife and it’s time for me to cry now, thanks.

Husbands don't normally like to see their wives cry. Jeff is no exception. But, hey, it happens and everybody lives. And most of the time he's patient and loving (although he's sinful and broken, too. But that's another post.) And eventually the tears stop, and I mope around for a while, feeling the weight of all that's wrong with me, and then that gets a little better, too, and suddenly I'm ready to watch a little Earl on TV. And I laugh. And everybody lives.

Sometimes I think being single would be easier. But I never think it would be better.

*But only because all of our forks and utensils in general are black. Otherwise, that statement might not be true.

Why this winter will not suck as much as last

I hate the cold. Jeff and I are both really big babies about winter. We spent like five straight months complaining to each other last year.

Oh, this year will have its moments. Moments where we wonder why we live in this God-forsaken arctic tundra. Why ANYone lives here. I mean, don't you know it doesn't get this cold other places? Just move already!

Basically, no matter where you go, people adapt. People adapt to Texas by air conditioning everything. Here, you shrink wrap your windows and use space heaters, and only live in half your house half the year, because it costs too much money to heat the entire thing.

Here is how Jeff and I are adapting:

1. Electric blanket - Jeff and I were on a pretty strict budget last year and one thing we didn't splurge on was an electric blanket. This year we're doing a little better, so I got one a few weeks ago. Oh, sweet heavenly heated blankets. May God bless the person who invented them and also the person who made mine and also the person who brought it to me, etc. Looking back, I see this should have been a necessary purchase last year. And the dual controls are nice since Jeff and I don't go to bed at the same time very often.

2. A heater that works - Last year, we had problems with our heat. It would blow hot until it was almost the desired temperature and then it would blow ice cold. That sucked. When it started to blow cold, we'd just turn the thing off, which meant that overnight, it would get pretty cold in the house. It's hard to go take a shower in a bathroom that is 55 degrees. But last week we had a guy come look at our system. Turns out, we had a heat pump thermostat, which he said was wrong so he changed it and now it's fine. No more cold. Also, this thermostat is PROGRAMMABLE, which means that it starts to heat up the house about 30 minutes before I get up. Nice.

These are simple but effective ways to decrease my displeasure this winter and will likely result in the number of complaints uttered in this house being reduced by at least 20%. Which will make life better for my husband.

Blogaday?

So, my husband has a blog. He's a writer, so he sorta has to, right? He's a great writer. That's how I fell in love with him, all those years ago. Well, it's how I started to like him, at least.

So last November was his first ever Blogaday. He blogged everyday for a month. This year, he's at it again, but this time he challenged other bloggers to the same. So here I am.

I'm not sure I'll blog every day. But I will make a concerted effort to blog more often this month. And sometimes I'll include pictures!

I don't have too much to say today, but I'll let you know a little bit about how my day went.

This morning, Jeff and I had to go to the bank. But, I ate too much sugar for breakfast. I'm hypoglycemic and so sometimes a Kashi waffle with honey and a glass of Ovaltine is too much sugar and sometimes it isn't. But when it is, it's bad. So I threw up at Bank of America this morning. The bathroom is supposed to be just for employees, but I guess I looked bad enough that she let me in anyway.

Don't worry, no pictures with this blog post.

Some people don't take me seriously (sigh)

What do I thinkie wink
When people look above the sink
Amidst an awful smelly stink
And disregard a rhyme

The rhyme is there
To clear the air
Left by a dirty derrière
For the next potty girl in line

But there are those
Disliking potty prose
Who flip their nose
And ignore it all the time

They think it’s dumb
They like to smell their bum
And when others come
They totally like it too because they’re soooo crazy about their friend and totally dig that she hates potty poems and all that and like reading her blog!

The above poem was written by my dear friend Christy, whom I miss terribly, even though she enjoys doing things that she knows annoy me.

What I think of potty poetry

I have seen at least two poems posted in workplace bathrooms that inform people of how to properly do their business.

I will share them with you:

If you sprinkle
When you tinkle
Please be neat
And wipe the seat

-AND-

If when you poo, you happen to stink
Please remember the fumes aren’t pink
So for everyone else who uses this room this day
Please use the provided spray.

Can I tell you how much this annoys me? (You might as well say yes.)

I was hoping someone would ask me who took the poetry off the walls (and threw it in the trash where it belonged.) I would proudly tell them I did and I would tell them why: because bathroom poetry is unprofessional and passive-aggressive and it annoys me and I hate it.

And then I imagine they would tell me I was being passive-aggressive and I would say, “No. Passive-aggressive is when you say one thing with your words and the OPPOSITE with your tone. I think my words and my tone are saying the same thing: You are dumb*.”

On Wikipedia, it lists the following as a passive-aggressive behavior**:
Does not express hostility or anger openly (e.g., expresses it instead by leaving notes)

*No, I wouldn't actually tell them they were dumb. But this is MY blog, and if I want to exaggerate a bit, I think I can.
**Yes, I know Wikipedia is not an actual, citable source, and NO, I did not add the above wording to the Passive-Aggressive Behavior page myself.

Crystal Ball

Tonight, I'm afraid I was thinking. (A dangerous pastime. I know.)

I was thinking of a future me. The Meredith 10 years from now. The 40-year-old me. And here's what I thought:

She and the future Jeff have taken that trip to Italy.
She has gone back to school for another degree.
She and the future Jeff have gotten the honeymoon paid off. And her car. And her student loan.
Her home is comfortable and a refuge from the world. She finally made that pot rack she wanted. And she finally printed some wedding pictures and put them in frames and even hung them on the wall.
She and Jeff have had a baby, and have maybe even decided where to raise that child and where he/she will go to school.

She knows what is my future. She knows how all these things work out. More specifically, how all this stuff will get paid for. And she didn't have to divine it far in advance, when she couldn't possibly have had enough information. She knows it all because she lived it. And when she needed to know, God made sure she knew.

And do you know what she would say to me? She'd say, "Honey, why did you worry so much? Why did you stress out? Why did you grind your teeth in your sleep from anxiety? It didn't help. All those things would have come to pass anyway."

It was a really interesting experience. I was moved to pity for myself. Not in the usual, "Oh, feel sorry for me because my life is so hard." No, it was more like, "Hey, you got it pretty good. And things will work out. So relax."

I will try. Even if it takes me the next ten years.

Trying to transform my yard

I've mentioned before that my backyard is no oasis. It's much better than it used to be, but that isn't saying much since it used to be a jungle of weeds. Back in July, my mom and Jeff and I went to work on the yard and dug up weeds and tilled it and laid down newspaper and then mulched the entire yard. A few weeds have started to creep back up, but I'm able to handle them pretty well.

About the same time we got rid of the weeds, I planted some azaleas, and two weeks ago, I bought a rose bush. So things are gradually coming together.

This week, a coworker brought me some lilies she dug out of her yard and tonight, I started planting them. As I started digging the last hole, I saw something in the dirt. I reached out and touched it and realized it was fabric. I immediately recognized that this was no naturally occurring underground fabric. It was buried there. And people rarely just bury fabric in the yard for no reason. I knew I was about to make a discovery.

What would it be? As I grabbed the edge of the fabric and started pulling, I imagined what I would find: drugs? money? a dead body? Oy.

As I tugged and tugged, more of the earth started to give way, and finally it happened: bones fell out.



I didn't freak out. I mean, I didn't think, "Oh, this is just someone's pet," but I also didn't think, "Holy crap, I have a dead body in my back yard." All I really thought was, "What do I do?"

I called a few people and asked advice. I could tell the bones were small, but that didn't preclude it from still being a person. My brother came over and took a look, too, and finally we decided: This is probably someone's pet, but we HAVE to know for sure. And I sure didn't want to do any more digging around looking for a skull, so I called 911. (Just so you know, it is now an hour and a half later and the police still haven't shown up. Apparently "probable dead pet in the back yard" doesn't get a very high priority.)

When my husband got home, he had no qualms about trying to find a skull, which he did. Definitely an animal. Not a human. Shew!

But now I have animal bones in a bucket in the back yard. Now what do I do?

(Can you see the two big canine teeth on the skull?)

Dreaming of technology

I think PC Anywhere is pretty cool. But it doesn't really meet my needs. What I need is Desk Anywhere. I want to be able to sit at any desk, log into my desk, and get anything I need. Even if it's just a tissue.

la città che non dorme mai

Jeff and I spent part of Labor Day weekend in NYC. Let me just say, I love that city. It's so great. I mean, you know, there are too many people and it sorta smells in some places, but it's got some really great things, too! Let me recount for you my weekend:

Actually, no, I don't really want to. Too much work. Let me just show you a few pictures and annotate them for you. That'll have to be enough for now.

Sunday was Brazil Day. There were lots of Brazilians in town. Lots of yellow and green.

Here I am at Brazil Day.

Here is what I discerned while I was there: Brazilian men like to not wear shirts. And I firmly believe that, if they could get away with it, Brazilian women would also like to not wear shirts.

Here I am with the trash left over from Brazil Day.

Here is more trash and no me.

Here is a car that Jeff and I found. The hood is duck taped closed.

Here I am in Times Square.

Jeff and I bought hot dogs from a street vendor just outside Central Park.
Here we are taking our first bites.

Here I am at a kids' playground in Central Park.

Here I am at Bethesda Fountain in Central Park.
Can you find me?

Quit taking pictures and just come over here!

Here is a flower. In Bethesda Fountain. In Central Park.

(When we got up to leave, I so almost dropped the camera in the water.)

Here is Jeff at MoMA.
We like to have fun with art.

More Jeff. More fun.

Friends.

Here is Jeff making sure we aren't being dangerous or unlawful.

When you stand far away from this picture, you see this.

When you stand up close, you see this.

I don't know why my hair is flipping out like this.
It annoys me.

I was standing next to this.

On the train back home, we decided to kill time by making up our own Sudoku. We screwed it up. Then Jeff started just to, I don't know, draw? Doodle? Anyway, I looked down and realized he had just doodled the word "gay."


I hope he isn't trying to tell me something. I'm pretty invested in this working out.

Non ancora

Yes, again.

I promise I won't talk about my hair forever, but I just think that has turned into something of a social experiment, an experiment that I'd like to write about.

Some people, when they see my new hair, comment. Sometimes it's a gentle, "Hey, I like your hair." Other times it's more dramatic, like the co-worker who pretended he was about to fall out of his chair.

But other people say absolutely nothing.

I mean, people get haircuts all the time. They don't all warrant praise. But if someone gets an entire foot of hair cut off, I think it's weird not to comment.

I think that's interesting, is all.

Vigliacca

I used to think I was the adventurous type. Let me qualify: the mildly adventurous type. Not the cliff-diving kind, but definitely the belly-button-piercing kind, and in my conservative world, there weren't very many of those.

I like doing new, but relatively tame stuff. Like chopping off my hair. But I realized today that there are some things I only want to do for a few days. And then I want to go back to normal. To comfortable. It's a good thing that there are some things I can't take back, cuz I am afraid I would and I would be sorry someday.

It was hard switching to Meredith. I mean, basically every other thing in my life changed, and I went and changed my name, too. It's a good thing you can't change your birthday cuz I might have gone stupid and changed that, too.

Anyway, today I was tired of my hair feeling different and tired of the attention (if you can even believe) and tired of absentmindedly running my fingers along the part of my neck that is shaved and basically I just wanted to feel normal again. I didn't really want my old hair back. I just wanted the new hair to hurry up and feel like my hair. I want to be used to how I look in the mirror. But that should happen soon cuz I can't stop looking at myself in the mirror.

Okay, I think that's enough freaking drama over a silly haircut. It's not like I donated a kidney or something.

So, more thoughts:
1. I've had about four people tell me that the first time I wash my hair after the new cut (which I've done now, so don't think I'm being gross) I was going to use too much shampoo.
2. It's nice being able to brush my teeth and not have to hold my hair back to keep from spitting in it.

Today

This weekend, I loved my hair.

Today, I am tired of different and am ready to go back to normal!

Who is that woman in the mirror?!

I haven't had my hair short in a long time. Maybe since kindergarten? That's a long time. I can remember twice (once in eighth grade and once in college) when it was shoulder-length, but those were pretty rare (and sometimes accidental) exceptions.

I've always admired women who could wear short hair. For some reason, I always felt too tall to wear it short. That doesn't really make any sense, but it was a serious mental block for me. Also, I never knew whether or not I would look like a complete and total retard with short hair, and I have had enough crappy haircuts in my life to be appropriately terrified.

I've been tempted to get it cut short for a while, but I kept chickening out when it was time to tell the hairdresser what I wanted done. I'd end up with basically the same haircut I'd had for several years, maybe with bangs or some layers, but that's the bravest I ever got. It's funny cuz I always felt regret and relief at the same time. Regret for being too chicken, but relief that I managed to dodge a potentially disastrous cut.

But eventually I decided that the only way I would know for sure is just to do it, and besides, I'm confident and smart, and I'm the CFO of the oldest medical organization in the country, and I'm not gonna be afraid of a haircut, dang it!

So yesterday, I did it!

This actually isn't a great picture, but this is Day One, so I felt like I needed to post it.

So here are my initial thoughts:

1. I think my new haircut makes my nose look really round.

2. You know how when you buy a new house, suddenly all your old furniture doesn't look as good? That's sorta how I felt with this new haircut. One of my first thoughts was, "Wow, I really need to do my eyebrows..."

3. You see that little flip it's doing? She made it do that. This morning, I figured I would try to make it do that myself. But after blow drying my hair, I discovered that my hair likes doing that naturally. In fact, maybe a little too much. After I put goop on my hair and waited a few hours, the flip chilled out some, which was good.

4. I don't need near as much shampoo.

5. My hair doesn't take as long to blow dry!

6. Not only do I feel more confident, I think I look more confident, which makes me feel like I can pull off "confident" a little better, which makes me feel more confident.

7. I think that I can change the look relatively easily. Last night, I experimented with the straightening iron and I really like how it looks completely straight, too.

Here are some more pics I took tonight, having "done" my hair myself. I know a lot of the pics sorta look the same, but there are only so many angles you can do when you don't have a remote and you are taking your own picture. (Also, I was playing with the settings on the camera, so... you know.)









I need to get my friend The Dif to take some more pics. They'll look way better.

Slugs

Jeff and I have slugs in our backyard, slugs like I have never seen before. They are some sort of strange, exotic, Pennsylvania leopard slug.

Last summer, Jeff and I discovered some slugs "doing it" in our backyard. I hate to have to show you slug porn, but I have tried taking pictures of them since, and you just can't see them as well.

The first image was taken during the actual act of making slug babies.


So apparently, one of the slugs makes this slimy snot-like substance that attaches to the wall, and then they just hang on to that (and each other, apparently) during their "quality time."

"Thanks for the good time! I'll call ya later!"

"But wait! Don't you want to cuddle?"

Anyway, about the slugs. I hear tell that they aren't great for your yard, especially if you have a garden. To be clear, I do not have a garden. Right now, my backyard consists of dirt covered with newspaper and mulch, and three azaleas. No grass, a few weeds (dang it!) and that's it. BUT! Maybe I'll have a garden someday? Maybe? I'd at least like the option.

So, I have researched ways to get rid of slugs. When I say I have a slug problem, most people say, "Beer!" If you pour beer into a container, the slugs are attracted to the smell and then they get in and drown (but drown happy.)

So the other night, I put out two tupperware lids and filled them with beer. A few hours later, I went out and discovered that a few slugs had made their way into the beer! Yay! But the next morning, they were all gone. None had met their demise in the beer. Boo!

I was lazy and ended up leaving the two original lids out there, and just added a new, deeper one the next night. When I went to set out the new lid o'beer, a few slugs had already made their way into the first lids I set out. I decided to go ahead and pour more beer into the lids while the slugs where already in it.

OMG, it was horrible. Three slugs were in the lid and they just started writhing. It was terrible. I couldn't watch, and I couldn't just walk away, so I turned the lid over and let the little creepy things out.

Mysteriously, however, I was still able to pour beer into the new container that was deeper and walk away from that, knowing that I meant for slugs to be harmed by my actions, but I didn't want to be inconvenienced with having to watch.

It worked. The next morning, I had 5 dead slugs.

Leave of Absense

I HATE to do this now since I just got started blogging again, but here's the thing: the Olympics are on. And I watch a lot of Olympics. So I may not be able to post for a while. (I am writing this at work, where I can't watch Olympics.)

It has been amazing:
The opening ceremonies
The US Men's basketball playing China and Yao Ming in Beijing. (That's just crazy.)
Micheal Phelps and the Miracles in the 400 relay
The US Men's gymnastics team taking bronze, even without the Hamms.
All the beach volleyball!
The synchro springboard and platform diving!

It's all just too, too much.

Happy Meetiversary!

Jeff and I met two years ago today. If I had known how my life would change, I might have been a little more nervous going and answering the door when he arrived.

Correction

In this post, I mistakenly said that Jennifer takes care of rhinos. NOT TRUE! She takes care of HIPPOS! So in that paragraph, all instances of "rhino(s)" should be replaced with "hippo(s)." I apologize for any confusion.

(They don't have rhinos at the aquarium. That would be silly.)

RHINO

image by Mark Pettitt

HIPPO

image by Stig Nygaard

Feeling like spaghetti

Image by Sporkist

Have you heard of the book Men are Like Waffles, Women are Like Spaghetti? I don't buy into these sorts of stereotypes completely, but I do think they contain elements of truth and can sometimes be helpful.

This one is helpful to me today cuz I am totally feeling like spaghetti.

I am in the process of writing a blog post about my experiences with Facebook. But it's annoying cuz it seems like so many things in my life are interconnected with other things so in order for me to fully explain Thing 1, I also have to explain Thing 2, which prolly also brings up Things 3 and 4, and then to be able to explain all the Things in the right detail and in the right order, well that just takes too long to figure out.

So I am trying to write about my life. But I want to write about it right, but by the time that happens, I have a headache and you are bored.

Til Death Do We Part

In early March, I went to Dallas for a wedding shower and for bridal pictures. Click here to see the pics.

At the end of March, Jeff and I headed to Dallas for our wedding! When we got there, it was so amazing to see leaves on trees! Philly trees didn't get leaves for a few more weeks.

Weddings are stressful. Everybody has their own idea of what a wedding should be like. I think ours was a little "different."

For one, we got married on April Fool's Day. We weren't originally going to get married on a Sunday, but as we looked at possible wedding dates, April 1 ended up being both convenient and memorable.

For me, the day was a reflection of the life I intended to have with Jeff. For one, it was fun. We had a piñata and a bounce house and a cookie cake with milk. But also, it was heartfelt. We recited vows and exchanged rings, and neither of us took those things lightly. I hope my marriage continues in the manner we intentionally displayed that day – fun, but taken seriously.

Here are some of my favorite pictures from the day.

Awwww! How sweet!


The tame version of the cake smash.


Jeff has flipped for me!


I am a bride to respect. Damn it.


The race has begun!



Jeff and I went to Club Med Turkoise for our honeymoon. You know what's great about Club Med vacations? They do all the thinking for you. It was all-inclusive, so the food was free, drinks were free, and many of the activities were free. We kayaked, and windsurfed (I was so sore the next day,) and trampolined, and scuba dived (scuba dove?), and salsa danced, and swam in the ocean, and swam in the pool, and went to the shows, and flew on a trapeze. For real. Oh, also, we ate and drank. And slept. Honk shu!

The first time I have been warm since September!


Down at Sharkie's bar


Just relaxing. Streeeetch!


Oops. I stretched too much and flipped myself over.


That's my husband on that there trapeze!






Marriage has not been easy. It has been a lot of hard work. Sometimes it's hard to figure out who you are as a person within the context of marriage. At least it has been for me.

But I love being married to Jeff. It's worth the hard work. It's worth the upheaval of moving and leaving everything I knew. It's exciting to go back and think about all that has happened in the last two years. And the next two are going to be even better.