I have questions, and I need answers. Help a fellow-blogger out, will ya?
1. For those of you who are married-What did you do with your wedding dress? I still have mine, and it has moved 3 times, in the stupid flimsy bag it came in. It needs to be cleaned. Currently, it is in a big ball on the floor of my study, which would lead you to believe that I could give two shits about it, but really, I just don't have a place for it since my bro lives with me right now.
But, more importantly: Save it, or sell it?? I love my wedding dress, and although I know I'll never wear it again (But wouldn't it be fun to have some sort of wedding dress gathering, where we could all squeeze into our gorgeous dresses for a day, and feel like princesses again??), I am not sure I should part with it. What if my daughter wants to wear it when she gets married? Which leads me to this observation: I don't think anyone does that anymore, do they? I just don't know what to do! If I sell it, I would probably just put the cash in my girl's college fund (although...that's been losing money too, thanks to this P.O.S. economy). But, if I'm going to sell it, where? And for how much? OMG-and what if I sell it, and then 20 years from now, my girl is all "But mom! I totally wanted to wear your wedding dress!!!" That would be my luck, let me tell you.
So, Keep it or sell it??
2. I am sick of cooking the same shit, week after week. I get so sick of it that I basically avoid cooking, which causes us to eat much less healthy (order pizza, go out to eat, eat cereal). My hubby and I searched online and found some new recipes a few months ago. And most of them were great. But!!! Most of them are not the healthiest. And believe me-we need healthy around here. Or, at least halfway-decent healthy? I'm considering buying the Hungry Girl book, since I get the daily emails, and love the recipe ideas. Also considering the Biggest Loser cookbook. Anyone have these already? Anyone have any suggestions for other healthy cookbooks? Or just healthy recipes? Help!! Or I will be 400 lbs. by New Year's!!
3. Does anyone have one of those bike trailers for your kiddos? I really want one, and have done some research online, but am still not sure which one to buy. I am a bit of a klutz (putting it lightly), so I'm thinking I need one that has some uh, reinforcement (read: "bubblewrap") to protect my girl.
I'm pretty sure that's about it for now. I'm off to continue working on 4 projects all due in the next two weeks. Oh, and another one due the following week. Anyone want to help me out with any of those? Any takers? Anyone? Anyone? Bueller?
10.13.2008
10.09.2008
a-MEN!!
Back of the bus
I saw this video in one of my classes this week. It is phenomenal to me. Several months ago, I ignorantly said, "I'm surprised no one has thrown race into this election yet." Well, shit. And then I started to hear the whispers of people (fellow students!, acquaintances, an in-law) bringing it up. Like "Why waste your vote on him-he's gonna be assassinated anyway." and "Who is really ready for a black president?"
And then I saw this:
I saw this video in one of my classes this week. It is phenomenal to me. Several months ago, I ignorantly said, "I'm surprised no one has thrown race into this election yet." Well, shit. And then I started to hear the whispers of people (fellow students!, acquaintances, an in-law) bringing it up. Like "Why waste your vote on him-he's gonna be assassinated anyway." and "Who is really ready for a black president?"
And then I saw this:
Look, I'm not going to tell you who to vote for. I'm not going to tell you who I'm voting for. All I'm gonna say is this:
Please, please, let's look at the issues, the person's qualifications, and where we want our country to go. Let's please not bring up the color of a person's skin, or where he grew up, or if she has a pregnant teen, or if she has a special needs child, or how pretty she is, or how 'white' he acts, or what religion he is.....
Yes, I realize these things matter, to an extent. I realize that. But truly, must we bring up race? Must we act as though he is not qualified based on the color of his skin???
I will stop this rant before I get too upset, but please, click the link, and watch the quick clip. I completely agree-We should not be forcing anyone to go backwards, to go to the back of the bus. It's 2008, for the love of Pete.
10.06.2008
My two brothers
I promised I would find time in my overly- full days to blog. I originally posted this on my first blog (on Myspace). I am slowly moving those over, and will post some of them in the next couple of weeks.
When I was younger, my parents were foster parents. They actually decided to become foster parents in the hopes that they would fall in love with, and adopt, at least one child. One of those wishes came true.
We had several little kiddos live with us over time. Two sisters that were silly, giggly, and a bit out of control. The older of the two tortured my dog for so long, that when she cornered him under our dining room table, he finally retaliated and bit her face. Stitches were needed. Not long after, my dog 'went to live on a farm', according to my mother, and it took me literally about 18 years to realize that he was put down, not sent to a farm.
A little girl who was quiet. I barely remember what she looks like; I only remember that she was found inside the cab of an 18-wheeler, hungry, cold, and afraid.
I think there were a couple of other kiddos, but it's all becoming a bit hazy now. I remember waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of muffled crying. It was always a surprise when I woke up in the morning, because I never knew if there would be a new baby, toddler, or child sleeping in one of the rooms down the hall.
L.M.* came to us when he was a little over a year old. He was malnourished, neglected, and little. He was blonde, with huge dark brown eyes, and he was a bit serious for his age. His parents were young, and his mother was actually in jail and pregnant with another child, when he came to live with us. He had a brother with special needs, who went to a foster home that was trained in caring for the medical issues he had.
Over time, he warmed up to us, and changed into this silly little boy, one who liked to laugh, loved to swing, and adored my mother. ADORED. They were very close. I was too young to understand the kind of bond between a mother and child, but I saw the love between them.
I cannot remember what his voice sounded like, and I do not know how he felt about us. I do remember he was born in January. He ate one thing at a time on his plate at dinner. He was afraid of my father. He liked to wear 'big boy' sunglasses. He had gorgeous eyes.
He stayed with us well over a year. He came available for adoption, as did his brother, and I believe my mother really wanted to adopt him and his brother, to keep them together. My mother could not bear the thought of living without L.M.
However, L.M. and his brother were adopted by someone else, someone who could care for his brother's needs, in another state.
L.M. was taken from us.
I will never forget it. I have snapshots in my mind of that time period:
My father sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his stereo with headphones on, grief written across his face like graffiti.
My mother's tear-streaked face as we drove away from dropping him off. Her hands on the wheel, driving through a parking lot, turning back to look at L.M. one last time.
L.M., outside, screaming and crying for my mother, his mother.
His empty bed, empty room, the empty, silent house.
The lump that stayed in my throat for several weeks, the guilt that consumed me, ate at my skin until I was raw and worn down.
See, I loved L.M., but I did not always show it. I was young. I was 9. There were times that I didn't want to be bothered by him, which is normal for siblings. But I was so torn up about the fact that he might only remember my being mean to him because I was annoyed with him. I was so afraid he would not remember how much I loved to hug him, how much I loved his little feet, how much I loved him for loving my mother so much.
None of us were ever the same after L.M. Seeing pictures of him still puts a lump in my throat, and there is so much sadness in my mother's eyes when his name is mentioned.
There are many things I was too young to understand about the whole process, the entire situation, about the decisions that were made. As an adult, I understand them, but the 9 year old me is a bit angry about why it happened the way it did.
A little over a year after L.M. left, my brother Matt was born. His name is Matthew because it means 'A gift from God'. And that is what he was.
And I was so melancholy about having a brother again. I wanted a sister. Why? Not because I could dress her up in my dolls' clothes, but because, in my mind, a sister would be less complicated, less likely to break my mother's heart. Or mine.
But, he stole my heart with his serious little face. And any time I wanted to just scream that he was annoying me, I would check myself, because I knew I was lucky to have a second chance.
I jumped at the chance to feed him, rock him, change him, bathe him, parade him up and down the street.I didn't complain when he followed me around outside when I was playing with neighborhood kids, at age 3. I didn't mind that he got more presents than I did at Christmas. I loved when he snuggled on the couch with me, watching TV, at age 5. I'll never forget when he caught me watching Cujo one night, and he hid his face in my lap. It never bothered me when I would wake up early in the morning, to find not only his warm little body in my bed, but also all of his and my stuffed animals under the covers (age 7). And I have to admit that I was extremely annoyed when he hung my bras and & underwear on the ceiling fan in the living room to embarrass me in front of my friends (age 9), but I can laugh about it now.
There are other things I will never forget about my brother, which I won't detail here, because some things are just too close to my heart.
I am so thankful that we all had a second chance at having a boy in our family. I wouldn't trade him for anything, for anyone, in the world, even L.M.
I don't think my brother understands the enormous amount of love we all have for him. Or that he helped us heal. I think he gets annoyed by our love and attention, and feels we are smothering him, when all we are doing is trying to make sure we are never without him or his strong presence. We adore him. We are afraid to lose his love.
When I first wrote this, my brother lived a couple of hours away. About a month or so ago, he moved back, and is living with me while he saves up some money. We stay up late every night, snacking and watching The First 48. He regularly text-messages me funny song lyrics. He shares a very girly bathroom with my 3 year old. He lets my 3 year old call him 'Monkey Matt' instead of Uncle Matt. They chase each other around the house, and call each other 'poopy butts' or whatever other silly word my girl comes up with. I am overjoyed to have him back in town, and actually living with me. He makes me laugh, and makes my hubby laugh too. Although I am the older sibling, it is I who looks up to him.
(* I only used initials just to save us all a little heartache.)
When I was younger, my parents were foster parents. They actually decided to become foster parents in the hopes that they would fall in love with, and adopt, at least one child. One of those wishes came true.
We had several little kiddos live with us over time. Two sisters that were silly, giggly, and a bit out of control. The older of the two tortured my dog for so long, that when she cornered him under our dining room table, he finally retaliated and bit her face. Stitches were needed. Not long after, my dog 'went to live on a farm', according to my mother, and it took me literally about 18 years to realize that he was put down, not sent to a farm.
A little girl who was quiet. I barely remember what she looks like; I only remember that she was found inside the cab of an 18-wheeler, hungry, cold, and afraid.
I think there were a couple of other kiddos, but it's all becoming a bit hazy now. I remember waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of muffled crying. It was always a surprise when I woke up in the morning, because I never knew if there would be a new baby, toddler, or child sleeping in one of the rooms down the hall.
L.M.* came to us when he was a little over a year old. He was malnourished, neglected, and little. He was blonde, with huge dark brown eyes, and he was a bit serious for his age. His parents were young, and his mother was actually in jail and pregnant with another child, when he came to live with us. He had a brother with special needs, who went to a foster home that was trained in caring for the medical issues he had.
Over time, he warmed up to us, and changed into this silly little boy, one who liked to laugh, loved to swing, and adored my mother. ADORED. They were very close. I was too young to understand the kind of bond between a mother and child, but I saw the love between them.
I cannot remember what his voice sounded like, and I do not know how he felt about us. I do remember he was born in January. He ate one thing at a time on his plate at dinner. He was afraid of my father. He liked to wear 'big boy' sunglasses. He had gorgeous eyes.
He stayed with us well over a year. He came available for adoption, as did his brother, and I believe my mother really wanted to adopt him and his brother, to keep them together. My mother could not bear the thought of living without L.M.
However, L.M. and his brother were adopted by someone else, someone who could care for his brother's needs, in another state.
L.M. was taken from us.
I will never forget it. I have snapshots in my mind of that time period:
My father sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his stereo with headphones on, grief written across his face like graffiti.
My mother's tear-streaked face as we drove away from dropping him off. Her hands on the wheel, driving through a parking lot, turning back to look at L.M. one last time.
L.M., outside, screaming and crying for my mother, his mother.
His empty bed, empty room, the empty, silent house.
The lump that stayed in my throat for several weeks, the guilt that consumed me, ate at my skin until I was raw and worn down.
See, I loved L.M., but I did not always show it. I was young. I was 9. There were times that I didn't want to be bothered by him, which is normal for siblings. But I was so torn up about the fact that he might only remember my being mean to him because I was annoyed with him. I was so afraid he would not remember how much I loved to hug him, how much I loved his little feet, how much I loved him for loving my mother so much.
None of us were ever the same after L.M. Seeing pictures of him still puts a lump in my throat, and there is so much sadness in my mother's eyes when his name is mentioned.
There are many things I was too young to understand about the whole process, the entire situation, about the decisions that were made. As an adult, I understand them, but the 9 year old me is a bit angry about why it happened the way it did.
A little over a year after L.M. left, my brother Matt was born. His name is Matthew because it means 'A gift from God'. And that is what he was.
And I was so melancholy about having a brother again. I wanted a sister. Why? Not because I could dress her up in my dolls' clothes, but because, in my mind, a sister would be less complicated, less likely to break my mother's heart. Or mine.
But, he stole my heart with his serious little face. And any time I wanted to just scream that he was annoying me, I would check myself, because I knew I was lucky to have a second chance.
I jumped at the chance to feed him, rock him, change him, bathe him, parade him up and down the street.I didn't complain when he followed me around outside when I was playing with neighborhood kids, at age 3. I didn't mind that he got more presents than I did at Christmas. I loved when he snuggled on the couch with me, watching TV, at age 5. I'll never forget when he caught me watching Cujo one night, and he hid his face in my lap. It never bothered me when I would wake up early in the morning, to find not only his warm little body in my bed, but also all of his and my stuffed animals under the covers (age 7). And I have to admit that I was extremely annoyed when he hung my bras and & underwear on the ceiling fan in the living room to embarrass me in front of my friends (age 9), but I can laugh about it now.
There are other things I will never forget about my brother, which I won't detail here, because some things are just too close to my heart.
I am so thankful that we all had a second chance at having a boy in our family. I wouldn't trade him for anything, for anyone, in the world, even L.M.
I don't think my brother understands the enormous amount of love we all have for him. Or that he helped us heal. I think he gets annoyed by our love and attention, and feels we are smothering him, when all we are doing is trying to make sure we are never without him or his strong presence. We adore him. We are afraid to lose his love.
When I first wrote this, my brother lived a couple of hours away. About a month or so ago, he moved back, and is living with me while he saves up some money. We stay up late every night, snacking and watching The First 48. He regularly text-messages me funny song lyrics. He shares a very girly bathroom with my 3 year old. He lets my 3 year old call him 'Monkey Matt' instead of Uncle Matt. They chase each other around the house, and call each other 'poopy butts' or whatever other silly word my girl comes up with. I am overjoyed to have him back in town, and actually living with me. He makes me laugh, and makes my hubby laugh too. Although I am the older sibling, it is I who looks up to him.
(* I only used initials just to save us all a little heartache.)
10.02.2008
She's Aliiiiiiiive!
Hi. Remember me? Miss me? I've missed you guys, let me tell you! Today was the first time in three weeks that I had any time to actually read blogs. My Google Reader is now down to 685. Whew. What a relief....I think??
Now, let me answer all your questions, since I can hear all four of you trying to talk over each other.
Where the hell have I been?: Well, ummm... Hidden under 4 social work 'foundation' books (2 are pretty good, 2 are hideously boring), 'reaction' papers, journal articles, presidential debates, Jon & Kate Plus 8, The First 48, 5K walks, and dog puke. Yeah, dog puke. Which, by the way, was disgustingly yellow. Too much information?
Where the hell are the Pay It Forward prizes?: Okay, so I have had them all ready to mail out, minus the padded envelopes. But I promise I am mailing them out tomorrow. I bet you don't believe me though, do you?
I've got 3 papers and 1 presentation all due this month, in addition to a midterm. But I am making it a goal to schedule some posts that have been on my mind lately.
And can I tell you? I am only tired when I get up in the morning. I just don't wanna wake up!!If I could sleep for a day, that would be fanfuckintastic, let me tell you.
****************
My girl has decided to be a Fairy Princess for Halloween. Originally, she was going to be a monkey, which really is fitting for this family. But, have you ever done a search for monkey costumes? There aren't too many cute ones, let me tell you, so I was almost relieved when she changed her mind last week. Whew!! So, we went from brown-banana-on-the-head blah, to pink-and-green-sparkles-frilly-tulle PRECIOUS!
***************
Let me just share some of the fun stuff I'm looking forward to this month, because I am all SQUEEEEEE! about some of it:
-5K run/walk for Child Advocates this Saturday
-Fun birthday party for the husband of a friend of a friend (who I hope becomes a friend) (does that make any sense at all?)
-Pumpkin patch with my girl, Kristy, and her boys
-Texas v. OU game!!! Hook 'em Horns!!!!
-Race for the Cure in Dallas
-A family costume party, complete with a hayride and bouncy house
-A Halloween festival, complete with face painting, a 'haunted' trail, and pumpkins
-Halloween!!
-Picking out pumpkins with my girl, who has informed me that we are buying 'a mommy one, a daddy one, two baby ones, a sister one, and a brother one'
Sorry that this post is all over the place, and not exactly funny, nostalgic, or blog-worthy. I'm just all.over.the.place. Forgive me?
G'night. ZZZZZZZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.
9.19.2008
I have a confession to make
I went to get my hair cut today, by a different lady from last time. Ashley did a great job, incidentally, but that's not my confession. Oh, nooooooo, it can't be some easy, little, teeny-tiny nothing confession. It has to be controversial. Or not. Whatever. It's my confession, so....yeah. Wait for it......
While she's cutting my hair, Ashley leans over in front of me, to check the even-ness of my bangs (yes, I got bangs this time. And not little-girl, or I-am-a-mom bangs, but sexy bangs. Is there even a such thing? If not, I just invented it!), and.....
I totally look down her shirt.
Ack!!! I totally closed my eyes, because Jeez! I really felt like a perv.
And then she bent over again.
Andddddd....I looked again!
It was like when you drive by roadkill, and you.don't.want.to.look, but YOU DO ANYWAY!
And then she bent over again.
Andddddd....you get my drift.
Is that my confession? Well, yeah, but, there's more.
I um, sorta, um, like boobs!!! There! I said it! (whew) Isn't that pitiful??? They are just so, well, pretty! Okay, well not all boobs are pretty, but I'm not talking about the ones that hang down to your belly, or..... again, you get my drift. And it's not like I look at everyone's boobs, so if you are one of my real-life friends (or one of my bloggy friends!), PLEASE don't be worried that I'm checking out your chest!! (What the frick was I thinking, telling you guys this confession???) I've said it before, and I'll say it again-A woman's body is just so much prettier than a guy's (unless it's one of these guys), so can you blame me?
And to avoid this conversation, I'll just tell you know now. The hairstylist did not have Jennifer Love Hewitt boobs. She had more like Shakira boobs.
While she's cutting my hair, Ashley leans over in front of me, to check the even-ness of my bangs (yes, I got bangs this time. And not little-girl, or I-am-a-mom bangs, but sexy bangs. Is there even a such thing? If not, I just invented it!), and.....
I totally look down her shirt.
Ack!!! I totally closed my eyes, because Jeez! I really felt like a perv.
And then she bent over again.
Andddddd....I looked again!
It was like when you drive by roadkill, and you.don't.want.to.look, but YOU DO ANYWAY!
And then she bent over again.
Andddddd....you get my drift.
Is that my confession? Well, yeah, but, there's more.
I um, sorta, um, like boobs!!! There! I said it! (whew) Isn't that pitiful??? They are just so, well, pretty! Okay, well not all boobs are pretty, but I'm not talking about the ones that hang down to your belly, or..... again, you get my drift. And it's not like I look at everyone's boobs, so if you are one of my real-life friends (or one of my bloggy friends!), PLEASE don't be worried that I'm checking out your chest!! (What the frick was I thinking, telling you guys this confession???) I've said it before, and I'll say it again-A woman's body is just so much prettier than a guy's (unless it's one of these guys), so can you blame me?
And to avoid this conversation, I'll just tell you know now. The hairstylist did not have Jennifer Love Hewitt boobs. She had more like Shakira boobs.
So. Yeahhhhh. Um. (blushing)
************************************
Thanks for all the suggestions of what to give my hubby for our anniversary. Apparently, the overwhelming response was BLOW JOB , which makes me wonder if my hubby talked to all of you about this shit. But, okay, whatever, I do love him, so I guess.....aw, hell. I'm getting him a ooey-gooey card!
9.18.2008
Halp!!!
My 8th wedding anniversary is coming up next week, and I'm at a loss. My husband is one of those people who, besides being a workaholic, buys something if he wants it. So, his birthday, Christmas, and our anniversary are some pretty annoying times for me. I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO GET HIM! He's not a lovey-dovey type of person, so pictures, love notes, poems....do nothing for him.
Every year I look at the traditional and modern anniversary gifts suggestions, and I go 'Uhhhhh.....Sonofa----------uhhhhh....!' This year, the traditional gift is bronze or pottery. HA! The modern is linen or lace. Double-HA! (or HA-HA for those of you who need T.H.I.N.G.S S.P.E.L.L.E.D O.U.T) I just can't even think of what the frick I would get him in any of those categories that would not produce a puzzled frown or a fit of giggles.
Every year, I buy him a card. A gooey, syrup-y, sweet card. And we go out to eat. And stare at one another across the table. And? It's torture! Nothing really seems heartfelt. Nothing really says 'I am so glad we have survived another year together.' or 'So glad we still love each other.' I mean, what the hell? I'm fast-approaching his way of looking at this: Wedding anniversaries are just another day geared at making money for businesses, and making men look like asses, like Valentine's Day. If you know me at all, you know I am not that person. I love to show I care for people. I love to take care of people. I love to love people, for Cripe's sake. I am a fucking bleeding heart, lovey-dovey, tree-hugging, sweetpea of a person. No, really.
So, please dear bloggy friends, HALP!!! Men-What, if anything, do you want to be given on your wedding anniversary? Women-What do you buy your hubby?
Help, help, help!!! I'm drowning here! And this time, I can guarantee my bikini top won't be all jacked up when I come up for air this time!
Every year I look at the traditional and modern anniversary gifts suggestions, and I go 'Uhhhhh.....Sonofa----------uhhhhh....!' This year, the traditional gift is bronze or pottery. HA! The modern is linen or lace. Double-HA! (or HA-HA for those of you who need T.H.I.N.G.S S.P.E.L.L.E.D O.U.T) I just can't even think of what the frick I would get him in any of those categories that would not produce a puzzled frown or a fit of giggles.
Every year, I buy him a card. A gooey, syrup-y, sweet card. And we go out to eat. And stare at one another across the table. And? It's torture! Nothing really seems heartfelt. Nothing really says 'I am so glad we have survived another year together.' or 'So glad we still love each other.' I mean, what the hell? I'm fast-approaching his way of looking at this: Wedding anniversaries are just another day geared at making money for businesses, and making men look like asses, like Valentine's Day. If you know me at all, you know I am not that person. I love to show I care for people. I love to take care of people. I love to love people, for Cripe's sake. I am a fucking bleeding heart, lovey-dovey, tree-hugging, sweetpea of a person. No, really.
So, please dear bloggy friends, HALP!!! Men-What, if anything, do you want to be given on your wedding anniversary? Women-What do you buy your hubby?
Help, help, help!!! I'm drowning here! And this time, I can guarantee my bikini top won't be all jacked up when I come up for air this time!
9.16.2008
Birthday wishes
[This is my 2nd post of the day, just in case you were wondering. Scroll down for my first fanfuckintastic post.]
Almost 7 years ago, I met Kristy at work. We were in the same unit, and we had 4 offices between us. She was pregnant at the time, with her first child. She was quiet, but appeared sweet. We sat in the little breakroom during lunch, and chatted about cases, and other workers in various offices. It seemed that we had several things in common. She was someone I could go to with questions, and I never felt like I was imposing.
One day, a few months after working together, I mentioned that I was going to a friend's graduation commencement in Lubbock, and she told me that she went to the same school. When I told her the person's name, we found another common thread. She hung out with my friend while in college.
Almost 7 years ago, I met Kristy at work. We were in the same unit, and we had 4 offices between us. She was pregnant at the time, with her first child. She was quiet, but appeared sweet. We sat in the little breakroom during lunch, and chatted about cases, and other workers in various offices. It seemed that we had several things in common. She was someone I could go to with questions, and I never felt like I was imposing.
One day, a few months after working together, I mentioned that I was going to a friend's graduation commencement in Lubbock, and she told me that she went to the same school. When I told her the person's name, we found another common thread. She hung out with my friend while in college.
She was the person I called when things were not going well on specific cases, or if I needed advice on how to deal with a child on one of my cases, or if I simply needed to vent. We were both there for each other at work, over and over, when all of our co-workers, and our boss, went home and left us high and dry. We could cry out of frustration in front of one another, with no fear of being made fun of. We went to lunch together, walked together, spent time giggling in court together. We helped each other out, covered each other's asses, and had each other's backs. We were pregnant at the same time, which was fun. She was the first person I told (besides my husband) when I found out I was pregnant.
She is my daughter's godmother. And I couldn't have picked a better person. She loves my daughter as if she were her own. Her sons are both kind and brotherly to my girl. She is the person I call when I'm frustrated about both simple and complex things in my life. She is the person that motivated me, by her own actions, to get my ass back to grad school. We've drank together, we've driven all over the state together, we've worn fake eyelashes together, and it's a toss-up which place is our favorite to eat: Olive Garden, La Madeline, or Mexican Inn. She's loyal, sweet, honest, intelligent, kind-hearted, and very comfortable to be around. I am so thankful to have met her, and so thankful that she shares her family (her 3 boys are just precious, and I secretly hope my daughter marries one of the three someday!), and her life with me!
Happy Birthday Kristy! Thank you for your friendship! I appreciate you!
(Don't ask. I swear we are sober.)
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