Monday, October 28, 2013


Hey blog friends.

I'd like to make some valiant attempt to excuse my absence from my little corner of the internet, but I've got nothing but questions...HOW is it already October...I mean, almost November? The days are long but the weeks sure are short, huh?

But enough about that. A lot has changed since I was here last. We are expecting our first baby this May. The timing is all His, and so is the glory. I just turned 27 and I'd like to say I've mastered the art of being still, and patiently waiting on Him...but I'm still a major work in progress. He is ever faithful though, and I know I'm held extra close to His heart. He whispers, "I know, my child. I hear you. But I have so many things planned for you, and My timing, well, it's infallible." Thankful for His provision. Grateful for this tiny, and every growing blessing that we spent so many years praying for. Humbled. Oh, so humbled, by the love and support we've received so far. Each day that we stay pregnant, each hour He calms my anxiety, each minute we move closer to becoming parents...I am joyful.

It seems like lately all I've done is ask people for prayer. For me, for Nathan, for this baby. I don't know that all of you out there reading this are the praying kind, or religious, but I know personally the power that comes when we call upon our Heavenly Father. Or send good thoughts. Or pause in silence for someone or something. And even though I feel like I've been given so much more prayer than I deserve, I'm going to ask for some more. Not for this momma to be, but for another mom. A fantastic one. Who has a gorgeous 3 month old baby girl named Leighton, who is the spitting image of her mother; and an incredible husband named Eric, who loves her like you wouldn't believe. This mom is 27 and very recently found out that the cancer we all celebrated her defeating, has returned. Her name is Lauren Barnhart Reed, but to me she's always been just, Barnhart. She is fierce in all aspects of her life. She is thoughtful, and generous, and some of my very favorite memories from college and beyond are with her by my side. She's honest, that one. And her honesty, and bravery, are qualities I've always admired. Oh, and her friendship? I cherish it as one of my life's greatest gifts.

She has a road ahead of her. One paved with uncertainty and pebbled with the unknown. But she is a fighter, and I've never believed in someone's capabilities (no matter the trial) as much as I do hers. Her friendship means the world to me, and I only hope I've brought half the joy and laughter to her, that she has to me. Will you do me a favor? One blogger to another? Will you pray for her, in whatever way you are lead? Be it for peace, for strength, for hope. Any positive thoughts, or energy you can send, do it. Please. You can leave them in comments here, and I'll send them her way, or just whisper them right where you sit. I'll be forever in your debt.

If you'd like more information on her diagnosis, her family and how else you can help, I've included links below to her Facebook page. Thank you, from every corner of my heart, for joining me in lifting her up. I truly believe our God is bigger, and there is complete healing in His name.

"But as for me, I will always have HOPE." Pslam 71:14

Love for Lauren Reed Facebook Page

Love for Lauren Barnhart Reed | Medical Expenses -



Sunday, June 2, 2013

Warning: Full blown rant ahead

If you get your feelings hurt easily, can't take a little language, have no sense of humor or can't take sarcasm for what it is, you should just come back here on on another day. Mkay? You've been warned. Proceed with wine caution.

I love kids. Don't believe me? Take a look at any/all of my social media and browse the 900+ pics I've posted of my niece/nephews. See? It's borderline creepy, I know. For clarification, I also enjoy talking to my friends who have kids, and  listening to their parenting stories. I always try to be as encouraging as possible during these conversations, because raising a child is easily the MOST overwhelmingly difficult (albeit, rewarding) job, ever. Yes, *surprise* I do understand that, even though I haven't been blessed with any children of my own (yet).

Here's my issue...Sometimes, even without kids, we have terrible/awful, no good, very bad days. When this happens, one of your "non child(ren) having" friends may come to you with the need to decompress & lean on you for support. During said conversations, it is likely that these friends (without kids) will mention that they're tired, or stressed out, or feel like they're drowning or whatever. The bottom line is this: they/we are seeking affirmation and reassurance about our current set of circumstances from someone we love/trust/respect. So, when you flippantly disregard our feelings/emotions with phrases like "oh you have NO IDEA what any sort of stress really feels like, just wait until...insert "one-upping", over shadowing parent moment here, it makes me want to punch you.

 Here's why: We just talked about your kid, their interests, idiosyncrasies, dislikes, pooping schedule for like, an hour. I listened and was genuinely interested! Why? because I care about YOU and YOUR life and I love your kids because they are part of you. So, when it's my turn to speak, and you blow me off like I'm naive and silly for having/ feeling a certain way? I secretly want to throw a drink in your face. Why? Because I am in NO WAY trying to "out tired", "exhaust", "stress" you, or make any comparison about which of us has it worse! I'm just telling you about the current hardships/challenges in my life. All I'm after is a little compassion and encouragement...the same things I just blindly offered you.

I know your role as a parent isn't easy! But I guess my questions is this...since when does having children give you a free pass to be rude and or a colossal bitch? Because those "you don't know"/"I know more about" statements are two fold obnoxious. One? You don't have to live my life, so you aren't any more equipped to "know" how I'm feeling than I am to know what it's like to be in your shoes. The difference in this scenario is that I'm TRYING. Because, spoiler alert: I really couldn't care less about your child's shit schedule. And secondly? Some of us are struggling to make our own families. So, when you pop off about how "easy" we have it, or how little we "understand" (about the stupidest things like being tired), you're pouring salt into (what is for some) an extremely painful, open wound. It might not be intentional, but your overly-entitled, dismissive attitude is irritating...and on behalf of childless couples and basically the entire human population, I just thought you should know. I may not be a parent, but here's a solid little piece of advice, THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK. We all need to try and do a little more building each other up, and a lot less tit for tat, "my life is far more trying than yours", martyr type, pissing-contest-comparisons. We should also eat more froyo, but that's a blog post for a different day.

End rant.

Well, I don't know about you, peaches, but I feel a lot better.


PS: this obviously isn't directed at all parents...but the flippantly dismissive attitude is something that has personally happened to me on MORE than one occasion; and I just needed to get it off my chest. Feel free to bring on the hater-ade. I realize this is far bitchier than my normal posts. Blame it on shark week.

PSS: For those of you on either side of this rant, that listen to and encourage your friends, even if their life is in a completely different place than yours? THANK YOU. You are a freaking rock star and are so appreciated.

PSSS: To all the of non parents out there, remember to reach out and initiate conversations and maintain friendships with the ones in your life that do have kids/families. Go the extra mile to remind them how awesome they are! And by all means, feel free to share this post with the ones who may be guilty of the above offense and don't realize it. I give you full authority to direct the heat towards me.

PSSSS: thank you to a very sweet friend who encouraged me, promised to never talk to me about her kids' poop, and made me brave enough to repost this rant. You are my hero!

Monday, May 6, 2013

It's a public service, really.

Conversations this weekend:


Nate: We forgot to take out the trash. Again.
Me: Oh well. There's always next week. Not a big deal.


Nate: The dogs are almost out of dog food.
Me: Not worried. Toga and I just had Apple Jacks, So we're all set.


Nate: You left the toilet lid open and I caught Lady drinking out of it. Again...
Me: It's really of no consequence to me if the disgusting dog gets more disgusting. Don't care.
Nate: I swear to God, you could literally fill BOOKS with the things you just don't give a sh*t about.
Me: That's a book I'd read.
Nate: *bangs head repeatedly against the counter*

Apparently he's unaware how this marriage thing works?



Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Self Indulgent

Who? Me? Guilty. But not in the way that you would think. Or maybe it is, I can't really say since I'm not inside your head. Mine is crazy enough for 6 lifetimes, thankyouverymuch.

So I've been doing this blogging thing religiouslyoccasionally, um. Pretty much whenever the mood strikes me. My track record has been below par at best, but I'm working on it. I have always loved to write, my follow through just sucks. I also over use commas like it is my life calling so I'm sorry about that, too. Except not really.  I started and abandoned HUNDREDS of journals when I was a kid. Seriously. I couldn't ever find my "grove" for lack of a lamer turn of phrase. But blogging is finally a format I feel comfortable enough to come back to again and again. Mostly because I've completely abandoned any shame I may have had in the past. That doesn't mean I put every detail of my life on blast for the world to read, but I'm not afraid to. My goal is brutal honesty in dealing with this being an adult business. How am I doing so far?

Spoiler alert: At some point, I even plan on writing a book. That's kind of where I'm going with all of this nonsense. I've actually started a memoir, and it's just as disturbingly distasteful as my blog. I'm at a point where I've got to decide which lines I'm willing to cross. Stories I'm willing to tell. Relationships I'm ok with exposing, for the good, the bad, the ugly. I'm curious to all you out there who take the time to read this, what kind of things would YOU like to read about? I'm obviously not a jack of all trades. I'd go so far as to say I've really got nothing figured out. But I can tell a kick ass exaggerated story. I've seen some pretty dark days. Really dark, actually. Some past, some present, and surely some down the road I don't even know about yet. I honestly believe they are behind every funny person you meet. Humor, at least mine, comes in turning life on it's head. Saying, "screw you" to circumstances I can't control and making it fun for everyone. My mom has always said, with every situation you have two choices. You can laugh, or you can cry. I think we all know where I stand on that.

So friendships, what things do you enjoy reading? For me, I like learning about life, through humor and sorted advice from other's experiences. Leave me a comment, or shoot me an email and tell me your guilty don't even have to keep it clean. I'm just that kind of girl. Seriously. Spill! By the way, I know there is more than one person in Russia out there stalking my blog! Internet high fives for the 735 page hits you've given me. And bonus zebra points to the blogger dashboard for giving me that golden piece of information. I'm such a creep.



P.S. Don't judge me too hard for thinking I can write a book anyone beside my mom would read. Wednesdays are my day of inflated self importance. Blame the calendar.

P.S.S. This is officially my 100th blog post. Where is my parade, Google?

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Once upon a time...

I was a skinny bitch. And before you freak out, I'm not bragging. This is about to get all kinds of self deprecating so just sit tight, mkay? Here's the thing, I had absolutely zerooooo control over this fact. Hello? High school metabolism? Where the HELL did you run off to? Was it something I said drank? Oh, right. Beer. And wine. And Tequilla. Margaritas. Did I say beer? I did? Oh. So maybe it's not that big of a mystery after all...

Anyway, here's what I've decided after 26 years on the planet. My worth is not tied up in my waist size. And in a relatively new, healthly living, fitspiration, just KEEP RUNNING TILL YOUR THIN universe, this hasn't always been true. Maybe it's my age. Maybe it's finally realizing I really should work what my momma gave me. Whatever it is, I'm sitting here today, on the other side of "whose body is this?" and I'm happy to report that I'm just that: I am happy! With every extra pound and un-toned muscle I'm cursed lucky enough to call mine. Jesus still loves me, so why shouldn't I? He's got this sh*t way more figured out than I do!

Could I eat better, and go to the gym, run marathons (HA!) and do all those cool hipsters things (except for CrossFit, OMG don't even get me started...), sure. And some days, weeks, I do. But that doesn't make me a better person. It doesn't even always make me happy. Other days, like today,  I already have a 12 pack in the fridge. I'm anxiously awaiting for the Rangers game to start and for my hunka-hubby-worker-drone to get his butt to the homestead so we can enjoy a few together. And guess what? THAT'S. O-K.

I went to work today. My dogs have been fed/played with. I put some laundry in the dryer (for the fourth time. Stop judging me). And if I'm being completely honest, the LAST thing I am thinking about is getting bikini ready. I.just.don't.CARE.

I'm not turning my nose up at all you health conscious, clean eating, do gooders out there. Do you boo boo. Follow your arrow wherever it points. Do I think some days you are lying? Yes huh. No one likes not eating ice cream. Don't even try to convince me otherwise. I don't believe in Scientology either. But that's really neither here nor there. Except that both concepts seem completely outrageous.

I guess what I'm trying to say is this: Love yourself. Whether you're in a newly fit body, one that's sporting an exaggerated body part (side eyes to my gigantic ass that did NOT exist before 2009),  or growing a new person (here's looking at you baby mommas!), it's YOUR body. And it's just that. A body. You are a SOUL. Although you may try, you can't dictate the vessel you were given when you arrived in the world. We can control what we do with it. Me? I choose to write rambly* blogs with seemingly no direction as I try to figure out what my life is about. I choose to cuddle my baby nugget niece/nephews. I choose to eat popsicles for breakfast more often than I should, and stay up way too late making memories** with my best friend. And I'm good with that. Kapeesh?

Let's make a deal. You be you, and I'll be me. And if that looks like sit ups and kettle bells at 5 am, terrific! And if it looks like, cookies for dinner...we are probably already best friends. Let's STOP trying to be each other, and work on being the best version of ourselves. Stop with the never ending comparisons and start loving being YOU. Because sugar tits? I already think you're the bomb diggity. 

Happy Tuesday my sweets!



*spell check tried to tell me this isn't a word. That skank has obviously never been to my blog before. Read a book blogger, this is happening.

**Sex. Sorry mom!

Thursday, April 25, 2013

And then I won the lottery

Yes, you read that right. But if you're familiar with this blog, you know I have a tendency to exaggerate. Like that time I said we robbed a bank (which I completely stand by) except that we really just bought a house.

I guess I should back up a little. I've mentioned it in passing, but back in November I got super sick and found myself in the hospital for two.whole.weeks. Oh right, and did I mention I was hospitalized on THANKSGIVING, the holy day of FOOD and wasn't allowed to eat. Or drink. Or anything? Let me just tell you, it was a whole new fresh kind of hell. And I was, um, intolerable? Bless my husband's sweet little heart. He actually snuck me a tiny TINY piece of dark chocolate just to get me to shut up for a minute. That's love y'all.

Anyway, fast forward to about a month ago. We have an agent through Aflac that handles our secondary insurance policies. He comes by once a year, we resign the same paper for our policies, he brings donuts, everyone wins. Here's where things get exciting. Me, being the fab grown up (*snort*) that I am, completely forgot I even took out a policy with them. It was like a billion (read 3) years ago, the payments come out of my check before I ever see it, so it kind of just slipped my mind. I can hear you laughing at me. Hush.

Like I was saying, I only forgot about it until donut man Aflac guy showed up. We got to chatting and I told him about my little illness escapade, which was when he not-so-subtly reminded me about my policy. And that they are for temporary disability, and hospital stays. This is the point of the post where I SHAMELESSLY promote getting on board with a secondary insurance policy. Ya'll? Their commercials are not, I repeat, NOT a joke. The paper work for the claims were all of 3 pages, and both my policies paid out. To me. IN CASH. To the tune of: I now owe not one dime for any of my 900 hospital bills, have enough money left over to buy a Louis Vuitton purse (if I was in to that, but I'm totally not), a year's supply of popsicles (totally more my style), AND still put some in my savings account because blah I'm-married-to-a-responsible-wannabe-grown-up-who-won't-just-let-me-piss-it-all-away. RUDE.

Moral of the story? A magical duck showed up and gave me a bag of money all because my colon hates me and I had to miss Thanksgiving. Like a friggin adult version of the tooth fairy. Or something like that.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some serious bomb pop vs. lick a color frozen treat decisions to make.

Happy Thursday friendships!



Tuesday, April 23, 2013

This isn't really a post

Hey y'all. I'm sure you've heard that google reader is about to bite the dust. And if you're like me, and shamelessly lurk and read blogs until ungodly hours of the morning, you're going to need a place to go. Don't fret! I have the answer. You are so welcome.

Go Follow my blog with Bloglovin! It's completely free to sign up, and it puts all your favorite bloggities in one place. Super convenient.

Like I said, this isn't really a post. But I'll be back with some craziness soon, promise.



Wednesday, April 17, 2013

'Lotta Rage? Little Rascals.

Y'all. This week? Someone let the crazies out. More specifically, me. I'm on the loose, two glasses (read:cups. Like the big ones) in, with unsupervised access to the Internet. So there is a very real possibility this might not make sense. But that sounds like your problem, not mine. Write drunk, edit sober: Take 1.

So I posted this on insta the other day:

and for the most part it was extremely well received. I'm lookin at you ma, Frankie says relax! I made it out alive and well enough to tell the story. So I thought I'd expand on it a little.

I'm not sure where you live, but in my world, every single road I drive on is under construction. Side eye: 121 & 114. Oh, right. I have a mildly related confess sesh. That traffic all of you are having to deal with every friggin day? It is God's direct attempt to teach me patience for the 900th time. Which makes me solely responsible for the terrible cluster...and for that, I'm sorry.

I know you've all heard the "women are bad drivers" stereotype. That's also probably my fault too. I'm good at a lot a few like 3 things. Driving isn't necessarily one of them. Although I'd like to point out I didn't get my first and only speeding ticket until I was 25. So in the grand spectrum of bad, I'm just to left of below average. To counteract this, I try and be a courteous driver, and pay it forward when I can. But nothing irritates me more than people who flat out ignore warning signs. Ones that say things like "this lane ENDS" in, no more pavement, so get over. Now. Yes you, princess. The construction workers are even looking out for the women idiots and put up 20 of them, in bright shiny colors, with flashing arrows so even the blind have zero excuse. If you're new to this route? You get a free pass. ONCE. But I swear on all things Southern that I see the same people ignoring the signs every.single.morning. Don't believe me? One lady drives a tan Buick, has a bad bleach job, chain smokes with her windows UP, and has a student on the honor roll. Yes, im that observant. She is not alone. There are an unlimited number of drivers "cutting" (for lack of a less kindergarten phrase). They think its totes adorbs to go speeding past everyone who READ the signs, until surprise! they run out of pavement and are forced to slam on their brakes so they dont DIE. And finally, because they live in the land of self righteous entitlement, they get grouchy when no one will let them over... like its some big mystery what happened. To these people, on behalf of all drivers, I'd just like to say: we hate you.

So today. Despite my better judgement, and even though it was clearly my turn, I let what I can only assume was a drunk truck driver in an 18 wheeler go in front of me. Mostly because I saw him blindly fly across 4 lanes of traffic and oh-hi-you-are-way-bigger-than-me-please-go-ahead-and-for-the-love-don't-squish-red-car-Thanks-and-Gig'em. I didn't even get mad. I just let him merge. Its traffic, he's clearly late for his meeting at some douche canoe convention (which explains the trailer), so I paid it forward. Calm, cool, collected.

Now, imagine my surprise when Mr. Yaris (yes, I know. I'm was as just as shocked as you are) comes flying up outta nowhere, honking at me like I'm in the way and wants to jump in front of me. NOT.HAPPENING.BRO. I don't do that level of nice before 9am. I do side eyes, exaggerated huffs, grunts, and sarcasm. And since Big Rig just helped himself to a piece of my patience, you can take a number, sweet cheeks. This is a matter of principle. Now, Sit down. Consider this penance for your terrible choice in car.

I know I sound delightful (*ahem*) but it was very evident I had the right of way, and this particular morning I was going to take it.
What I hadn't anticipated was the driver of the clown car FLIPPING OUT on me for making him follow common driving etiquette. He rolled down his window and started cussin me. Hard. And, since obviously that wasn't enough, flipped me off with not one, but both hands. We are literally at dead stop, playing some twisted version of chicken, so I got to see all of this in slow motion. And y'all, I don't know what it was, but his utter lack of emotional control made me pull out my go to argument winner. The Little Rascal wave. This is a staple in mine and Nate's marriage arsenal, along with punching each other in the face ...but thats old news. Honest to God, if you are ever on the losing end of a fight, do it. People don't know how to react and you'll win by running away default. Today's encounter with Yaris was no exception. Maybe he thought i did this:

Because the face he made?


Something about the look, combined with the knowledge that I had, with very little effort, ruined this guy's ENTIRE LIFE (at least in that moment) made me start laughing uncontrollably. You know, because I'm really mature. It's not that serious. In fact, nothing in my life is as serious as this man's stance on his morning commute.

If it makes you feel better, I let a caravan of church buses get in front of me in the go fast lane without batting an eyelash. I really am a courteous driver. I just have a zero tolerance policy for cuttsies. And truck nuts. Moral of the story? Bitches get stitches. Side stitches. And today it was from a hysterical case of the giggles. Oops.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Monday, April 8, 2013


All you need is your bubba. I miss you, E.

"The End of Time"
-The Band Perry

Here I am, standing firm, as the ground shakes beneath me.
I send you away with my own hand.
I try and try to remember, that for now it's for the better, but there's a Southern kind of tragic blowing in. Oh it feels like the beginning of the end...

Well the Alabama moon, fell from the sky, and the sweet tea wells ran dry...
Somewhere out there, you're finding yourself, but back home it's the end of time...

I'm scared to death, pick up your phone: outside, I hear the bells ringing. Bringing ruin to all that we have ever known. Pick up your phone, I need an answer. Come home and call off disaster! Cause I feel tonight our Cotton Land might fall. Oh I'm cracking like the plaster on the walls...

Well, all of the cotton, it died in the fields. The little babies cried the blue from their eyes. Somewhere I'll bet, you're living it up...but come home, before the end of time...

I'm so proud of you...and I miss you like crazy these days. Can't wait to hug your neck when you get home.



- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

Perspective, Level: Husband

Conversation with Nathan:

Me: Today sucks. It's raining, my head is pounding, my hair is ratchet, I'm tired, I'll never understand taxes, and we're out of chocolate milk.

Nate: Oh. Is that all?

Me: ......???

Nate: Well, I just mean, it could always be worse.

Me: I doubt it. Obviously you weren't listening.

**to which, he responded with the following picture ..(that I was unaware existed, until today)**

Nate: You could be back there. Getting admitted into the hospital. Missing Thanksgiving. All while I force you to wear newspaper hats and photograph you for my own entertainment. Oh, just as an aside, you should feel confident in my ability to support you as a candy striper if my corporate gig ever falls through. I've got mad skills. I don't know what you're complaining about, you're so lucky.

Touche', husband. Touche'.

Also? You're a dead man.



Monday, March 25, 2013

Murder, revisisted.

Title explaination here.

Recent phone conversation with my husband.


Nate: Are you serious right now?

Me: Um, Never. Doing?

Nate: You know what I'm doing, I'm upstairs.

Me: Ok fine. I'll play your game, semantics police. What are you watching.

Nate: The Hobbit. This is ridiculous. We are in the same house.

Me: Come down here and hang out with me!

Nate: Again, no thanks. I told you I'm not watching a documentary on Jeffery Dahmer. I don't care if it was at SXSW, it's weird.

Me: Oh that's already over. And it.was.AWESOME.

Nate: Awesome? I'm sure his victims would beg to differ.

Me: Whatever. Now I'm watching this show about a lady who killed her husband with horse tranquilizers and then burried him in the desert.

Nate: I'm actually afraid to grow old with you.

Me: I don't know why. You'd never see it coming.

And then he hung up on me...?




Friday, March 22, 2013

These are a few of my favorite things

If you’re new here, HI! If you’re a repeat customer, DOUBLE HI! Now that we’re all acquainted, I want to share something with you. I’m a dog person. That is also an extreme understatement, but I'll let the following story explain...

So it’s December, and we’re moving into our new house. Yay! WEEE!! SO EXCITED. But wait…I hate packing. And moving. And unpacking. So as you can imagine I was just a peach to deal with at the time. Which is probably why I found myself in a truck, full of our crap, driving to Fort Worth, at night, (cue Celine Dion, because I know for a fact you just hummed that song to yourself).

Something else you should know about me, besides the dog person thing, is that I require an abnormal amount of “adult” supervision for someone who is technically a grown up. That’s pretty much the main reason I got married. I digress. So I’m driving a truck full of stuff, and have almost successfully made it back to the house without incident or injury…and that’s when I see it.


Ya’ll. This guy is walking down the street, and has an adorable little pitbull trotting along behind him. For a split second I assumed this was the man’s dog, until he (and I’m not even a LITTLE bit joking) turns around and roundhouse kicks this dog in the face.

I’m gonna let that shock sink in for a minute.

Seeing red? Because I had murder written all over my face. So, being a “dog person”, I roll down the window and scream at the guy. Turns out I’m a bad ass (just let me) because he ran off. So I pull into the parking lot nearest to the dog and as soon as I get out of the truck he runs up to me. THE sweetest. And since it is cold, I decide I’m gonna bring him home for the night and deal with the consequences of the previously mentioned grown up I live with later. Ask forgiveness, not permission. DUH.

I get homeless dog in the truck, and am about to climb in after him when some moron lays on their horn. This scares the already terrified pup and he jumps out of the truck and runs straight into the intersection.

Yes. I flipped out. Yes. I jumped in the truck and followed him…into a not so nice neighborhood. Sketch would be putting it nicely.

And here goes round 2 of saving this dog. I know, I'm the nicest, right? Remember that...

I park the truck, jump out (leaving the door open) and start walkin in the dog’s direction when I hear this guy laughing. I look up, and he’s standing in the doorway of his lair, cackling. Thinking maybe this is his dog I’m chasing, I ask. He says no. Indignant, I ask what the hell is so funny…and he just gives me one of those head jerks toward somewhere behind me. So, naturally, I turn around…and quickly see what he finds so damn amusing.

My truck? The one with half our belongings in it? Is steadily BACKING ITSELF STRAIGHT INTO THE STREET. I have to sprint, SPRINT to catch it, jump inside and slam on the e-brake to make it stop. Which it does…literally 15 feet shy of hitting the building across the road. Turns out I didn't put it in park, so much as I did reverse.

OH and you’ll love this. The dog? It followed my stupid running ass, so when I slammed on the brake, the door, which was STILL open, nails the him right in the face as it swings closed. So…yeah. He’s not exactly speaking to me.

EPIC. FAIL. Level: I almost wiped out an entire neighborhood.

Moral of the story is I didn’t save the dog, but the ice cream I rewarded myself with for not killing anyone was delish.

Oh right, I’m also an ice cream person. Dogs and ice cream. Just a few of my favorite things.



Monday, March 18, 2013

Midnight Rooftop Adventures

Alternately titled: Reason number 5,362 that my husband should never be left unsupervised. Especially at night.

What up moonpies!? Certainly nothing since I last blogged, right? Honestly, what could possibly go down in a measly four months? Maybe your life is different, but mine has been super uneventful. Just: closing on our first house, Thanksgiving, unexpected two week hospital stay, moving into aforementioned new house (with as much grace as a pack of blind/deaf sled dogs), Christmas, Yanke visit, New Year, Valentines, and Saint Patty's.

Happy 2013 Y'all. I suck. Whatever.

How about I make it up to you with an awesome story about my careless husband and his special needs dog, mkay??

The first thing you need to know is that Nate has the most obnoxious work schedule ever. He never works more than TWO days in a row, before he gets a day off. Ass hole corporate America goon. This really isn't important, except that it irritates the ever loving fire out of me that he gets to stay up late/sleep in EVERY Wednesday and Thursday. Rude.

Moving right along. Cue Wednesday night. Mr. "ha ha it's my Saturday and I'm gonna stay up late and play video gamesssss" is doing a stupid happy dance as I drag my butt to bed. Annoyed.

Ya'll, what happened that night, I couldn't make up even if I day drank tequilla and did a head stand. He calls me FRANTIC the next morning on my way to work. Heavy breathing and all. And this is the story he tells me:

"So I was playing Xbox. And Lady had to pee. And I didn't want to go alllll the way downstairs (*insert eye roll here*) so I just let her out on the rooftop deck. Anyway, there was this zombie I was killing and all the sudden I heard something above my head. I thought it was just the surround sound so I ignored it. Then I remembered about the dog, so I opened the door to let her in...and she was GONE.

*heart stops* *I envision mass paranoia as I report to the authorites that my handicapped, common sense impared pitbull is now on the loose*

Nate continues: So I walk all the way to the edge of the railing, and turn back towards the house, and I find her... ON THE ROOF. And I quote, "like the SANTA part of it!!!" (translation: the very top).

THE ROOF YA'LL. Dog. On the roof. Husband. In his underwear, yelling at said dog. At midnight.

Me? Laughing so hard invisioning all of this that I choke on my chocolate milk. Don't start with me. 26 year olds can drink chocolate milk for breakfast. It's very hipster. Now pay attention!

Ridiculous story short, he climbed over the railing, picked her up, and carried her back to the safety of the deck. The dog and my half naked husband both survived with no injuries. Except to their pride, because I obviously ridiculed him to no end, and then blogged about it. Wife of the year, I know.

Marriage is awesome. I can't wait to embarass our future children together.



P.S. Dear neighbors: relax. We will get the hang of this grown up thing one day or another. We're here to help God teach you patience. You're welcome.

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