So normally I like to save up all my randomness and dole it out to you in little bursts. But I have tried to write about three different posts so far today and all SUCK.
So Randomosity it is!! Again! Two posts in a row!!
I know you are just as ecstatic about this as I am. So let’s jump in.
* Sometimes I feel like a randomosity bullet is wasted in a randomosity post… Like it could be worth of a full post in itself. But then I try to write a full post around it, and it SUCKS.
I think my problem is either a) my post ideas are sucky or b) I am incapable of writing short posts.
Let’s all mull over which of those is more apt. And if the answer is (a), well I suppose you are a masochist because why would you be here to read all the suckiness?
Wow, that bullet was both kind of circular and also surprisingly self-aggrandizing.
* Something I’ve been wondering lately: Are you friends with any exes on Facebook? My husband had two serious girlfriends before he met me. He is still friends with both of them. Not close friends, but friends. I mean, I have been to dinner with both of them – once, with both of them TOGETHER. (They are both married, by the way.) He is friends with both of these gals on Facebook.
I had… more serious boyfriends than that. Three in high school, three in college before I met my husband. I would not say I am friends with any of them, but I’m on good terms with a couple of them. The others… Well, I would speak to them if I ran into them and I would be friendly… But that’s it. I have no real interest in them or their lives.
I am friends with two of them on Facebook: one because I am also friends with his brother and his mom on Facebook; one who no longer digs women, if you know what I mean. And that is quite enough.
I definitely know the temptation to Facebook a guy you used to go out with and see what his wife looks like… does he have any kids… does his life measure up to yours…
But the whole thing just makes me queasy.
These guys were part of The Time Before My Husband. So why would I want to see updates about their lives… or, worse, have my whole life on display for them to pore over? Yuck.
What is your Exbook policy? Are you “friends” with any of your exes on Facebook? Is your spouse/significant other Facebook friends with any exes?
* In housekeeping news… Anastasia and I are busily figuring out the whole fitness group thing. We plan to have something ready by November 1. So keep an eye on this space (AND in your inboxes if you expressed specific interest) for more details.
* And because I know you are deeply invested in the minutiae of my life… We have STILL not made our Christmas airline ticket reservations. Nor has my husband figured out the code-thingy that will allow me to post his photos on my blog. Things happen slowly around these parts. For instance, I did about 25 loads of laundry on Sunday and folded and put away everything except my husband’s pajama pants, work-out shirts, and socks. Those things – which either go in a spot I’m not aware of or require special folding techniques that I cannot master – are sitting on the couch in neat folded piles. (Well, except for the socks, which I CANNOT MASTER.) They will likely stay there for many days until either my husband gives in to my nagging or I get sick of their faces and shove them into the closet somewhere. Or possibly back into the laundry bin from whence they came. Check back next week to see if they are still languishing on the couch.
* This morning, my husband broke one of the Cardinal Rules of Our Marriage. He usually wakes me gently before he leaves and we go through this sickening little ritual of kisses and I love yous. But today, he leaned in for a kiss as I was saying “I love you” and I’m sure he got a big up-close-and-personal blast of Mrs. Doctor Morning Breath right up the nose holes.
Not cool, husband! I know you like to kiss me and I’m very, deeply grateful for that fact. And I know that you are not only a realist but also a doctor, and so understand that I can not always breathe roses and chocolate. But there is NO EXCUSE for putting yourself in the line of fire, monster-breath-wise.
* Speaking of “monster-breath-wise,” I like to add “-wise” on to lots of terms. For instance, we bought a pumpkin and have not yet carved it because we have yet to settle on a subject for the carving. So I might say, “Have we made any decisions, pumpkin-wise?” Or when I get sick of looking at the socks on the couch, I might mention to my husband, “It looks like we have little infestation, sock-wise.” Or if I’ve instructed my husband add oregano and basil to the spaghetti sauce, and he pours in twice as much oregano as basil, I might say, “I think that’s enough, oregano-wise.” You get the idea.
The point is, whenever I do, my husband always says, “bidet-wise” and we dissolve into giggles. I suspect that this is not the case in YOUR household. But it SHOULD be. So please watch this SNL skit and add “bidet-wise” to your vocabulary.
P.S. We do not own a bidet.
* We got a pumpkin! Let me show you it.
It is sitting patiently on our counter, waiting for us to carve it into something amazing. Or… a couple of triangle eyes and a lopsided mouth.
I actually hate carving pumpkins. The guts gross me out, as does the smell of the guts. But I do enjoy eating roasted pumpkin seeds.
* It shocks me to type this, but I have exercised seven days out of the past eight. And by “exercised” I mean 6 of those days I actually went to the gym and ellipticaled for 30 minutes to an hour until sweat was rolling down my forehead and puddling in my sports bra, and the seventh day I lifted weights (read: eight-pound barbells) until my arms were as limp as cooked spaghetti (read: two sets of 25 in four different arm exercises). And I am sticking FAIRLY closely to my calorie goals, except on Saturday when I had a date night with my husband and ate an entire personal pizza and drank two beers.
It may not sound like a big deal… And I know one week is nothing compared to making this an actual real-life daily habit… But this is the first time I’ve exercised with any regularity since before my wedding… And it feels pretty good.
* My big fake Thanksgiving cooking plans did not come to fruition this weekend. First of all, I realized that my husband was on call on Sunday. And since I didn’t want to grocery shop on the same day I did my Thanksgiving cooking, I decided to postpone it until next weekend. Secondly, I am lazy.
This gave me time to do some turkey recon. Our local grocery store has plenty of turkey options, including turkey separates. My husband like this idea better than the idea of me making a whole turkey. (Thanks for the vote of confidence, Husband!) He thinks we can do a breast or two and be good to go. I agree that this might be easier and also less wasteful (neither of us eats dark meat, and he doesn’t think his parents do either), but there’s something untraditional to me about buying some spare parts and putting them on a plate. We’ll see.
Anyway, all the turkey options at my local grocery store are injected with a salt/water solution. Which I don’t want. Fortunately, Whole Foods has turkeys that are only injected with water. So Whole Foods it is! I can also call them and reserve a turkey. So I don’t have to elbow any other Thanksgiving chefs out of the way come November.
* I felt so good about myself this past weekend that I went to the mall. It’s pretty amazing how one is able to find clothes that do not make one want to shoot oneself when one is feeling awesome. One being me, obvs. I even – horror of all horrors – decided to try on some skinny jeans.
I may have some body dysmorphia, Internet, but I know that some chicks out there who are wearing skinny jeans – and ROCKING them, might I add – have a few pounds on me. So I figured, why the hell not?
I grabbed a pair at Express, in my current size, and then psyched myself up by trying on a pair of normal bootcut jeans which looked awesome. (Awesome except for the fading. There was a big ol’ faded patch right on the caboose, mainly between the two, um, train cars. [That metaphor fell apart waaaaaay too quickly. I apologize.] It looked as though I were perhaps a dedicated farmer who spends weeks and months on the metal seat of an old-timey tractor.)
Anyway, once fortified by the normal bootcut jeans, I tried on the skinny jeans.
Internet, it was like trying to don a couple of those novelty balloons that you can turn into wiener dogs and giraffes. In other words, it was pretty likely that something was going to pop.
I had to literally – and I do not use that word lightly – peel the jeans from my thighs and calves. I had a moment of panic that I’d have to call in the sales gal for help. (Luckily, that moment passed.)
Moral of the story: Everyone on the planet may look good in skinny jeans, but I am going to steer clear of those suckers.
Have a fabulous Tuesday, Internet!