Why Can't There Be A Carb Diet?

No, seriously; I'm for real. Out of all the crazy diets in the world, why can't living almost solely off of carbohydrates be one of those amazing mysterious get you skinny diets??? 

Patrick took me to my favorite Italian restaurant for our anniversary so I could eat so much fresh sourdough bread and calamari that I wouldn't be able to put a dent in my entree, therefore leaving plenty of leftovers to keep him from having to make me dinner for at least one or two nights.

I was so pleased with dinner and the beautiful bouquet of flowers I received earlier in the day that I forgot all about the self timer while I was singing him a happy song. 

It's a weird thing......not having enough room for more regular food, but having tons of room for dessert........

Not only is Pinkberry the BEST frozen yogurt ever invented, but it also reminds us of fun times as early newlyweds living in Cali. 

Never-mind my inch long roots......my hair dresser has been out getting married and honeymooning it up, so I'll forgive him for abandoning me in such an important time in my life. 

The tart and tangy pomegranate really knows how to bring out Patrick's sexy face, don't you think?

The girls behind the counter must have witnessed our little photo shoot of love making to our spoon full's of creamy cold yummy goodness, because they offered us some little cups of yogurt to take home and eat later!!!! For free!!!

I promise I ate a little bit of veggies for the night. You know, carb covered romaine lettuce and mushrooms drowned in sauce. I'll let you know how the "diet" goes. At this rate, I'll be either a size 4 or 14 in no time flat. 

You're The Condiments to my Chicken Wing. (Now THAT'S Romance)

Happy Half Decade Wedding Anniversary to:

............ the man who asks me to get closer when we're cuddling in bed even though we're already as close as humanly possible, cheek to cheek, chest to chest, with our limbs intertwined.
.............the unpredictably cantankerous character, who later in the day always knows just what to do or say to make my happy when I'm having a moody moment of my own.
...............the sports fanatic, who isn't too proud to watch a chick flick with his woman.
...............the head I look for above the crowd at concerts, and festivals, and supermarkets.
...........the kind hearted thoughtful romantic.
..........the easily road raged driver.
...........the husband who knows when he's making the bed every morning to leave his wife's side untucked, because she likes it that way.
...............the only person who could ever consider living with me every day for the rest of their life an actually blessing.

Not only do you make this world a better place, but you give my life's story it's fairly tale trademark. With you, love is a feeling and an action.  I'd argue with anyone that you are the most wonderful, sweetest husband in the whole world. I love you for that, and so many more things.
You're the hot sauce and the ranch to my deep fried chicken wing.

P.S. Sorry I called your feet fat.

I Have Bad News and Good News

The bad news is, I've been behaving as if I have lost my marbles. 

The good news is there's a reason. I'm not actually losing my mind, it's just medication induced insanity. 

Brought to my attention by a co-worker while updating her on all the [what I thought was] self-inflicted chaos in my life, it turns out I've been experiencing some wild and crazy side effects from one of the new pills I've been popping.

Metallic (and sometimes soapy) taste (I was wondering why water tasted awful and my recently found love of Peanut Butter Cheerios went from obsession to disgust.........)

Fatigue (Hello, comatose episode, having zero motivation to do anything around the house lately, and even a harder time making myself workout.........)

Forgetfulness (Need I mention the Municipal court drama, and Patrick having to come up to work to bring me my house keys and my medications?.......)

No big deal; we can just add this to my already accruing list of headaches, constant bloat (to the point where Patrick even asked me the other day, "Is that your stomach poking out?!" out of shock, not realizing how offensive it may have sounded to an edgy women), haunting nausea, other stomach issues you'd be thankful for me omitting, along with a complete disinterest in veggies, and what we have left is some high-maintenance avatar of my former self (the one who hated to take medications to a point of using liquid multivitamins so she wouldn't have to swallow a pill; the one who had a stomach of steel; the adventurous one who loved the taste of just about any food on the planet, especially the healthy kind; the one who really liked working out; the one who, from what I can remember, usually had her act together.....minus the accident prone characteristic).

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 I can only hope, that keeping a positive attitude no matter what kind of side effects I experience, no matter how many pills I have to carry around to take morning and night, no matter how many days I pee in a cup and hold a stick in it for 4 minutes to interpret the difference between two faint purple lines, no matter how many tally's accumulate of me trying not to wait on pins and needles every month to discover whether or not mother nature will take a 40 week vacation and finding myself failing miserably, that these efforts will one day pay off.
In no way do I want to infer ungratefulness for what science has to offer, or sound like I'm doubting God's ultimate plan, and I understand some of the best things in life require a great deal of patience and persistence, but it's difficult to keep a poker face 100% of the time, especially considering what I'm surrounded by on a daily basis. Until then, I need to complain about my lunacy for the sake of my sanity.......you know, to get it off my chest. Thanks, by the way, for letting me.
Now.........if I can just find a way to justify messiness.......Oh wait, that falls back to sleepiness, right?

Here's to Aging Gracefully!!!

When I was in grade school, one year seemed like a lifetime. As a high school-er, I only remember thinking about years in increments of four, which seemed like an eternity. And yet somehow, the last decade passed in the blink of an eye. 

I'm proud to say I graduated with some of the best people around; a philanthropic, strong, charismatic, independent group of youth.

 I'm even more proud to say, 10 years later, I still feel the same way. In a town still recovering from a tragedy with peers and their families nevertheless enduring a traumatic and uninvited transition in their lives, they are moving forward with graceful strides, and laughing in fellowship despite circumstance.

Why?........

Because in West, if there's a reason to celebrate, there WILL be a PARTY.

 As if being alive and off work for one more Saturday wasn't a good enough reason as any to have a shin-dig, being able to reconnect up close and personal with long lost friends over food and drink (Courtesy of Trevor, Jeff, and Ryan.) is a pretty good topping to a damn fine cake (Good job Audra; I didn't have any, but it looked amazing).

It's unfortunate to hear that so many people these days don't care about going to their reunions because they "know everything they need to know from Facebook", or if they "really wanted to hang out with those people they would, and since they haven't, might as well not start now". 

Really...........? It might not be surprising that I have a few rebuttals. 

1. Internet will never replace the connection felt from personal contact. (Last time I checked, you can't give hugs or tap Dixie cups for a cheers on Facebook!)

2. It's impossible to have a close relationship with every person you've ever encountered (unless you're a social superhero who never spends a moment at home).

3. As a wise friend of mine once said, "I'm up for anything with just about anyone once every ten years."

4. The people you went to school with must not be as fun as the people I went to school with. (In this case, I'm sorry about your misfortune, but maybe you should give them another chance.....they could have improved with age....)

Once the games commenced, it was time to get serious crazy. 

Beer pong is a gender neutral classic; even Jimmy Fallon played against Betty White on his show. 

And Domino's is a popular choice amongst the boys. 

But my favorite?......My favorite is flip cup. 

When there's beverages to be drank, shit to be talked, fun to be had, and laughter to be belted, rooting at the top of your lungs for your assembly line of teammates while they try and flip over a wet cup from it's bottom to it's top is a priceless experience.  

When Patrick, my distinguished (thank you ladies) husband and Designated Driver (who got offered many shots in the grand spirit of inclusion and acceptance), asked me when I wanted to leave I replied, "When there aren't any more people left," to which I'm sure he thought, "Oh boy, it's going to be one of those nights where I have to drag her to bed and hold her down to wash her face with a damp hand-towel." And then the nostalgic Boons Farm Strawberry Hill was busted out (shout out to Misty!).....he just thought he should be nervous before!!!

But lucky for him we had to leave KC Hall by midnight or we'd all turn into pumpkins and neither of us had an overnight bag, or I know for sure I would have been able to talk him into driving me to the after party at the tiny bar in town and then to a campfire, and then woke up Sunday morning on someone's couch or living room floor on a home-made pallet of blankets with a massive hangover. 

And THAT, is how you do a High School Reunion. (But the most important part, is that you do do it {typing "do do" is way easier than saying it.......you know.....because of the "doodoo" thing}.)

Sneezing Fits + Road Trip = Quite the Adventure

Having a couple of weekend days off with no out of town plans may sound like a no-brainer reason to take a mini-road trip, but then again, if you know my husband then you'd know just how difficult it was to persuade him away from all the college football games on t.v., especially when the "game of the year" was airing.Luckily, I wear the panties in our family (and a few little things like internet bearing cell phones, play-by-play texting friends, radio, and DVR exist), so we headed 2 hours north, entering the territory of Oklahoma to embark on an adventure in the heart of the Arbuckle Mountains.

Our initial plan was to spend the early portion of the day hiking and exploring, following it up with a cool down in the watering hole at the base of Turner Falls. Needless to say, with a ghetto nasty stained primitive map to rely on, it was difficult to even find the advertised hiking trails. 

Although well groomed, the few trails the park had to offer were for the most part disappointing, considering the longest (by far) of the choices was only 2 miles (round trip total) and the trail lead to absolutely nothing but the one lane road winding through the campgrounds. 

Sure, it had it's moments of natural beauty with native plants persevering through almost desert like conditions and photogenic bright colored butterflies pausing in time for admiration.  

But with somewhere around 1500 acres of protected rugged terrain, I'd expected a trail with some girth to it; more of a climb, definitely longer of a trek, or an actual destination with a grander view than asphalt on a tiny hill. (Considering this is "one of the 3 geological windows into our past", the other two being the Grande Canyon and The Black Hills, I don't think I'm being too harsh.)

Even weirder, I've never seen so many grasshoppers in one place in my entire life, their presence amplified by the crunchy dryness of our surroundings. Grey ones, stripped ones, tan ones, yellow ones, and stupid ones, like the jerk that hit me in the neck (naturally making me scream), then jumped into Patrick's leg three times before moving on. 

After giving up on the "hiking trails", we continued on with our explorations to find the tallest waterfall in Oklahoma (who knew OK had many waterfalls to speak of?). On our way we found a snow cone stand with a swarm of bees protecting the ordering window (like that was going to divert me!) and the biggest pieces of ice ever in formation to be pawned off as a "snow cone" (this place just kept getting stranger and stranger).

We had no idea how to find anything, since the maps left much to be desired and there were no signs pointing to anything, so we were pleasantly surprised when it seemed we were headed the right way.  

Built in the 1930's, The Castle (what a creative name) was much younger than we preconceived, which made it's layout all the more kooky. 

I know people have gotten larger over the years, but are we really giants now compared to less than 100 years ago, or was the doctor who built this vacation home a hobbit?

I'm pretty sure he used all these extra rooms to torture people, because not a single one of them were bigger than my laundry room, and that's not saying much!!

Such a leery place, I almost felt like I was exploring a real life scene in The Labrynth, when David Bowie was singing and walking around through those floating stairs  (remember that movie?).

Oh crap!! Someone better claim that little boy before the Goblin King Jareth steals him!!

Bored from climbing the hobbit stairs, we turned around to admire the view, then continued to follow the gorgeous Honey Creek.

Green plants, trickling water, and archaeological cutouts led the way.

Who needs signs, right?

Right in front of our face, there was no mistaking whether or not we found the 77 foot waterfall.

Even though my pictures serve little justice to the tranquil beauty it radiates in person, I can only imagine how magnificent it can be with a decent amount a rainfall transcending from it's ledge and less people around to disfigure it's raw elegance.

I took a seat on my lily pad (aka, an overgrown slimy rock) and just admired the view for a couple of hours, while tuning out the annoying kids around me who's parents could have done a better job of teaching manners. 

The water was so chilly, the lower half of my body had constant goose bumps, while the upper portion baked in the sun. 

It was about that time the onset of my serial sneezing attack began, which morphed into feeling like I needed to sneeze in between sneezes, and was soon paired with a runny nose. By the time we made it home, my eyes were blood shot and on fire, I was blowing through tissues like it was going out of style, and it was time for me to load up on antihistamines and retire to bed.

Overall, I'd say it was a decent utilization of a Saturday despite it's strangeness.

What is your favorite natural watering hole you've ever visited?

Damask. Damask. Damask. Damask. Damask.

Say "damask" five times fast and that's exactly what I am. Or that's what I turned into on Friday the 13th after the brain fairy robbed me Thursday night in my sleep. Really, I should have known better than to try and be productive on such an omen of a day, but I don't tend to be superstitious. 

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It started off with a morning coma. Dead to the world from a strew of days lacking in sleep, I subconsciously disabled my alarm clock, slept through several texts and cell phone calls, the house phone, the dogs barking, and finally woke up to the disturbing sound of our doorbell frantically ringing over and over and over again without recovery time. I jumped up in a frenzy of disorientation and ran downstairs as fast as I could find my feet beneath me. When I opened the door I found Lara standing there, smiling from ear to ear. "What time is it?" I asked.

"10:20."

"Oh my gosh. You have been trying to wake me up for 20 minutes?!?!?" Horrified at myself for never hearing a thing, wearing the shorts I threw on backwards (when I should have already been dressed and ready), and exposing a not-ready-for-a-guest-according-to-my-standards-house, I invited her in. Even worse, she's just as nosy as I am. Note to self: must clean house, ASAP.

Later that day, I thought I'd be a real grown up and get things accomplished. The priority on my list was getting my ticket from the beginning of the summer banished. Not willing to trust the postal system, I decided to hand deliver my defensive driving certificate and certified driving record to the Municipal Court, only to realize when I was walking up to the glass doors that I brought the wrong document. 

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Pissed, I turned around to drive home, get the correct papers, drive back to the Municipal Court in a hurry to make it before 5pm, walked up to the glass doors once again, and this time actually looked up to see printed very clearly in white lettering "Monday-Thursday 07:30am-5:30pm. Friday 07:30am-11:30am."

SONOFABEE!!!

Scoring front row parking two times in a row probably would have made any normal person in their right mind suspicious, but the other cars parked near by for the neighboring courts threw me off just enough to spend 80 minutes driving across Dallas four times for the sole sake of feeling like a dumb ass. I actually finished wasting my gas just in the nick of time to meet Patrick and his co-workers for a happy-hour dinner, which was much needed. 

The book for this case was finally closed on Monday, but only after I waited until Patrick could bring my keys home during his lunch hour since I left them in the vehicle he took to work. Congratulations, me, for being so awesome. And when I finally got there with the proper paper work, I was treated horrible by a miserable person who searched me like I was a criminal and tried to ruin my day, but I ruined hers.......by killing her with kindness. In your face, mean ol' security lady. 

Third time's a charm, right?

What's the stupidest thing you've done lately?