Time Flies When You're Having Fun
Friday, March 27, 2009
Somanna reminded me that today marked 6 months of wedded bliss, so in honor of that I felt this little gem of a video was appropriate.
Enjoy!
Shovel Ready Projects
Sunday, March 22, 2009
A quick marital exchange:
Beth: "I don't know what my problem is." (sighs).
Somanna, without missing a beat and very matter of factly, " I don't know what your problem is either."
Beth:"The correct answer is 'you don't have a problem .' You're perfect."
Commence digging.
We're Not in Kansas Anymore Toto
Monday, March 16, 2009
Apparently, we now live in Seattle.
It has been rainy and cold, cold and rainy for almost a week straight. I can't handle it. My S.A.D. (Seasonal Affective Disorder) syndrome already maxed out back in February.
This had led to desperate measures. See below:
Cookies. Cookies and more cookies.
I will regret these cabin fever induced decisions in approximatley eight weeks when I attempt to strap wiggly flesh into a binding apparatus of clothing commonly referred to as a "bathing suit."
Cookies are then followed by an absurd amount of dance/ techno / hip hop music in an effort to burn calories by increasing the amount of blood flow to my ears.
Dear Reader, Can I introduce you to my new friend and lova, Lady Gaga?
Watch Out Now!
Next Halloween, you just might catch me in a blue leotard dancing out on my deck with the neighbor's dogs.
I've already got the wig.
The Bane of My Existence
Sunday, March 8, 2009
The EVIL Sock Basket:
The EVIL sock basket that makes you late for work, school and anywhere else you have to be that requires closed toed shoes and punctuality. Not to mention it steals on average three socks per usage.
Satan has a special room in Hades with all our missing socks, I'm certain of it.
The EVIL sock basket held hostage so many, many, many of my childhood mornings as my family attempted to wade through the mounds of socks to locate the sole match to a lone sock that would complete one's outfit for the day and thus release us from its time stealing grip.
I swore I would not repeat such a grotesque inefficiency.
And yet here it is in my own home.
My parents must love this thing called bitter irony. My life seems to be full of it, much to their amusement.
But isn't that what kids are for? Small scale slavery and entertainment?
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