Old Lady

Thingvellir National park at sunrise

My sister and I recently went on a sister trip for a long weekend in Iceland.  (And side note, you should go.  Cause it’s awesome.  No joke.)  We left our partners at home, so The Husband had a lovely four days without me getting on his case to make the bed and do the dishes.

When we came back, we had separate flights, since my sister and I live in different cities.  I got really lucky because the one empty seat on the entire flight was in between my aisle seat and the young man sitting in the window seat of my row.

We rejoiced at our great luck and had some brief chit chatting about our experiences and time in Iceland.  I thought he was overly attentive and friendly, possibly even hitting on me.  I casually slipped into the conversation (more than once), “Oh my husband…”

It wasn’t until we landed back home and he asked me in just such a way if I needed help getting all my bags out of the overhead compartments, that I realized he wasn’t hitting on me, he was being polite to an old lady.

Married Friday Nights

After dinner tonight, snuggling with The Husband on the couch and romantically stroking his beard, I leaned in close and whispered, “How are you feeling?”

He paused. And then,

“Your hands smell like wings.”

 

The Night Before Last Jedi

‘Twas the night before Star Wars, and throughout our complex,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a vulptex.
Our themed stockings were hung ‘round the fireplace,
In hopes we’d soon get a new visitor from space.

The fans were nestled all snug in their beds,
While mysterious Force visions danced in their heads.
And I in my onesie, and Husband in his cap
Had just shut our eyes after watching Strikes Back.

When out in the living room, there was such a crash
I sprang from the bed and made a mad dash.
I crossed the dark bedroom floor with no fall,
Pulled open the door and tripped into the hall.

The fire was crackling all throughout the room
And the light flicked over our family heirlooms:
The porcelain plates set up on the shelf
Depicting Star Wars characters in delft.

Our tree, once again, with its Star Wars theme
And the R2 Christmas lights, oh how they gleamed.
The soft glowing light how it danced and it shift
‘Cross Star Wars stockings and the wrapped gifts.

There by the fire were some Christmas treats
A warm glass of milk and something to eat.
On the table sat our Death Star cookie cask
With cookies shaped like Darth Vader’s mask.

Next to the table, outlined by the fire
Stood a young girl clad in strange attire.
A fighting stick and her hair in three buns,
I could tell that the Force was strong with this one.
With her blue lightsaber and dressed all in grey,
I knew in a moment this girl must be Rey.

She glanced at me quickly, in her eyes not a threat;
I knew in that moment I’d nothing to fret.
In deep concentration she looked back at the flame
So I turned and I whispered my husband’s name.

While watching this girl lost in her own mind
We hoped that an answer she’d find.
We wondered about her deep thoughts and when
She would meet up with dark Kylo Ren.

Then with a shake of her head, she looked all around.
“I’ve got to go,” she said with a frown.
We could tell she’d learned much from her Force-filled sight,
When, leaving, she sighed “I must bring him to the light!”

Remembering the good ol days

Today at lunch, I was reminded of the good old days back in college. Back when I was broke and my tastes matched my budget. Ramen noodles were a luxury and it didn’t take much more than a chipotle burrito to get into my pants.

It was then, as I ungracefully shoveled the deliciousness that is a steak burrito into my mouth, that I looked across the table at my husband with guacamole dripping from his beard that I realized:

Nothing has changed.

Keepin’ the nerdmance alive

Last week, we hit the two month mark of marriage.

I mean, come on.  We’re crushing it.  At two months, we’ve been married longer than

• Britney Spears & Jason Alexander
• Cher & Gregg Allman
• Carmen Electra & Dennis Rodman
• Ali Landry & Mario Lopez
• Drew Barrymore & Jeremy Thomas
• Pamela Anderson & Rick Salomon

And lest we forget, we’re quickly closing in on Kim Kardashian & Kris Humphries.

So, needless to say, when I was late leaving work that day because I got caught up talking to a coworker, I was hoping that The Husband’s text asking where I was might have been because he had something romantic planned for us.

Was I wrong?

I guess that depends on your idea of romance.  If it’s sharing something you like to do with your partner, then I was spot on.  Looks like he knows how to keep the nerdmance alive.

What a nerd.  At least he’s a cute nerd.

How does it know???

So, it happened!  The Fiance is now The Husband.  Who’d have ever thought that what started as an effort to get my dad off my case would end up in Happily Ever After?

Everything was great (except for what wasn’t), and there will be more stories after I finish going through all the emails and missed work and doing more than one load of laundry (which only happened in the first place because we desperately needed underwear).

But for now, let me just leave you with my (psychic) page-a-day calendar entry for the weekend of the wedding:

How is it always so spot on??

Wedding Tux

It’s just not fair.  When it comes to weddings, the men have it so easy.  Particularly when it comes to what to wear.

When The Fiance went to pick out his tux, it was like this:

Whereas when I went to find a dress it was more like this:

And every single dress I tried on was just So. Much. Dress.

With all the satin and the tulle and the lace and the crinolines and the veils, every dress had me feeling like a “snow beast.”

While The Fiance is just like

 

Saturday Night

It’s eight o’clock on Saturday night.  We’re sitting on the couch together.  Suddenly, he gives me that look.

That look that I know only means one thing.

That look that he knows that I know only means one thing.

So I get up and turn off the lights to set the mood.  I slip into something more comfortable.  I know we’re going to be busy for probably the next few hours.

We turn up the volume for the benefit of our neighbors.

I look at The Fiance’s face.  It’s clear he’s excited for what’s about to happen.

And then it starts.

Nothing like a night of #StarWarsandchill.

The Final Countdown

No, I don’t mean until the wedding.  We still have a while to go for that (39 days).  It’s the final countdown until I turn 30.  This Sunday.

The last week of my 20’s.  It’s been a pretty crazy decade, all in all.  I can’t really complain.  Got two degrees under my  belt.  Lived and traveled in 19 different countries.  Have some pretty incredible stories.  I figured I should really do something to wrap up this decade with a bang.

---

Lying in bed on Sunday night, I said to The Fiance, “We should do something wild and crazy every day for the last week of my twenties.”

“Like what?”

“Ohhhh… I dunno.  I was thinking like staying up past 10 pm every night.”

He just looked at me like

---

And then last night I feel asleep on the couch at 8:30.  Yep.  I’m all about that wild and crazy party life.

Talk dirty to me

It’s Monday morning and glancing at the clock I notice that, once again, I’m running late.  Every single day I find myself in this position.  I need to leave the house in 5 minutes in order to make it to work on time, but I still have at least 10 minutes worth of things to do before I get out the door.

I toss the last few dishes into the dish washer and quickly wipe down the counter.  Well, the two inches of counter space that we actually have, thanks to our un-renovated apartment and The Fiance’s inability to live without a microwave.  Although, let’s be honest, I can’t really survive without microwavable popcorn anyway.

This is probably the reason why I’m always running late.  I feel a pull, subconscious, genetic, whatever there’s some kind of pull that draws me to deciding to do all my chores when, and only when, I don’t have the time to do them.  It’s a mystery that will probably never be solved, and a cycle that I’m clearly not doing much to break.

I’m bumping and banging around the kitchen trying to get my lunch packed and my breakfast shake ready to go.  The Fiance comes meandering in to put his kettle on to boil.  I swear, that man moves so slowly in the mornings it’s a miracle he ever gets to the office.

As I wrench open the freezer for my frozen berries, an avalanche of various ice cream containers come tumbling down upon me.  Hmmm… Ice cream in my shake could be good…  But when I look at the carton to see what kind of flavor it is, I read “Carb Smart!  Made with Splenda!”

“Ew!  Your fake ice cream $h!t just attacked me.” I grumpily shoved it back in the freezer.  Why bother making an unhealthy shake with low carb ice cream?

“It’s not $h!t.  It’s actually not bad,” he’s literally standing at the stove watching the kettle boil.  “Granted, it’s no Brownie Batter; no Chunky Monkey; no Caramel Fudge Ripple Cookie Dough Ice Cream.  But it’s not bad.”

By the time he got to “monkey,” I had frozen in place.  My jaw had dropped and there might have been some drool.  As he finished his reminiscence of the “good stuff” we’ve been denying ourselves on this wedding diet, he turned to look at me.

I closed my mouth and licked my lips.  “Mmmmmm….  I love it when you talk dirty to me.”

“Oh yeah?  Like pistachio. Mmhmm.  White chocolate macadamia nut.  Butter pecan.  Rawr.”

I stood there for a few seconds before reality came rushing back at me.  I was definitely going to be late for work.  Finishing up my shake, I threw everything into my bag.  On my way out the door, The Fiance came over to give me my customary goodbye kiss.

He leaned in closer.  Closer.  Gave me a wink with his dreamy blue eyes.  Then at the last second veered away from my lips and oh so seductively whispered against my ear,

Peanut butter cup.

Then he turned me around, shoved me out the door, and closed it while I just stood there gaping.

What a stud muffin.