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.

The Resemblance is Uncanny…

This past weekend was my bachelorette party.  My wonderful sister planned a very exciting getaway weekend in the Pocono Mountains where we went hiking and visited lots of wineries.  So many wineries.  So. Much. Wine.

It was great!  I had a wonderful time, and I think that the rest of the girls did too.  After all, there was so much wine.


On Saturday night, we played some cliché bachelorette party games.  I can’t say too much, but I can say these games included a fun card game where all the girls had to draw cards to answer questions about me.

One of my best friends had flown in from the West Coast and had not yet met The Fiance.  So, when she drew her card and read, “What celebrity does The Fiance most resemble?” she claimed it was a little unfair.  But after only a moment’s pause to reflect on the (large number of) facebook photos I’ve posted of The Fiance, she said,

Uhhh… Wolverine?


Well, The Wolverine and The Fiance are both quite hairy.  And The Wolverine has knives shoot out of his knuckles while The Fiance really likes knives.  So yeah.  Close enough.  Basically The Fiance resembles The Wolverine.

Not bad.  I’ll take it.

All in the details

They say that it’s all in the details.  Especially when it comes to weddings.  Which is why I’ve been trying to painstakingly include aspects of both my and The Fiance’s interests in all this wedding everything.

I guess you might say we’re both nerds, in our own special ways, though I’d vehemently deny it.  But that being said, I’ve crafted corsages and boutonnieres to represent each of our interests.

The ladies’ wrist corsages are made out of some old book pages dyed to match our color scheme (yellow and blue).


The gentlemen are wearing boutonnieres made out of comic book pages.  But not just any comic book pages, Superman comic book pages.  Because Superman is The Fiance’s favorite.  (Note: No real comic books were harmed in the making of these boutonnieres.)


So, hopefully, it really is all in the details and these simple paper flowers make all the rest of the wedding super great and awesome.  Yay.

Roses are orange…

The other day, The Fiance came home with a bouquet for me.  This is a big deal because it’s unusual for him to bring me flowers.  (He says when I stop asking for them, he’ll bring them.  I guess I’ve finally managed to stop asking.)  Although, there was one time when he brought me a rose bush.  I killed it in a startlingly short amount of time.

But anyway, last week The Fiance brought me home a bouquet.  It was exciting and special and they’re beautiful.  I was so surprised.  I snatched them up and started snipping off the stems and plopping them into a vase.17342655_10101644676586805_7690270902523424644_n

He comes sauntering over, so proud of himself, and says,

“These reminded me of your personality.”  Pointing at the orange roses, “Bright.”  Pointing at the purple thistles, “And dangerous.”

No such thing

I heard the TV click on while I was sitting at the table eating some breakfast and reading a book on Saturday morning.  I glance up to see what The Fiance has turned on to entertain himself this rainy day.  (It’s not like we have to clean the entire apartment top to bottom or anything…)  It’s the same thing from last night.

Me: Honey.  Do you ever feel like maybe there’s too much Walker Texas Ranger?

Him:  There’s no such thing as too much Walker Texas Ranger.