Cold Fries on the Driveway

The Saturday after I arrived in Oklahoma, the chillens and I decided it would be fun to have a picnic lunch in the park. But seeing as I had forgotten to defrost a loaf of bread for sandwiches, we opted to pick up lunch from McDonald's after much fervent pleading from the Lilly-popper.

I rationalized that it only made sense, due to the fact that we needed to return a Redbox as well. It was a win-win solution.

My sister had left a hand-drawn map of the neighborhood. Not to scale and roughly rudimentary, mind you, but still helpful for the most part. We made it to the golden arches after only a few detours due to road construction that she hadn't taken in to account which meant none of the streets were presently marked, making her artwork null and void.

After a trip through the drive through and sending the oldest back inside to retrieve our missing fries, we were on our way back through the winding streets to find the local park my sister had told me about. We had passed one on our scenic trip to Mickey D's, but it was sadly fenced off in a gated community, so we were forced to find their all too familiar neighborhood playground.

I tried to remember the instructions my sister had given. She had simply stated to follow the streets through the clustered cul-de-sacs until you came out on the other side, and there it would be.

Well, we tried that strategy to no avail. There seemed to be a dead end at every turn. Realizing my limited experience driving these foreign Oklahoma streets, I asked if anyone knew how to get there. "I do!", at least three children exclaimed.

I gave the oldest, Livie-Lou, a shot first. Her age and experience was obviously the logical choice. She carefully led me back out of the community, onto the highway and headed back towards where we had just come from. "I only know how to get there from my school!", she explained.

All the while, the delicious smell of fried goodness taunted us from the colorful paper sacks. Two-year-old Lancer-Prancer must have noticed, because he immediately started crying pathetically. I handed out a few french fries and a couple of McNuggets to the more ravenous ones in our troop.
Which meant everyone.

And so we took a right, then another right. And then.. a right?.. "Olivia!!" I exclaimed, "You know the only mathematical solution to these directions is to take us right back to where we started!??"

"I'm sorry!" she bemoaned, "This all looks familiar though.." I can't say it was a comforting thought.

All the while Cam-Cam wailed in the front seat. "HAM-BUR-GER!..."

 

Realizing following this navigator any further would prove futile, I bestowed the privilege on seven-year-old Buddy-boy. Who had been countering every direction his older sister had given. I now see why.

"Thanks a lot Olivia.." Lilly accused, "Now my tummy is grumbling!"

Unfortunately, Buddy-boy also failed to offer any useful pointers. Apparently their entire neighborhood looks very similar from one block to the next.

As our quick five minute trip slowly ticked over twenty, I couldn't help but laugh at the scenario. Here I was, following instructions from five starving children who all supposedly remembered 'exactly' how to get there. For all I knew, they could have been thinking of five different playgrounds. It was amusing. And saddening. An experience worth documenting.

I eventually came the the conclusion that visiting the park that day was not in our fates. So we traversed the same five-block radius that we had been circling right back to their house.

Where we sat on the driveway and ate our now cold lunch.

 

So I guess the moral of this story is, when it all comes down to it, family memories are more important than warm food and a play date in the park.

That, and when your sister gives you directions, opt for GPS instead.

What I 'Mint' to Say

Just inside our apartment, sits a wooden bowl containing a various assortment of things. The husband has always admired Sheldon and Leonard's from The Big Bang Theory and was thus ecstatic when he found a similar container at the D.I.  shortly after we moved in.

 

It was originally intended as a place for dropping keys and various other pocket contents upon arriving home. However that function has expanded to include housing various toothpicks (the husband's obsessed with them), approximately ¢.18 in change, a few crumpled receipts and, inexplicably, one clear marble.

 

Recently, three small boxes of mints have also come to reside there. So a few days ago when I passed, I couldn't help but notice they seemed to document the course of our relationship, in a way.

 

The first box was purchased in November of 2011 when I took a road trip with my besties to fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada. I had driven down the strip before but never really seen much of the city and had an aunt and uncle who were more than delighted to allow us to crash at their place.

 

I also had a new boyfriend who, truth be told, hadn't worked up the courage to kiss me yet. It had been close to a month that we'd been 'official', and I was antsy to get down to business! So when Lacy-Hacy insisted I buy a little box of personalized mints we'd found, even my momentary hesitance over the awkwardness giving such a gift might create was quelled.

 

Upon arriving home and reuniting with the BF who had also just gotten back from a hunting trip, it took me a few days to work up the courage to give him his presents.

I stayed on the safe side by first placing a small shot glass with a decal of a flexing bicep that read 'Vegas Stud' in his waiting hands, then (before I had time to chicken out) handed over the tin of mints and smiled anxiously as he slowly read the words on its colorful lid..

I'll never forget the look on his face as he stared at them for a moment then quickly glanced up at me. It was a mixture of sheer terror and utter panic. The quintessential 'deer in the headlights' sort of expression.

I waited for what I assumed would inevitably follow. But after sensing what was a sort of frightened pleading in his eyes, I quickly made a joke of it and started talking about something else.

Inside my head, I couldn't believe what had just happened.
If there had been any question in regards to my intentions before, there certainly couldn't have been any longer. What was he waiting for!??

The good news is, we are now married and what seemed like an eternity at the time chalked up to only a few weeks of excited anticipation for 'the first kiss'. Granted, I had to hint at it repeatedly and eventually took matters into my own hand by initiating the first move, but that's a different story.

The second box of mints I received as a gift at my bachelorette party. Wish I would have known that I'd be given breath fresheners as a present when the husband's sweet little grandma asked (with what I hold was a knowing twinkle in her eye) 'what kinds of things we do at bachelorette parties?..' 

All I managed to splutter as my face grew increasingly redder was, "Oh, you know. Give silly gifts and play silly games..." I think it was a trick question, and I'm not so sure I passed.

Nevertheless, the front features a cartoon couple smooching surrounded by floating hearts while the back reads as follows:

This represents the 'engagement' portion of our relationship.
I say that facetiously, because (as those who attended the party can attest) when asked what our biggest fight was over in a game where I was challenged to guess what he would answer to each videoed question, we both responded the same.
We've never had a fight.

The man is an angel, I tell you. He puts up with all sorts of feminine foolishness without so much as a cross thought. I post all sorts of embarrassing lovey-dovey-ness, and he just pockets his man-card, swallows his 'I'm not a hopeless romantic' pride and smiles.

And now that he's stuck with me for time and all eternity, the last box of mints (also a bachelorette gift) comes into play. Though I'm not single and far from my 30's.

I assumed there would be interest surrounding when to expect little Nays after the wedding from family members and friends, but didn't comprehend to what extent. I can hardly mention words such as 'maternity insurance' before someone jumps the gun.

Easy people. Settle down.
Don't worry, I'm following the instructions carefully.

 

And for those of you who are ever-suspicious,

this isn't an announcement.

Wedding Gag Reel.

I don't know if I've mentioned it, but our wedding photographer was my amazing sister Ann of Wonder If Photography. I couldn't be more proud of her or her extremely talented work. She did everything I asked and more.

That being said, when I received the CD of her photo edits, I was confused to realize there wasn't a single imperfect picture. Not a half-blink, mouth agape, photo bomb, nothin'.

And knowing my family (not to mention, my husband), the possibility of not capturing one of these over the course of an entire day was next to impossible.

So I sneakily browsed through her backup file of pre-edited pictures and came across these gems. She agreed to let me have them upon condition that I let her edit them and immediately delete all other copies.

Done deal. I wasn't complainin'.

And then in one of my frequent moments of genius, I decided to add a few word bubble embellishments to really capture the memories of the day.

I've added them all here to prevent giving my perfectionist sister photographer any more grief and to allow my Facebook album of her work to remain pure.

Hopefully it will make for one very long but entertaining post.

Enjoy. (Click on the image for a close up.)

You're welcome.

WTH, OCD?..

I just don't understand people.

One minute they're praising my detail oriented manner when it comes to wedding planning, the next they're teasing me for handing out aesthetically designed color swatches.

They come home to enjoy a newly cleaned kitchen then promptly mock my desire to rearrange the fridge and straighten the towels.

On occasion, they observe my pristinely folded drawers with admiration then criticize my innate desire to hang up the shirts they seemingly abandoned on the floor.

Even at work, the office manager introduces me as 'the clean one' then eyes me suspiciously as I pick up the tiny white circles that have escaped from the 3-hole punch by hand.

And to top it all off, I am frequently complimented on my perfectionist talents then unabashedly teased for using them.

I can't tell you how many times the topic of 'Corinner-Elly's idiosyncrasies' has come up at Sunday dinner. It is rivaled only by chicken horror stories and infamous acronymical nicknames given to axe wielding perpetrators.

No one complains when I pull 'whatever they are in desperate need of at the moment' from my Mary Poppins purse, but they are oh-so-quick to intentionally skew my neat stack of textbooks or plop a heaping mound of refried beans on my nicely cleaned plate.

Sorry bus-boy, I tried.

All I'm saying is that 'people' should be grateful that they don't have to pull nasty black hairs out of gobs of toothpaste that were formerly stuck to the bathroom counter.

Then conversations like this happen, and I start to lose faith in humanity.

False accusations, I tell you. 
I can guarantee that if the TP had indeed been gone, I would have replaced the roll. Come hell or high water, it would've been done.

Plus, she should be thanking me that I've taught her such valuable lessons such as 'shutting the shower curtain'! Not everyone has a sister that loves them that much.

Even the fiance acknowledged that it only took forgetting once to reform him. I'm that good of a teacher.

Now.. this all may come across as very condescending and/or hoity-toity, but I do it out of love, people. LOVE.

Here's the thing, I don't think my way is the ONLY way.
I just think their way is usually wrong.

I am more than happy to concede that there are other perfectly logically ways to do things. I just don't encounter very many people who are capable of  actually doing them well.

I repeat. Love.

I Love Me a Good Parody.

I'm sure we've all seen the poster that optimistically encourages you to 'keep calm and carry on', whether it be on Pinterest or the cover of a small book inside a gift shop in Scotland's Edinburgh Castle.

I've seen it both places.
(I may or may not be rubbing in my awesome travels.)

Regardless, I was immediately drawn to its clean design and simplistic look. There were several different pocketbooks to choose from, each featuring a unique variation of the phrase.

Naturally, I chose the more realistic route (for me at least) and purchased a small book of quotes documenting the pessimistic side of life.

It was a wise purchase. Now it sits in my living room, practically begging someone to pick it up and feel depressed.

But what you probably haven't noticed was the explosion of similarly worded posters since this clever little beauty was created. Some of my favorites include:

People never cease to amaze me with their cleverness.

That is, until their 'cleverness' becomes so cliche that I begin to hate whatever it was that was so cool in the first place.

Facebook tends to have that effect.

I mean, come on people. At least try and be original.

But I guess if all else fails...

Ah, Young Love. How it Makes Me Want to Hurl.

Is it just me or are most 'newly married' blogs usually annoying and/or boring?...

I can't tell you how many times I've read the 'this blog is like my journal!' or 'I want my family to be able to read back on my life to remember me better' sentiments. But all I see is 'I plan to be lame for the next 2,000 posts'.

Yet I still follow them, hoping that eventually they'll write something worth reading.

And sometimes, they do. But it's stuffed between so many freakin' pictures, that I give up before I can even get there. Isn't that what Facebook photo albums are for?... Not to mention the countless hours they, no doubt, spent uploading each individual file, one... by... one...

Whenever I write a blog post, I try to find a corresponding picture or comic to go along with the content. I'm more of a 'less is more' proponent when it comes to posting pictures.

And I'm not saying that my blog is always perfectly entertaining or that the pictures are always top notch. What I AM saying is that I try to make it more than a glorified scrapbook.

Because if I have to scroll through one more photo of you and your 'hubby' at Bear Lake, I'm going to gouge my eyes out.

I don't know why some couples think they have to document every trip they've ever made on their 'family' blog. It's dumb, I say.

I would much rather read funny stories or important news about their relationship. Seeing posts about 'another fun weekend :):):)' makes me want to die.

I think, instead, I'll just stick with other hilarious blogs.
That way I won't have to worry about 187 pictures of their new love labradoodle.

My favorites lately are:
As always, Hyperbole and a Half,

The Oatmeal,

Toothpaste for Dinner,

and Natalie Dee.

Naturally, you're free to decide which blogs you want to read.

I'm just putting out there that some are more nauseating than others.