Blurt

KAY.

so I'm well aware that I didn't post at all last week - not even our Date Night

[especially our Date Night]

and the reason is - our Date Night last week was really a Date Weekend because it was The Date of the Year, which really means it was our Anniversary

cuz My Man's buddy from school is a manager at a swanky resort, and hooked us up with three days there for free

and we basically had the time of our lives

and lived like kings

and drank pretty fruity drinks by the side of the pool

and stayed in a suite with two balconies and fluffy bathrobes and a double-headed shower and a 100000000000 thread-count comforter

and we slept like kings

and we went to the spa

and we got massages and facials

and primped like kings

and we went to a five-star restaurant

and ate edible art that we couldn't really pronounce but was beyond delicious and just thinking about it makes my mouth water and my eyes roll back in my head

so we ate like kings

and then we went horseback riding

[and my butt hurt for three days]

but it was beautiful

and we didn't really ride like kings, but it was still fun

and everything was so unbelievably idyllic and perfect and I took a ton of pictures and had composed all these breathtaking descriptions for the blog and then My Man's friend said I couldn't blog about the fact that it was free.

and i died.

because if I DIDN'T blog about the Free Aspect of our kingly weekend, I fear I would come across as this stuck-up-hoity-toity-rich-lady-who-goes-to-the-spa-and-eats-at-five-star-restaurants-like-it's-no-big-deal-kinda-chick. Not that there's anything WRONG with being a stuck-up-hoity-toity-rich-lady-who-goes-to-the-spa-and-eats-at-five-star-restaurants-like-it's-no-big-deal-kinda-chick. I'm sure they're perfectly nice. But I'm not that chick. And I don't want to come across as that chick. Because I have a complex.

so then I didn't want to write anything at all, until My Man pointed out I could just NOT MENTION THE NAME OF THE HOTEL, and that was a brilliant idea, but my buzz was already killed and our weekend was magical and that's the end.

Yeah.

In which my soul sang

So this past week we doubled.

With my mom and sister.

We rock.

We went to see an EVMCO concert. If you're from Arizona or California, you NEED to click that there link. And then go to a concert. Soon.

Basically, it was the most amazing choir I've ever heard live. (And yes, I've heard the MoTab.) And basically, it was the most amazing CONCERT I've ever heard live. Or dead. Not that I've heard many dead concerts. Ya know, whatever.

Basically, I love music.

The acoustics bounced right into my heart, sound waves radiating down my arms and electrifying my skin. My very blood echoed back every note.

I cried a lot. And laughed, too.

Basically, I was an emotional, soggy lump that night.

But in a really good way, albeit non-attractive.

Then we went out to dinner, and took goofy iPhone pictures.

And My Man auditioned for a Mentos commercial.

And I laughed [with] him.

Happy date night!

In which I brag. A lot.

So My Man is done.

DONE!

First year of his executive MBA - history.

(The yard has really missed him. I think there's a couple kids lost back there.)

On Saturday one of his classmates threw a party to celebrate. No kids? Food? Music? Adult conversation? We were so there.

The party was a smash hit. Impeccably decorated, a live calypso band, catered Hawaiian meal - wow. And these really cool candles that looked like shells.

(I'm rather simple minded.)

Oh, and my date was essentially the Homecoming King.

Every time we mingled with a different group, I heard, "There's the whiz kid! Everyone's tutor! The first one done with the final!" Vigorous back slapping and grins. I didn't realize until then that My Man has quite the reputation for brains. I mean - I know he's a genius, but usually I'm the only one who knows. I like to see him recognized.

(He is sooooo going to hate this post.)

It was beyond fun to be hanging on the arm of the most popular, well-liked guy there. I'm so flippin' proud to be his wife.

Congratulations, hun. First, ASU. Next, the world.

In which we exhibit LOVE

So we were supposed to fly kites this week. I got a really nifty kite from Costco and a baby-sitter all lined up. Excitement abounded. I love flying kites. It's whimsical. It's fun. It's different. It's playful. It's outside.

And then ... My Man got sick.

REALLY sick. His lymph nodes are like grapefruits and his fever raised the temperature in our room a couple degrees.

So I cancelled the baby-sitter, took the kids to fly kites, and laid out on the trampoline with My Man. (He needed some fresh air.)

We talked about the end of the world, food storage, depression and how to shield our children from pornography. A stimulating conversation.

Oh, and we took turns shielding each other from the blinding sun.

Now that's true love.

In which we're total teenagers

Okay, have you heard of Brian Regan? If not, you should. Hence why I'm talking about him. Basically he's the greatest stand-up comic ever, and we quote him all the time.

So he does this bit on greeting cards - including "Just Because" cards. I mean, you could send a hundred Just Because cards to someone in the phone book, and they can't even ask why you did it, right?!

So that's what we did.

We sent some to family, some to friends, some to random phone book people, and a couple celebrities.

And of course we had to send one to Brian Regan himself.

And Obama. I mean, why not? I bet he actually reads this one. It's hilarious. At any rate, his security team will get a good laugh.

All in all, we sent out twelve bits of sunshine into the abyss that is the United States Postal System.

And we laughed our heads off doing it.

In which I stuff myself with an abnormally large hot dog. And enjoyed it very much.

Date night this week: BASEBALL!!!!!!!

There's something about walking into a baseball stadium. You tingle. The smell of sweat and excitement is tangible. Kids running everywhere, fat and calories soaking into your skin. Bubbles of happiness coursing up from my toes.

I grew up in a total baseball family. We all played it (though I didn't play well). But my three brothers were good. Really good. Dad was on the committee. Mom headed the umpires. Devoted Tigers fans, here.

No jokes.

It's been a good ten years since I've been to a game. Too long.



Here's me asking if my highlights look too blonde. What do you think?

iPhones are fun.

Root for the HOME TEAM! Not the Diamondbacks, of course - us!

In which we get all cultured

I love the theater.

Did you know that?

I was heavily involved in high school. (Or, at least, I was THE most dedicated chorus girl ... though I did play a witch in Macbeth once.)

I love the whole thing - the smell of the theater - the excitement back stage - the hours of rehearsals - the goofing off and getting yelled at by the director - the adrenaline rush of the applause. Stepping into a theater brings it all back. I am sixteen again, thrilled to sing my heart out, dance, act, and wear goofy costumes. Pretend to be someone else for a while. Virtual reality escapism for the virtually impaired.

In high school, my mom volunteered in the makeup department - to help out - to be close to me - because she loves the theater too. And then I graduated. And she stayed.

Seventeen years later, she's a full-blown professional.

Moving to Arizona was hard for her on so many levels, but she's finally found a creative outlet here, too.

Meet my momma's handiwork!

So for our date night this week we went to see the play she's working in - Into the Woods.

Best part about going to the theater?

His arm around me for two hours straight - and no kids in between.

In which memories were relived

Date night last week was a home movie night.

(And dude. I know our dates lately haven't been very creative. It's the jar's fault, man. I'm sure we have a buncha funky ones coming up all in a row.)

Anyway. So I was in charge, and wanted to either buy or rent a new movie, because I'm tired of watching Ocean's Eleven. Wal-mart's five dollar bin was not inspiring me, Redbox is somewhat of an enigma, and I had pretty much resigned myself to a night of watching Brad Pitt eat nachos in shiny suits when I saw it.

STAR WARS.

And I remembered.

I remembered that My Man and I had been officially dating for two weeks - one week of which I spent in Idaho for Thanksgiving. We missed each other terribly. One week was a very long time to be apart. We burned. 

The night of our reunion, my apartment was packed. We settled in on the couch in his apartment instead, when ... Jeff came in and started a Star Wars marathon.

(Do you read this blog Jeff? Jeff? Are you there?)

We were thoroughly annoyed. I mean, really, Jeff. It had been a WEEK.

So we promptly made out during the whole movie. Maybe all three. I can't remember.

No worries, Jeff. Your back was turned.

(Bytheway. Watching Star Wars after a ten year lapse? Brilliant. Leia is watching her planet get blown up, and barely manages to look perturbed. Still. I LOVE IT.)

In which we haven't done this since we were newlyweds

Get your mind out of the gutter.

No, for date night this week we played NINTENDO.

We busted out our SuperNintendo system. I had a hankering to play some Super Mario. But My Man was skeptical about the working-ness of our system.

Turns out he was right.

So we busted out the PlayStation instead. And rocked some CARS.And Weight Watchers' fudge bars.

So how do you feel about cheat codes?

I personally do not cheat to skip levels. That's just plain unfair. But to get fancy colors, racetracks, and the like?


WE TOTALLY CHEAT.

I'll even make it easy for you. To get PlayStation Lightening McQueen cheat codes, go here. You're welcome.

Also, I fully encourage you to razz each other. Favorite quote of the night:

"You've got more talent in one lugnut than a lot of cars has got in their whole body. *beat* But you're stupid."

Doh!

In which we are FLEXIBLE

So we were supposed to go to a Japanese restaurant for our date. But our baby-sitter couldn't do it.

So we decided to watch a movie. And they were sold out.

So THEN we went to the bookstore. And meandered. I LOVE meandering in a bookstore.

me·an·der–verb (used without object)

1.to proceed by or take a winding or indirect course.

2. to wander aimlessly; ramble:

Our meandering landed us in the humor section. I settled down with a Calvin and Hobbes collection, and My Man selected a book on useless information. (No. Really. That was the title.) We read comfortably - separately - in silence. 

(I love companionship reading. It bespeaks familiarity and pleasant company. There aren't many people with whom I can companionship-read.)

(By the by, we have totally different taste in books. Though we both loved Percy Jackson.)

(I'm done with the parentheses.) 

Then we went to the travel section and planned a future-trip to Europe. We decided we want to see EVERYTHING.

Then we got some froyo.


Then we made out in the car. 

On a side note, when we were dating in college, TWICE a police officer came and tapped on the window while we were parking in the wee hours of the morning. (And no, we weren't doing ANYTHING, I swear.) Both times the cop asked me if I was there against my free will. It was pretty dang funny.


So on our date this week, we were planning on what we'd say to a hypothetical cop if one hypothetically tapped on our window.


My Man liked this one: "Officer, I have four kids at home. I just wanted to kiss my wife!" 


Any contenders?

In which we are pretty lame

So this week, rather than have a date night, we took turns being deathly ill and giving each other head rubs. Actually, I'm pretty much the only one who got the head rubs. I lucked out. Although the "deathly ill" part wasn't very lucky.

We're better now.

Oh, we also spent a lot of time playing Angry Birds on My Man's new iPhone.

'ts fun.

Better luck next week?

In which we talk. and talk. and talk. and talk.

Date night this week was supposed to be a barbecue by the lake. 'Cept we were running late, and there really wasn't time. So we partook of Ye Olde Firepit On The Back Porch.

(I realize that most of you can't have a fire on your back porch when your back porch is covered in snow. It is February, after all. Can ye partake of Ye Olde Fireplace instead, perhaps? Or if ye don't have a fireplace, maybe you can cuddle around the stove?)

I had a truly fabulous box of conversation topics from The Game of Things, (an inspired Christmas present from my dad) but we didn't even open it.

Isn't it amazing how sitting around the flames gets you to really open up? How the spiritual seems much more present? How you can feel you can talk about anything in the world? And you do?

We are totally playing footsie in this picture.

We talked until the coals were just glowing embers.

Then we finished the cold dregs of our hot cocoa -

Kissed, and went to bed.

Happy Valentine's Day -

In which I'm reminded which one is the "better half"

Date night this week - I was really crabby.

My man had a meeting, and my mom and sister were gone, so I put the four crazies to bed by myself. Horrible. Terrible. No-good-very-bad-bedtime. I pretty much had all four crying at the same time and professing their undying hatred for me. I'm talented like that.

So by the time I had Da Boyz all down (or at least in their rooms), I was in no mood for a date. Basically I just wanted a container of chocolate ice cream and a book.

(Except I'm having weight issues lately, too, which didn't help my mood at all. Anybody else gain a ton of weight with an IUD?! Even though you're denying yourself all kinds of goodness and exercise at ridiculous hours every. single. day?)

So when My Man was done with his meeting and ready for our Home Date extravaganza, I was pretty much

L
A
M
E.

Until he told me to put on my pajamas, let me complain for a few minutes, made me laugh, and reminded me that date nights are the sure-fire cure for the blahs.

(I'd temporarily forgotten.)

So fifteen minutes later, I was ready to rock our date night. In pajamas and pearls.

It was Art Night -

We busted out our supplies and painted our versions of our favorite Monets.

There's something so relaxing about painting, don't you think?

We also got all complicated and sketched each other's eyes, too.

So it was a success - there ain't nothin' like paint and laughter to chase away a bad bedtime ....

In which we wear nifty green visors

So date night last week was

POKER NIGHT.

'Cept we don't really play poker.

So instead it was

HAND AND FOOT NIGHT.

Because we love that game. Have you played? If not, go here to learn how. You're welcome.

(You're not really supposed to play with two people. We rolled with it.)

We decided to make it more interesting and poker-like by gambling a bit. It makes for much better trash talk.

First round: winner picks dinner (My Man won: I'm making ribs this week)
Second round: winner picks dessert (I won: I'm getting hot fudge brownie sundaes)
Third round: winner picks massage (My Man won: he's getting a shoulder massage)
Fourth round: winner picks chore (I won: My Man will be washing the floor. Soon, I hope.)

Feel free to let the overall winner pick - um - other rewards....

My Man won by a measly 115 points.

Good thing we both win.

*grins*

Ai ai ai ai ai ai ai!

Is that politically correct? Probably not. Moving on.

So Date Night this week = Mexican night. 

(Actually - NO. We didn't draw "Mexican Night" from the jar. We drew something else. But in researching that "sumthin else," I found this really cool way to do "sumthin' else" that isn't available til April. So you - and My Man - will have to wait til then. I feel bad for you both.)

So we had a SECOND draw. And it was MEXICAN NIGHT.

This led to some extensive googling. "Best restaurant in My Town, Arizona." And three sites said to go to  here:

So we did.

(I tried to get My Man to talk in a Mexican accent the whole night, but he thought that might be rude.)

Nando's is apparently famous for their margaritas. Well. As you know, we're MORMON and all that - so we asked for virgin margaritas. The waitress pretty much thought we were crazy. It was awesome.

But the non-margarita margarita was DELISH. Although I was severely disappointed that it wasn't served in those funky glasses. I wanted a funky glass and pretend to get drunk. Because I'm mature like that.

So the food was amazing, of course. Three sites can't be wrong. Although the rice and beans? Sad. Just sad. Because let me tell you - I know rice and beans. And them rice and beans just did not make the cut. Good thing the Pollo Rico was out-of-this-world good.

(I took half of it home, intending to eat it on Sunday after church. But we got home late and I had to run to a meeting without lunch. Then my little sister calls after me - "Hey, That Girl! That thing you ordered yesterday was super delicious! Thanks!" *facepalm*)

We ate our delicious, calorific dinner, and then My Man attempted to take a picture of me with my fancy dancy camera. I wanted a record of my attempts at dressing "Mexican-y." It was pretty amusing.

And then he was silly.

And then we went home.

In which our children would be totally embarrassed if they knew

Just to get a little FAQ action out of the way -

• Yes, we came up with all 52 dates by ourselves. Just us, a pad of paper, and a pen. And some really good hot fudge brownie sundaes. They are my muse, so to speak.
• We had to get really creative once we hit 30 dates or so ....
• None repeat. And we're only going to the movies ONCE.
• Some are free, some are not. The free ones tend to be cheesier.
• We put all 52 dates in a jar, and we will choose one a week. They are color-coded.
• White = stay at home
• Green = out
• Yellow = out, but after the kids are in bed
• There is actually a picture of said jar over there --------> Feel free to grab it. I plan to post every Monday.  

Mmmmkay? We set? Suh-WEET.

This week's date was an "out, but after the kids go to bed" date. And it was free.

Therefore, cheese to the max.

Are you ready for this?

We went on a GREETING CARD HUNT.

That's right. A greeting card hunt. We went to Wal-Mart at 9 o'clock at night and had ourselves a little competition. The categories:
a) the funniest
b) the most romantic
c) the tackiest
d) the most blush-worthy

I'm sorry to say that My Man won all four.

I liked this one a lot.

 Though this one made me happy too.

And of course who wouldn't love a giant pickle card.

We even learned some profound lessons!

We also made up our own "blush worthy" cards. And we kissed a lot. And laughed our heads off. And took random pictures of each other.

This was the only one that didn't show my double chin.

Exactly.

And then we had a philosophical discussion on the proprieties of getting groceries while on a date.

The groceries won.

After all, we really needed milk and bananas - and most especially one of those plumber-snake thingamajigs, because Sunshine flushed a pair of underwear down the toilet yesterday.

Happy Date Night!

Eleven days late

This year is just gonna rock.

For the record.

It's going to rock because we've decided it is the YEAR OF THE DATE.

The Caps are important.

We made a list of 52 dates. And we are going to pull one out of the jar every week. Without fail.

ROCK, I tell you.

A third are "home" dates - a third are out - and a third are out, but can be done after the kids are in bed. (That way we abuse my mom only once every three weeks, see?)

Some are cheesy, some are romantic, some are downright hilarious. I think our first one fit all three.

FIRST WEEK:

Home date.

Have a cooking night, and choose recipes that you've always wanted to try, but never had the guts. 

My pick: Creme brulee. His pick: Lobster.

Turns out Creme Brulee is a picky little stinker. Cooks for 1 1/2 hours at 250 in a water bath with a TOWEL UNDERNEATH. Do not under ANY circumstances let the custard cups touch each other, or you will be responsible for the end of the world. Then cool to room temperature, cover, and refrigerate overnight.

Dude.

We are now the proud owners of custard cups, bytheway.

So we did the creme brulee prep on Friday, and Saturday was - LOBSTERS!

We looked for fiesty ones. Apparently fiesty = delicious. We're all about delicious.

The NBC got to come with us. Then he went straight to bed when we got home. It was date night, after all.

The seafood worker dude put them in boxes that made me think of KFC takeout.

'Cept the contents didn't smell like KFC takeout.

We're going to EAT YOU.

When My Man took them out (because I refused to touch them, of course) they started flopping all over and I pretty much thought I was going to die. Squealing might have been involved.

Then the lobsters didn't want to go in the pot. Not that I blame them. One of them even hooked his tail over the edge and refused to be boiled alive. I only felt a teensy bit bad.

My Man showed no mercy, however. He's a cold hearted murderer. And a great chef.

I sang lobstah killahhhhhhhh as motivational support.

Turns out they really do turn bright red the minute they hit the water. No kiddin'.

So once they were cooked, we put them on a plate and stared at each other. What now?

Now, my friends, we google "how in the world do you eat a lobster?"

Google knows all.

So after we completely ripped apart a pair of lobsters with pinking shears (I don't have a mallet. Or kitchen scissors.), we ate them.

(I washed the pinking shears, Mom, don't worry.)

Okay, truth be told, I should say MY MAN ripped apart a pair of lobsters, because those feeler thingies creeped me out. I couldn't do it. Although I did do the claws. Aren't you proud? I could totally survive on a desert island. Or a Hunger Games.

They were delicious, bytheway. Must've been fiesty.

As a sidenote, upon dismembering my lobster, I found out she was female. There was the telltale red "coral" in her abdomen. Apparently it's a delicacy, but I didn't eat it. I draw the line at eating female reproductive organs. Call it solidarity, if you will.

Then we torched our creme brulees.

The cookbook said you could use the broiler, but that was way too slow. In lieu of a propane torch, we used a lighter. Worked beautifully.

Date #1 was a clear success! Memories were made and palates were satisfied.

Plus also we arranged the lobster heads in the garbage can to totally scare the crap out of my little sister.

*grins*