Catch-up

Here's what you've missed... (and by that, I mean what I haven't told you because I suck at blogging.)


Birthday fun.
Dave organized a big birthday bash for me, filled with great friends, wine, Italian food, Sambuca and a creepy Santa. A group of 15 of us ate and drank a LOT, and even convinced a bartender to play one of my playlists at the bar. Then, the whole bar sang "Happy Birthday" to me sometime after midnight. Pretty sure I was lifted in the air at some point.

Sambuca

Treatment for sis.
My sister entered a facility for about a week to go through some intensive therapy with other addicts. She got out right before Christmas and is now doing intensive outpatient treatment for a bit. She's also attending NA meetings again, getting her resume together (with my help) and getting her shit together. Again. Fingers crossed.

Home for the holidays.
Two families means two Christmases. First stop was Cleveland where we met my SIL's adorable, SUPER sweet new pup, bonded with the niece and nephew, and found ourselves smack dab in the middle of some good ol' fashioned family drama. Next up, Memphis -- land of pit bull cuddles, deep-fried turkey, too much drinking and family time.

MINK.
My Drunk Grandma has a fur coat that makes her look like a rapper from the '90s and she wears it in public every chance she gets. Going to the theater? Mink. Movies? Mink. Grocery store? Mink. It's wide and gaudy; completely ridiculous. I call it a mink coat, but I've been corrected that it's actually fox fur. (Her mink is full-length; the one she wore during Christmas was shorter and that one's the fox.) Oh yeah. There are two.

20sb nominee.
Dave got nominated for best tumblog! A few of us definitely threw his name in the ring without him knowing, so I think it was a pleasant surprise. Anyway, if you like his shit, you can vote for him here (along with your other favorite kiddos, of course).

Fantasy football domination.
I'm currently in the playoffs, leading my whole league in pure awesomeness. I might even win this whole thing. Whodathunkit?

NYE plans.
This year, we're not going out, getting dolled up or spending too much money. We've done all that before and while it can be fun, it can also be a pain in the ass. So we're going much more low-key to ring in 2010. We're having some fabulous people over, we'll have some delicious appetizers and we'll drink ourselves silly right here in my apartment.

The new baby!
And here's the big announcement I've been dying to reveal: Dave and I adopted a pup on Monday!! We're now the proud parents of a 10-month old pit that we named Rocco.


He's amazing. He's already housebroken and crate-trained, so the only thing I really have to work on with him is "drop it." At his foster mom's, he slept in her bed, but we put him in his crate last night and didn't hear a peep. He cuddles like CRAZY, entertains himself with toys and doesn't bark. He absolutely adores people and he seems to like other dogs too, which is good because there will be both at the NYE party. I'll say it: I am in love.

Square One

[photo: jens.lilienthal]

This post technically belongs on the other blog that I have abandoned, but since it's pretty vacant over there (and since it's, unfortunately, impossible to separate this aspect of my family from the rest of my life), I figure I'll write it here.

My sister, the addict, had a relapse not too long ago.

Her one-year was supposed to be October 15, but (apparently) she didn't even make it.

I don't feel like going into details, but the short story is that all of this was sparked by the fact that my sister was starting to steal money again. Which is infuriating.

"She's going to go after your pills next," I warned my mom. "Stealing is stealing, and if she'll take money, she'll take meds."

And what do I wake up to this morning?

A phone call from Dave letting me know that it happened. My shithead addict sister stole pills from my sick mother.

She took 60 Ativan, like that would go unnoticed. My mom called her, furious, and unleashed a tirade unlike any other. She's a very laid-back person, but this kind of despicable behavior really fuels the fury.

Sister then told my mom that she took the pills to try to kill herself.

Happy holidays, ya'll. My sister is suicidal.

While I do believe that my sister is self-medicating, I'm not sure if she wants to die. Actually, I think she'd rather make money. I don't know the street value for Ativan, but I can tell you from experience that it is some powerful shit. Since my sister was fired from her job around Thanksgiving, she needs another income. If I had to guess, I'd say she's taking an Ativan or two each day and selling some of the others. (If she was just taking them for herself, she could have stolen one at a time and my mom would never know.)

Sister then declared that she wanted to be checked into a facility. Does she want help or is she trying to escape responsibility? Is she trying to avoid dealing with my family? Is she actually suicidal?

These are things you never know with an addict. You can't trust them. And you do feel guilty for that, but it's the reality.

Part of me feels like I should be keeping this entirely private, but I look at this blog as something for me to look back on later and reflect on these parts of my life. Addiction is a part of that, and as much as I'd like to brush it under the rug and pretend it's not there, it is.

Now, I know the holidays are the toughest times for an addict. The chaos, the family time, the expectations -- it's overwhelming for them and it brings back the urge to use. I hate that. I hate that just being around us is enough to send her back into the throes of addiction. But what I really hate is the fact that she is SO selfish, SO sick, SO pained that she has no problem stealing my mom's pills. How do we fix that? How does she?

Sigh.

Maybe Santa will bring us some peace in 2010.

Weekend with Baby Lu

Hiya kids.

So, when I last left off, I had Baby Lu with me for a few days. It was quite interesting.

Mommy Ang jokes that Lu is "the prettiest, not the smartest," but we know that she IS quite smart. And stubborn. This is what I imagine goes through her brain: PLAYTIME, must piss on Aunt Lisa's floor, I'm hungry, time to piss on Lisa's floor again, hey now I'll shit on the floor, PLAY WITH ME, PLAY WITH ME, PLAY WITH ME, I'm sleepy, just kidding - I have to pee on your floor again, nap time, PLAY WITH ME, watch me piss on your floor.

In case you're wondering, the princess turned my apartment into her own personal toilet, starting with my down comforter on Night One. Even though I took her outside a bunch, she just didn't seem to care for 40-degree weather, strange noises and the sweater I made her wear to help combat the cold. After a battle of wills, I gave up and just let her go in the apartment. You win, Lu!

During the day, I used whatever I could find to block Lu off in the living room, where I work. Since my apartment is a long, open space, this was a creative challenge. I ended up going with a patio table, a trash can, a recycling can and a little suitcase. NOW I WIN, LULU.


Yeah, she hated that.

Anyway, Lu and I were alone together most of the time, but when Uncle Dave came home, good god, was she excited. She would sprint up and down the entire apartment bringing him toys, she'd stay with him in the kitchen while he cooked, she'd hump his arm whenever possible, etc. Basically, they bonded.


For all of the trouble Lu and I had together, we also cuddled like crazy. During her daytime naps, she was always by my side; during bedtime, she crawled under the covers in between my legs; during her evening naps, she was curled up in my arms. It was pretty damn cute.


All in all, though, she was a lot of work, but she was also cute and hilarious. And a humper.

EDIT: I originally posted the wrong video up there because that's just how careful I am with this blog. Here's the humping in all its frantic glory.



Oh, Lu. Anyway, all of this, my friends, means that we're one step closer to getting a pup of our own. Baby steps, that's how I roll.

Let's all shit on AT&T

Believe it or not, I have several things I'd like to post about right now. There's the Lulu experience, a video from Drunk Grandma, my new bond with my mom's stupid dog... yeah, all real gems.

But my whore Internet has an upload speed of SO-FREAKING-SLOW-IT'S-LIKE-DIAL-UP, so none of my photos that go with those posts have been taken off Dave's camera yet.

Once again, we can all thank AT&T for being an asshole.

Stay tuned.

College football = no thanks

Photo: SD Dirk

I really hate college football.

We didn't have football at my school (we were too busy ignoring the basketball and soccer teams), so I admit that I've never been caught up in the whole OMG IT'S GAME DAY SO IT'S TIME FOR KEGS AND EGGS AND PUT ON YOUR JERSEY BECAUSE WE'RE ALL SO FUCKING EXCITED ABOUT SPORTS AND ISN'T OUR SCHOOL JUST THE BEST!!?!

My problem with college football isn't that these schools funnel money into sports over academics or that it allows 18-year-old children to get puffed-up egos. My real problem is that these players suck.

Fumbling the ball, missing easy field goals, falling over their own two feet -- it's a painful amateur hour. Look, if you're not gonna be allowed to stay in college because of good grades, you damn well better be able to catch a ball.

This is why I prefer professional football. They don't make those kinds of mistakes and they have god-like abilities that mere mortals don't have. THAT is worth watching. If I wanted to watch a bunch of idiots run around and drop things, I'd have a kid, put him in a pee-wee league and actually go to the games.

So in my house, we do not watch football on Saturdays. We don't even acknowledge it. In fact, the only reason that I even remember that football happens on Saturdays is because I see Facebook status updates lamenting how so-and-so threw another interception. And that's fine with me. I don't think I'm missing much.

Instead, we're glued to the TV on Sundays, watching the Browns lose, the Colts win, Adrian Peterson score and Bill Bellichick wear those three-quarter length sweatshirts for no discernible reason. Good plays, good games, real talent. Toss a few beers and some good friends into the mix, and it's a recipe for an enjoyable Sunday.

Baby Lu will make me more responsible

Little Lu is coming over tonight -- from now through Sunday, I'll be taking care of her while Mommy Ang has a blast in Vegas.

How's it gonna go? Lu and I are totally in love, but I've never been responsible for taking her outside, cleaning up her shit, keeping her entertained and keeping her safe. The horror of it all is that she's not a sleeper like I am. Ang says Lu sleeps better when she's in the bed rather than her crate, so I say, come on in, little one! Whatever will give me another hour of drowsy bliss.

So, we'll see how this turns out. All I know is if I can't handle Baby Lu for four days, I can't handle my own dog, period. It will be an eye-opening experience either way. Stay tuned...

Christmas cheer

Photo: ianqui

Holiday commercials have been playing -- albeit sporadically -- for the last week or two, beginning at the end of October. I know a lot of people are completely put off by how early the Christmas cheer kicks in, but I'm just gonna say it.

I like it.

Yeah, it's early, but I don't care! I like getting wrapped up in the holiday spirit, the sparkling decorations, the snowy scenes in commercials, the coziness of the season, the special holiday drinks, the gift-giving, the familiar Christmas songs, the anticipation of fun family time...

It warms my cold, black heart.

So, fine, it started in October. Let's face it, these weeks always end up flying by anyway, so the fact that the holidays are being shoved down our throats so soon isn't really that much of a crime. At least, not in my book. And I'm a pretty cranky person, so if I can embrace it, you can too. Right?

Dave spels gud

Our latest IM conversation...

Me: Whoa, it's 4 already?

Dave: Yep. And practically dark already.

Dave: I fucking hat it.

Me: I hat it too.

Me: I hat a lot of things.

Dave: Very funnay.

Dave: God dammit!

Sooooo funnay.

Capisce?

We women are often accused of being cryptic.

"Why can't you just say what you MEAN?" men whine.

"Stop playing games," they demand.

"Just TELL ME what you want!" they plead.

No.

We do it our own way and I don't know why. What I do know is that it's not really going to change anytime soon, so here are a few common phrases that I've decoded to take away the great mystery of female communication.

I say: Do you know where the TV remote is?

I mean: Can you find the TV remote so I don't have to get up?

I say: It's cold in here.

I mean: Can you go turn the heat up for me?

I say: Are you thirsty right now?

I mean: Can you go get me some water that I may or may not share?

I say: When was the last time we got groceries?

I mean: It's time for you to put together a Peapod order.

I say: Want to watch a movie?

I mean: I want to want a movie.

I say: What movie do you want to watch?

I mean: What movie do you think I want to watch?

I say: How early are you getting up?

I mean: Wake me up that early and die.

I say: What do you want for dinner?

I mean: Are you cooking dinner tonight or do I need to order something?

I know what you're thinking and, yes, Dave is a lucky man.

Laziness abounds

Photo: Frosted Peppercorn

This was my day today:

8:30 -- Wake up and decide it's too early. Promptly fall back asleep.

9:30 -- Wake up and decide it's time to work. Put on a sweatshirt, but decline the pants.

10-12:30 -- Work diligently while slouched on the couch.

12:30-1 -- Eat lunch and flip on the TV for the fabulous daytime shows.

1-5 -- Work some more, less diligently since Desperate Housewives is on in the background.

5-5:30 -- Shower, because it's time to pretend I'm a functional adult.

5:30-5:45 -- Record invoice: $300 for one day's work? Yes, please.

I. Am. Spoiled.

Of course, not all days are like this. Tomorrow I'll be making a dreaded trip to the lady doc before returning home for more work. Last week, I only had a few projects, not multiple projects in one day like I've been having. Next week, I have no idea what I'll be working on. There's definitely an ebb and flow, and the uncertainly can be hard...

But for right now? It's working out.

However, it's also enabling my already-crippling laziness, which is BAD.

So, I feel like I really need to do something more productive with my days, since I'm not bathing until the evening and not putting on makeup, oh, at all. My bright idea is to venture back into the world of exercise.

Here are my options:

• Buy an elliptical so I can mindlessly exercise while watching TV.
• Buy a mat so I can do pilates on these hardwood floors without hurting myself.
• Continue pretending that 10 years of gymnastics excuses me from all future exercise. (AKA, do nothing.)

Let's be honest. God only knows if I'll find the motivation to follow through on working out. But putting it out there like this is the first step.

Or something.

Now, if you'll excuse me, it's time to move on to my jam-packed evening of heating up leftovers and catching up on TV.

From the heart?

Not too long ago, Dave came home with a much-needed haircut and I was ECSTATIC. It was beyond time for him to start looking human again.

So, he comes home with his new 'do, looking very cute. I tell him so.

Me: OMG, you look so damn cute!!!

Dave: [bashfully] Shut up.

Me: What? Take a compliment! What if I called you ugly?

Dave: That would be better because then I'd know it came from the heart and not the vagina.

Sigh.

What champions are made of (mostly beer)

It was a sunny, breezy evening in early October when I stepped off the 2 bus down in the glorious ghettos of Hyde Park. Camera in hand, I walked briskly across the street to avoid mugging and swiftly made my way over to Washington Park, where the game was already in progress.


It wasn't just any game. It was the CHAMPIONSHIP GAME.

Team Beer had gone undefeated for years until last season's disaster in which they lost.


They DID get tapped, and it wasn't pretty.

So, this year was especially important. It wasn't just about winning. It was about redemption. (And Old Style.)


The stands were completely packed. I had never seen a crowd that large at one of these games! There must have been 8 or 9 people there. Each one glued to the action. Or something.


Matt Damon even showed up!


Okay, fine, that's just Justin, but he looks like Matt Damon.

Anyway, when I showed up that fateful fall evening, Team Beer was a few runs ahead of their opponents -- but no one dared display any cautious optimism. After all, things could go wrong at any moment.

But they didn't.

Team Beer had some great hits...


...They ran their asses off...


...They made amazing catches... (GO DAVE)


...And they won! 26-3


After the high-fives and "fuck yeahs," it was time for the finest champagne imaginable. I think it was $9.


One of the professors on the team couldn't bring himself to be anywhere near the $9 champagne, so he bought a massive bottle of Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin for everyone to actually drink, rather than play with.


And drink they did!


To commemorate this momentous win, Team Beer all signed the ball in between swigs of champagne.


What a game. I don't know if you know this, but men are much, much happier creatures when their team is slaughtering the competition. Similarly, I am SO glad they won so I wasn't in the midst of 15 cranky, angry men.

After the game, we grabbed drinks at Jimmy's in Hyde Park, dinner at Francesca's and more drinks at Beviamos, since one of the players owns it. Redemption is sweet.

And now, I give you the tireless champions, watching their bright athletic futures take off (who needs academia?):


It was a day that will live in infamy.

10 things I'd be thinking if I got preggo

If I got pregnant at this point in my life, here are the things that would run through my head:


1. Shit.

2. HOW did I lose the bet that my sister would be the first one to get knocked up?

3. When do babies' motor skills kick in so they can wrap their fingers around a bottle of wine and deliver it without dropping it?

4. I foresee money being a slight problem. Do babies really NEED things like cribs and formula and dental care? Because Mommy NEEDS TiVo, Cole Haan and Mana.

5. Oh em gee, what if I have a baby with red hair? Damn Dave and his recessive ginge genes.

6. I don't care how ridiculous this sounds, I WILL pluck my Italian baby's unibrow.

7. I vow to never bring my massive, obnoxious stroller on a crowded bus...

8. ...However, I might bring my obnoxious stroller into a crowded bar.

9. If you don't like your baby, can you trade it in for a pair of shoes or a nice restaurant gift card?

10. Goodbye, sleep. God, I'll miss you. More than you'll never know.


Dear birth control: I love you.

Family in the Facebook Age

Because my sister's five visible tattoos aren't LOOK AT ME enough, she has just started contemplating a piercing in her face.

Dave used to have a bunch of piercings -- nose, eyebrow, lip and god knows how many in his ears -- so I'm not opposed to shiny, metal faces. He took them out at the age of 27 though because, well, piercings are a very YOUNG thing and he's a (little bit) more of a grown-up now.

My 22-year-old sister, on the other hand, is all about the tattoos and piercings. Almost recklessly so.

My mom? Not so much:

And that, my friends, is why I love Facebook.

Grandma and her "special friend"

IT'S MY GRANDMA'S BIRTHDAY TODAY!!

In honor of Drunky McDrunkerson turning 1,000, I'm posting a fun little story about her and her "special friend."

I say "special friend" because I don't know if they use the terms "boyfriend/girlfriend," or even if ANYONE in their late 70s calls themselves that in the first place.

Either way, it's uncharted territory for all of us.

For my grandma, it means she has to grapple with the complicated mix of giddiness and guilt, having spent 56 years married to my grandpa before he passed several years ago.

For my mom, it means having to talk about condoms with her own mother.

For me, it means listening to my mom retell about how she had a condom talk with Drunky. Gew.

You see, Grandma's "special friend" is someone she's known for decades, someone who lives halfway across the country. Not too long ago, she made a trip out there to see both my uncle and her "special friend." That's when my mom gave me a call.


Me: Hi, Ma.

Mom: Hi, hon. How's it going?

Me: Fine, just applying to jobs and doing some freelance. What's going on over there?

Mom: Oh, noooothing. Besides having to talk with your grandmother about condoms.

Me: Okay, we're done here.


Anyway, the big, anticipated meet-up with the "special friend" ran into some snags and had to be postponed. He was supposed to fly into Memphis to see her for her birthday, but that got postponed too, for medical reasons. (That's two strikes, in my book.)

But who am I to judge? Drunky has a man-friend and it makes her happy, so it makes me happy.

Know what else makes me happy?

Posting fun pictures of her.





Happy birthday, you crazy old woman! Wish I were home to celebrate with you. I love you!!

I miss shopping

The Scene: I've left my dress in the middle of the floor, in Dave's way. He kicks it.


THEN

"Don't kick my dress! That's a $250 Calvin Klein and it deserves respect!"


NOW

"Don't kick my dress! That's a $30 piece from H&M and it can unravel at any moment!"


The Conclusion: I'm going to transition away from freelancing and look for a full-time job so I can continue to indulge the recklessly irresponsible fashionista in me.

Come on, economy! Bring me something good.

GPOYW: Haircuts-Are-Expensive Edition

Remember when my hair looked like this?


I need a cut, badly.

Moving day is approaching

It's finally happening: I'm moving into a two-bedroom apartment.

Um, this weekend actually. (I'd better start packing.)

New apartment, new neighborhood, new possibilities -- it's all very exciting! Here's a video Dave took when we fell in love with it:

Our apartment person says there's only 1 bathroom, but there are in fact 2.

For as much as I complain about it, the place I live right now isn't really that terrible. It's a River North highrise, so take that how you will.


Things I'll miss about my current apartment

• The gorgeous view off our 51st floor balcony
• The large bathroom
  
• The large bedroom
• Picking up my packages at the cleaners in the building
• Sitting at the kitchen island while Dave cooks
• The convenience of being in River North
• Being able to take one of two express buses right up to my brother's
• The pool

Things I will NOT miss about my current apartment

• The River North tourists
• The River North attitude problem
  
• Wandering onto the Red Line only to end up in the thick of drunken Cubs fans
• Waiting for 10 minutes just to get an elevator that goes to my floor
• A super-tiny living room
• Tons and tons of spiders/bugs on the windows
• The hotel rooms across the hall, complete with loud visitors
• The douchebags at the pool
• The lure of Whole Foods

Things I'm looking forward to about my new place:

• TWO BEDROOMS
• A neighborhood with trees (and Suz)
• Easy access to Mana (and J)
  
• Room for a dining room table and therefore dinner parties
• A built-in wine rack in the kitchen
• An entire laundry room
• A fireplace
• Pizza delivery from Piece
  

Move-in date is Sunday. Let's hope this apartment ends Dave's 10-year moving streak.

When SWAT teams invade the suburbs

When you think of a SWAT team busting into a residential neighborhood, you probably think that the reason must involve intense weaponry, armed criminals, murderous escapees or some other equally dangerous plight.

In Germantown, TN (where my parents live), the reason was Coach purses.

From the local paper:

The Poplar Estates neighborhood in Germantown was enjoying a typically peaceful Saturday morning -- until rifle-toting SWAT team members started going door-to-door.

Carrying M-16 rifles, the Germantown SWAT team and other law enforcement officers scoured the neighborhood for about four hours Saturday, hunting for three Memphis men accused of robbing the Coach store in the Saddle Creek shopping center.

Police said Jonathan Allen Redd, 20, and Alonzo Jones Jr., 37, ran into the store shortly before 10 a.m., grabbed five purses worth $1,900 from a display case and ran out.

Yep. Coach purses caused the Germantown SWAT team to descend on one of the quiet neighborhoods with their rifles, uniforms and designer-purse-retrieving mission.

Do not fuck with the suburbs, ya'll.

I've always been cute. Others have not.

Me: How adorable are all my friends babies!?

Mom: SO cute!

I pause...

Me: Wait. What... I mean... What if I just THINK they're cute because I'm so close to them? What if they're really ug? Do you even know if you have an ugly baby?

Mom: Oh, yeah. Definitely.

Me: Are you sure? Doesn't every Mom think her child is beautiful?

Mom: No.

Me: Mom. Did you have an ugly baby?

Mom: Yes.

Me: OH MY GOD, WAS IT ME?

Mom: I'm not going to say.

Me: Okay, it was definitely Carrie then, otherwise you would say.

Mom: It was your brother.


BWAHAHAHAHAHA

Bad Movie Night lives on

Back in college, my brother held Bad Move Night every week (or every other week) at his apartment. His living room would be crowded with his friends and charming older sister, his bowls overflowing with popcorn, his garbage can littered with empty beer cans and his DVD player filled with gems such as:

• Jason X
• Spice World
• Collateral Damage
• The Gingerbread Man
• Death Race 2000
• Cobra

It was magical.

Now that he has moved to Chicago, we've resurrected Bad Movie Night at my apartment, in all its ridiculous glory.

The first week, we watched Ballistic: Ecks Versus Sever, starring Antonio Banderas and Lucy Liu. It was, of course, retarded and we ended up talking over it more than we actually watched it.

Next up is a repeat for BMN: Jason X. This might be one of my favorites in BMN history. Jason in space? It. Is. Awesome.

We've got a few more in the queue -- specifically Lindsey Lohan's I Know Who Killed Me and the infamously horrible Gigli -- but I'd love to hear some of your votes for worst movie ever.

Suggestions?

Anniversary #1

About two months ago, I had this great plan for our first anniversary: I was going to take Dave on a surprise trip to San Francisco.

We were going to stay downtown, drink ourselves silly at some wineries, gorge ourselves on great food, and generally overindulge on anything and everything -- exactly what a 1-year anniversary should be.

Aaaand then I got laid off.

Unfortunately for Dave, I revealed my big San Fran surprise about a week before layoffs. It kinda happened like this:


Dave: So, I was thinking about our anniversary dinner. We should go somewhere really nice.

Me: Agreed. I'll take care of it.

Dave: Okay, what are you thinking? What type of food?

Me: Um, I don't know...

Dave: No idea where you want to go?

Me: ...

Dave: What?

Me: Okay, fine, this was going to be a surprise, but I do have an idea of where we should go... San Francisco!

Cue Dave's ridiculous excitement and my feeling like a total badass.


Of course, taking an expensive trip just after being laid off isn't the most responsible idea, so we scrapped it.

Instead, for our anniversary, we threw on some jeans and went to Reza's, the first place we'd ever eaten in Chicago and the location of our rehearsal dinner. It was a beautiful night, so we sat by the big, open window and tore though a bottle of Red Zinfandel.

When we got home, we took out our year-old wedding cake and our low expectations, fully prepared to take one bite and then just trash the thing. Shockingly, it was still delicious -- chocolate cake, chocolate ganache, crushed raspberries. (Let's be honest, even if it WAS kinda bad, that's still a combination I can't walk away from.)

So, it was a low-key night, not unlike our usual nights together. That might seem like a sad thing when it comes to a celebration, but I don't think it is. Yes, jet-setting across the country would have been pretty sweet, but chilling at home with Dave isn't half-bad either. And that's really what this whole relationship thing is all about, when it comes down to it. Nothing glitzy, glamorous or over-the-top. Just us.

Happy anniversary, Dave. This write-up isn't as sweet as yours, but I think a fresh perspective on things is still a pretty good gift.

Prom 2009 Recap

Do you remember you senior prom? I remember mine...

Let's just say that Prom 2009 was WAY better!

There were decorations...

...Sweet prom dresses...

...Professionals...

...Back drops...

...Inappropriate photos...

...And even a chaperone!

All in all, definitely a night to remember!

More debauchery here.

GPOYW: Grad Edition

Happy graduation 2005, ya'll.

Things I want to tell you about

Expect upcoming blogs on:

Prom 2009


Becoming an aunt to Lulu-pup


Moving (and leaving my beautiful view and retardedly high rent)
Beautiful shot, Dave!


Working from home


1-year anniversary

HBO series I like and dislike

I'm planning on elaborating on all these fun things later, but I've been super busy with freelance for the last week (thankfully) and I haven't had time. For now, I leave you in utter suspense.