I mentioned, a little over a month ago, that my beloved truck died. The first truck my father bought brand new (in 1993.) and swore he would never part with. The truck that took me on innumerable adventures and excursions, that my father gave to me when I was car less and single trying to get Monkey to daycare and my rear to school and to work. I felt like I won a battle when he signed the title over to me. The Cowboy just replaced the engine a year ago. That truck was my trophy. It wasn't great, but that didn't matter. It was my Toyo, my little-red-girl-truck. Now it rests under a tree in the yard, next to two other broken down trucks awaiting The Cowboys surgical genius.
(Sooo Redneck! We have three... errr four broken down vehicles lining the driveway. "Welcome to The Swamp Ranch - Horses, Bugs, "farm" mud, and now offering Used Trucks".)
When the truck died we started scouring Craigslist for a cheap car, since we can't alter our credit until we get a house. We looked at a mexi-gangsta-fied Turcel ("All my friends know tha low-rider...") A white Mazda at a bonafied chop-shop (call this number on the door... it's a digital voice asking me to leave a message.) And ultimately found a Purple Mazda 626 in Colton for $1000.
We test drove the Little Purple Monster, and it appeared to be in fine working condition. Something that would get me to work and around town until we move and can finance a new, more suitable vehicle.
(read. Ford Expedition. Diesel.)
We lay down the cash, sign the bill of sale, take the keys and head home. Not twenty miles up the highway, the "check engine" light comes on.
(Lovely.)
We concluded that lots of cars "check engine" lights are on, and well, what's done is done. So the next day I drive the Little Purple Monster to work, the brakes start screaming at me on my way home. OK, brakes. Sure, no problem, I can do brakes.
Day four with the little purple shit, the "Hold" light starts winking at me on the way to deposit Monkey at school. I look up what that might mean (I love google.) and learn that the transmission needs to be serviced.
(Sigh.)
I register the Little Purple Bastard, get the oil changed and have the transmission serviced. The Cowboy changes the breaks AND routers, which have a lovely 1/8 inch lip on them.
Week two:
Squealing. High pitched, embarrassing, torturous squealing. All the way down the 6 mile stretch of highway to Monkey's bus stop. Good thing I was early enough for the bus that day.
High pitched, embarrassing, torturous squealing. All the way back home. Took the day off work. My boss is a very understanding man, in case I haven't mentioned this before.
No car = No work
No Work and No Kids = Sleep
Sleep = Peace
The Cowboy came home, bought a water pump and the next weekend spent an ENTIRE day putting it in. A Water pump. A DAMN water pump, required dismantling the better half of the engine and removing most of what was under the hood. And the passenger wheel.
(This is ultimately what is required to fix my Toyo. Pull out the engine and send it back to be repaired or replaced.)
Water Pump in, car happy.
Yeah? Um-No.
Week four:
Engine light has not come back on. Shifting is still quirky, but I'm letting off the gas and not forcing it through. I'm learning if I baby The Monster, it will take me where I need to go. It's not making funny or horrendous noises, it's not smoking or screeching, the blue smoke is mostly gone in the morning... we're learning to like each other.
Then for no apparent reason, the bastard died when I was half way to work on Friday. No sputtering, No stall out, No knocking or sign of protest. It just died while I was at a stop light waiting to turn right, and refused defibulation. I tried, I begged, I didnt pound on the steering wheel, I talked really nicely to it, to no avail.
Fortunately The Cowboy works four 10's, so Friday is his day to sleep in and sit in front of the computer. So I called him. He wasn't surprised. He didn't even seem upset this time. He just rolled out of bed and came to my rescue.
We chained the LPM to The Beast, his borderline obnoxiously huge truck (Which is the only material reason that I fell in love with him.) (He knows this. it's all good.) and towed it home.
(When I say the only material reason I mean; when we started dating I told him I didn't really like him I just loved his truck. It's become a running joke with us. He knows I really love him for the way his butt looks in Wranglers.)
Fortunately the car died on a Friday, so I didn't have to miss another day of work. Unfortunately that Friday landed on Memorial Day weekend. So our plans to go riding at the beach were nixed for the exciting world of car parts.
We decided not to fix the PM when it became apparent that the car itself doesn't know what is wrong. One minute it thinks its the oxygen sensor, the next it's the fuel pump (or something stupid like that.) So, just as I was preparing to call my sister and ask to borrow their nightmare spare car, The Cowboy got a text from his friend. It seems this friend acquired another horse and has decided that he needs to go buy another truck, so he is selling the Saturn he just picked up. We were welcome to buy it for the $1500 he had put into it, if we wanted. He said he wouldn't sell it to us if he didn't have absolute faith in it, since he knows the luck we've had with cars over the past 2 years.
So we went out to Greshlahem, and test drove the ... I haven't thought of a nickname for it yet. It's clean, it doesn't stutter or smoke or scream. The engine light didn't come on when I drove it home, and it seems to like me.
I tell ya, for as bummed as I was that The Cowboy was working 60 hour weeks in February and March, I am sooooo grateful now. We set that overtime aside so we'd have money for escrow when the time came, and we have since spent over half of it on 2 cars and car parts in the past month.
As I thanked the friend I told him if the car dies on me in the next month I will have to kick him out of the wedding.
I was kidding of course.
Maybe.
~cheers!
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
pssst! I have some things to tell you
I love dill pickles. Sometimes sliced into quarter size rounds, placed on top of an equally sized square of Tillimook cheddar cheese. Other times, straight out of the jar. I used to drink pickle juice until my sister told me it was vinegar.
I cant stand sweet pickles.
When I was 18 my hair was purple for a couple months, then blonde... bad bad blonde. When I was 16 it was black, and red... most of the time.
I have very plain, annoyingly fine, uncurlable brown hair. With highlights, of course.
Why does spell check want to take the "e" off the end of "blonde"?
I got my first tattoo when I was 16. My mother discovered it just hours after arriving at our hotel in Disney World, the beginning of a 2 week adventure. All she said was, "That better not be real."
It was never mentioned again. You already know this because I am alive to tell you about it.
I love egg salad, but only when it's made with Miracle Whip. I think part of the reason I love it so much is that my sister hates the smell. When we were growing up we went skiing alot; I would always take egg salad sandwiches, which would stink up the entire cab of the truck, annoying the crap out of my sister, often resulting in her sitting outside in the snow to eat her lunch. With her outside, I could stretch out and take over the entire backseat. Thus my love for, and her loathing of, egg salad was born.
Yesterday I ran two miles in 19.9 minutes. But if I'd have tried to run a third I would have collapsed. If I slow down I will be walking, so perhaps I need to just keep running like I did yesterday and someday I will get to three, or thirty minutes... then six and an hour... then...
Tuesday night I drank an entire fifth of Citrus Skyy and didn't realize it until I went to make another drink and the bottle was empty.
I was not hungover on Wednesday.
This is a little concerning to me, but not enough to do anything about it at this juncture.
If someone had told me, ten years ago, that my life would be the way it is I would have told them they were full of it; then, armed with that information, I probably would have gone on the adventure that everyone thought I went on after High School. I stayed in town for a boy whom I allowed to crush all of my aspirations. Then I left him and started on another adventure, in the same city.
I am really glad no one told me.
I hated beer and wine until I was 24. Now to go beer or wine tasting, is one of my favorite things. I have learned to appreciate the color, aroma, taste, texture, and various complexities of beers and wines. While I am far from a connoisseur, I am definitely an aficionado.
My favorite beer is Drop Top. If you've never experienced it's milky amber goodness, I strongly suggest you add it to your list of things to try before you die.
I loved writing, most of my life. That is until I took my college English class. I never put much thought into being grammatically correct, I just wrote and things always seemed to turn out alright. Then my college English professor got all anal about grammar and proper punctuation and now I can not seem to write a proper sentence.
It's a random road trip weekend! First, pick North-South or East-West. Second, flip a coin; Heads = North (or east), Tails = South (or west). Third, grab a camera, toothbrush, and a jacket with a hood (just in case). Fuel up the truck and drive in the direction the coin stated. There is no specified mile marker to the next coin toss. There is no destination or expectation. Just adventure. See what's down that road you never turned down before.
Happy Friday!
~cheers
I cant stand sweet pickles.
When I was 18 my hair was purple for a couple months, then blonde... bad bad blonde. When I was 16 it was black, and red... most of the time.
I have very plain, annoyingly fine, uncurlable brown hair. With highlights, of course.
Why does spell check want to take the "e" off the end of "blonde"?
I got my first tattoo when I was 16. My mother discovered it just hours after arriving at our hotel in Disney World, the beginning of a 2 week adventure. All she said was, "That better not be real."
It was never mentioned again. You already know this because I am alive to tell you about it.
I love egg salad, but only when it's made with Miracle Whip. I think part of the reason I love it so much is that my sister hates the smell. When we were growing up we went skiing alot; I would always take egg salad sandwiches, which would stink up the entire cab of the truck, annoying the crap out of my sister, often resulting in her sitting outside in the snow to eat her lunch. With her outside, I could stretch out and take over the entire backseat. Thus my love for, and her loathing of, egg salad was born.
Yesterday I ran two miles in 19.9 minutes. But if I'd have tried to run a third I would have collapsed. If I slow down I will be walking, so perhaps I need to just keep running like I did yesterday and someday I will get to three, or thirty minutes... then six and an hour... then...
Tuesday night I drank an entire fifth of Citrus Skyy and didn't realize it until I went to make another drink and the bottle was empty.
I was not hungover on Wednesday.
This is a little concerning to me, but not enough to do anything about it at this juncture.
If someone had told me, ten years ago, that my life would be the way it is I would have told them they were full of it; then, armed with that information, I probably would have gone on the adventure that everyone thought I went on after High School. I stayed in town for a boy whom I allowed to crush all of my aspirations. Then I left him and started on another adventure, in the same city.
I am really glad no one told me.
I hated beer and wine until I was 24. Now to go beer or wine tasting, is one of my favorite things. I have learned to appreciate the color, aroma, taste, texture, and various complexities of beers and wines. While I am far from a connoisseur, I am definitely an aficionado.
My favorite beer is Drop Top. If you've never experienced it's milky amber goodness, I strongly suggest you add it to your list of things to try before you die.
I loved writing, most of my life. That is until I took my college English class. I never put much thought into being grammatically correct, I just wrote and things always seemed to turn out alright. Then my college English professor got all anal about grammar and proper punctuation and now I can not seem to write a proper sentence.
It's a random road trip weekend! First, pick North-South or East-West. Second, flip a coin; Heads = North (or east), Tails = South (or west). Third, grab a camera, toothbrush, and a jacket with a hood (just in case). Fuel up the truck and drive in the direction the coin stated. There is no specified mile marker to the next coin toss. There is no destination or expectation. Just adventure. See what's down that road you never turned down before.
Happy Friday!
~cheers
Tuesday, May 12, 2009
Three Love Letters
Dear The Wonderful People at Chase;
Congratulations on your acquisition of WAMU! I'm sure you are very excited about the new surge of business coming your way.
Personally, I think it's sad that so many people are now being forced to deal with your incompetence and complete disregard for your customers. I, for one, completely understand. I'm sure acquiring all of those struggling mortgages was a brilliant idea, given the kickbacks Uncle Sam is going to give you when they all finally go into foreclosure. But really, you should be just a little bit willing to actually try sell the houses while they are in short-sale. If not for the fact that foreclosure can destroy a family's credit, think about the families out there that have been responsible and are able to buy in these times. If you dont want to sell anything, just say so. But losing paperwork, twice, and then taking the maximum 14 days, EACH TIME, to look at a damn fax, is just a little ridiculous.
I am not trying to steal a property from you. I would like to purchase it at a fair market value; which is completely insane on my part anyway, but that's beside the point. I have financing available. All I need your "customer service agent" to do is to say, "Yes, we will accept this price." or "No, a person's life earnings, is not quite enough for this particular plot of land and moderate house." That's all you really have to do. Yes, or No. If you say, "No." I can hopefully get an offer in on another property that is not in short sale, and which I love far more than the one you own, before my pre-approval expires and I have to start this entire process over again. The problem is the Cowboy, the wonderful loving man that he is, wants the house that you own, more than his children or our pending marriage. (ok, not literally.) He thinks it's perfect for our needs and that the work needed to make it our dream home is far less than that of the house I actually want.
So please, just answer that pesky real estate agent that calls you every day. Just tell her "No. We actually want this property to foreclose so that we can destroy a family's credit, then sell it for less than what your people are offering." or say, "Sure, we will accept this offer. Assuming that, in another 45 days in the closing process, the buyers bank is still willing to offer them the killer financing deal they've spent the last 5 months trying to secure."
May your greedy asses fry in your Lear jets!
A Slightly Disgruntled Would-Be Home Buyer
... ... ... ...
Dear Gigantic-ASS Hornet,
It was kind of you to greet me in the bathroom this morning. You are lucky that I was only wrapped in a towel and that Mr Man was still home, lest you would have been smashed into, and likely along with, my medicine cabinet's mirror. Your dance around the light bulbs was awe inspiring. It's almost like you knew I was waiting to hit you with my hairbrush just as soon as you got far enough away from anything breakable.
I'm not entirely sure how you got in there, while I slept, but I hope you find your way out before I get home.
There is a large can of Raid waiting for you.
Loathing You,
The Girl Who's Shower You Ruined
... ... ... ...
Dear Monkey,
Please quit kissing Henry!
You are only 6. You can not have a boyfriend for at least 20 more years! Trust me, boys are really not worth your time until then anyway.
Love
Your Mommy
~cheers!
Congratulations on your acquisition of WAMU! I'm sure you are very excited about the new surge of business coming your way.
Personally, I think it's sad that so many people are now being forced to deal with your incompetence and complete disregard for your customers. I, for one, completely understand. I'm sure acquiring all of those struggling mortgages was a brilliant idea, given the kickbacks Uncle Sam is going to give you when they all finally go into foreclosure. But really, you should be just a little bit willing to actually try sell the houses while they are in short-sale. If not for the fact that foreclosure can destroy a family's credit, think about the families out there that have been responsible and are able to buy in these times. If you dont want to sell anything, just say so. But losing paperwork, twice, and then taking the maximum 14 days, EACH TIME, to look at a damn fax, is just a little ridiculous.
I am not trying to steal a property from you. I would like to purchase it at a fair market value; which is completely insane on my part anyway, but that's beside the point. I have financing available. All I need your "customer service agent" to do is to say, "Yes, we will accept this price." or "No, a person's life earnings, is not quite enough for this particular plot of land and moderate house." That's all you really have to do. Yes, or No. If you say, "No." I can hopefully get an offer in on another property that is not in short sale, and which I love far more than the one you own, before my pre-approval expires and I have to start this entire process over again. The problem is the Cowboy, the wonderful loving man that he is, wants the house that you own, more than his children or our pending marriage. (ok, not literally.) He thinks it's perfect for our needs and that the work needed to make it our dream home is far less than that of the house I actually want.
So please, just answer that pesky real estate agent that calls you every day. Just tell her "No. We actually want this property to foreclose so that we can destroy a family's credit, then sell it for less than what your people are offering." or say, "Sure, we will accept this offer. Assuming that, in another 45 days in the closing process, the buyers bank is still willing to offer them the killer financing deal they've spent the last 5 months trying to secure."
May your greedy asses fry in your Lear jets!
A Slightly Disgruntled Would-Be Home Buyer
... ... ... ...
Dear Gigantic-ASS Hornet,
It was kind of you to greet me in the bathroom this morning. You are lucky that I was only wrapped in a towel and that Mr Man was still home, lest you would have been smashed into, and likely along with, my medicine cabinet's mirror. Your dance around the light bulbs was awe inspiring. It's almost like you knew I was waiting to hit you with my hairbrush just as soon as you got far enough away from anything breakable.
I'm not entirely sure how you got in there, while I slept, but I hope you find your way out before I get home.
There is a large can of Raid waiting for you.
Loathing You,
The Girl Who's Shower You Ruined
... ... ... ...
Dear Monkey,
Please quit kissing Henry!
You are only 6. You can not have a boyfriend for at least 20 more years! Trust me, boys are really not worth your time until then anyway.
Love
Your Mommy
~cheers!
Monday, April 27, 2009
You did not just say what I think you said
Happy Monday!
Have I regressed to prudishness or, if after hearing what I heard this morning, would you would feel even a twinge of the same stupefaction that I am experiencing?
Upon exiting the K-8 school that is educating my 6 year old, my right ear is graced with this incredible question: "What the F**K are you wearing?"
Not absolutely sure that I was hearing a student rather than a song or recording or something, I look over to see three boys, 10 years old max. I'm not even kidding, that lovely question was directed from one of them to another.
A fourth grader dropping an F-Bomb in the school yard! Lovely.
This is not so much astonishing as the fact the I was apparently the only person who was even phased by it. The recess ladies, (I don't know if it's still ok to call them that. Please correct me if that phrase was deemed politically incorrect.) (or don't.) who were standing in ear shot and didn't so much as bat an eye, went about their coffee sipping and smiling at the parents depositing their children. There was no bugging eyes or covering of mouths by other kids that the boy had used the expletive of all expletives... nothing.
I'm pretty sure I send my child to school for an education. Meaning to learn. Things she needs to know, behaviors she should exhibit, in order to be a respectful and self sufficent person. Do we honestly live in a society that has deteriorated so far that it is now deemed pseudo acceptable for a 10 year old child to talk to his peers this way? I mean, really, adults shouldn't even talk like that. (you know this.)
I know that I heard and said some things in school that would have mortified my mother. But some words we just not uttered, and had they been parents certainly would have been called and soap likely would have been administered.
I'm not trying to get preachy, but what the hell happened to the world of just a little decency? Mutual respect for other people. Letting kids be kids. Telling a child, I don't care whose child, that they are out of line or they shouldn't behave a certain way, because well... they are out of line and shouldn't behave that way! If some kid is bullying my child, or swearing in front of her, I let them know that they should not act/speak that way. I've had parents chew me out for correcting their little spawn, even when they knew the brat was out of line.
Way to go buddy, lets reinforce bad behavior by acting like a jack ass to another parent. Couldn't you just correct your child and let them know that cursing at a 4 year old is just not OK, PERIOD!
I seriously wanted to correct the kid at school this morning. I'll admit it, kids older than 7, that I don't know, scare me. Kids are violent. They have guns, no respect for anyone or anything, are seemingly invincible, and they know it.
The lack of common sense in our State Offices deems that; we can not discipline them, correct them, hurt their feelings or tell them that they are not entitled to anything except food and shelter. These things are called abuse and cruelty. Instead we are supposed to set them up for disappointment, pay for their therapy, and let them move back in to our homes when they get fired for asking their bosses "What the F**k are you wearing?"
~cheers!
Have I regressed to prudishness or, if after hearing what I heard this morning, would you would feel even a twinge of the same stupefaction that I am experiencing?
Upon exiting the K-8 school that is educating my 6 year old, my right ear is graced with this incredible question: "What the F**K are you wearing?"
Not absolutely sure that I was hearing a student rather than a song or recording or something, I look over to see three boys, 10 years old max. I'm not even kidding, that lovely question was directed from one of them to another.
A fourth grader dropping an F-Bomb in the school yard! Lovely.
This is not so much astonishing as the fact the I was apparently the only person who was even phased by it. The recess ladies, (I don't know if it's still ok to call them that. Please correct me if that phrase was deemed politically incorrect.) (or don't.) who were standing in ear shot and didn't so much as bat an eye, went about their coffee sipping and smiling at the parents depositing their children. There was no bugging eyes or covering of mouths by other kids that the boy had used the expletive of all expletives... nothing.
I'm pretty sure I send my child to school for an education. Meaning to learn. Things she needs to know, behaviors she should exhibit, in order to be a respectful and self sufficent person. Do we honestly live in a society that has deteriorated so far that it is now deemed pseudo acceptable for a 10 year old child to talk to his peers this way? I mean, really, adults shouldn't even talk like that. (you know this.)
I know that I heard and said some things in school that would have mortified my mother. But some words we just not uttered, and had they been parents certainly would have been called and soap likely would have been administered.
I'm not trying to get preachy, but what the hell happened to the world of just a little decency? Mutual respect for other people. Letting kids be kids. Telling a child, I don't care whose child, that they are out of line or they shouldn't behave a certain way, because well... they are out of line and shouldn't behave that way! If some kid is bullying my child, or swearing in front of her, I let them know that they should not act/speak that way. I've had parents chew me out for correcting their little spawn, even when they knew the brat was out of line.
Way to go buddy, lets reinforce bad behavior by acting like a jack ass to another parent. Couldn't you just correct your child and let them know that cursing at a 4 year old is just not OK, PERIOD!
I seriously wanted to correct the kid at school this morning. I'll admit it, kids older than 7, that I don't know, scare me. Kids are violent. They have guns, no respect for anyone or anything, are seemingly invincible, and they know it.
The lack of common sense in our State Offices deems that; we can not discipline them, correct them, hurt their feelings or tell them that they are not entitled to anything except food and shelter. These things are called abuse and cruelty. Instead we are supposed to set them up for disappointment, pay for their therapy, and let them move back in to our homes when they get fired for asking their bosses "What the F**k are you wearing?"
~cheers!
Thursday, April 23, 2009
I started over here and ended up waaayyyyy over there
What a lonley day. It was one of those mornings that would have been better spent under the down, curled up with a book.
The sunshine is leaving... I'm watching it make it's exit at this very moment.
Goodbye friend. Come back soon... like before lunch!
I'm thinking of about a billion other places I would rather be, than sitting at this desk. This is nothing new, mind you, but I feel that I have successfully accomplished every single personal task that can be completed from behind a computer. I officially need a week off just to tend to personal matters.
My To Do List:
- Contact a Minister and meet them in person
- Take new crap car in for a tune up
- Pray that a tune up is all new crap car needs
- Pick shoes and accessories for self and 4 bridesmaids
- Meet with florist
- Get house to a living state of clean before Crazy Horse Lady comes back home and fills it with smoke and grease, again!
- Find back-up house incase offer falls through
- Ride Horsey before he actually does forget what a saddle feels like
- Refrain from beating children (repeat as necessary)
It seems the clock drags to 4:30p.m. then fast forwards to 5:30a.m. and there is not a moment in between to get anything accomplished besides dinner and laundry. I'm finding it increasingly difficult to be cheerful when I get home, and I'm losing my patience with the Cowboy oldest and youngest children.
Is this what I was waiting for all my life? Let me warn the kids. Heed this advise: Your parents are right. Enjoy being a kid. Stop trying to grow up so fast. There is pleanty of time to be a grown up... just enjoy growing!
Now... get the heck out of my house. Use your imagination, thats fun part of your brain that rarely gets any exercise. Go get dirty!
(I know they aren't listening.)
~cheers!
The sunshine is leaving... I'm watching it make it's exit at this very moment.
Goodbye friend. Come back soon... like before lunch!
I'm thinking of about a billion other places I would rather be, than sitting at this desk. This is nothing new, mind you, but I feel that I have successfully accomplished every single personal task that can be completed from behind a computer. I officially need a week off just to tend to personal matters.
My To Do List:
- Contact a Minister and meet them in person
- Take new crap car in for a tune up
- Pray that a tune up is all new crap car needs
- Pick shoes and accessories for self and 4 bridesmaids
- Meet with florist
- Get house to a living state of clean before Crazy Horse Lady comes back home and fills it with smoke and grease, again!
- Find back-up house incase offer falls through
- Ride Horsey before he actually does forget what a saddle feels like
- Refrain from beating children (repeat as necessary)
It seems the clock drags to 4:30p.m. then fast forwards to 5:30a.m. and there is not a moment in between to get anything accomplished besides dinner and laundry. I'm finding it increasingly difficult to be cheerful when I get home, and I'm losing my patience with the Cowboy oldest and youngest children.
Is this what I was waiting for all my life? Let me warn the kids. Heed this advise: Your parents are right. Enjoy being a kid. Stop trying to grow up so fast. There is pleanty of time to be a grown up... just enjoy growing!
Now... get the heck out of my house. Use your imagination, thats fun part of your brain that rarely gets any exercise. Go get dirty!
(I know they aren't listening.)
~cheers!
Friday, April 17, 2009
CLASSIFIED!
Back in January my mother took my sister and I to the Bridal Show. An overwhelming event held at the Convention Center where all of the big shops in the Metro area rent booths and try to convince brides-to-be that if they don't book every aspect of their wedding five years in advance, their wedding will be disastrous. It's a cross between wandering through a mall full of kiosk vendors who want to put smear you with crappy lotion and shopping for a used car. But we endured, and I managed to get all the information I could possibly want or need without committing to anything that day.
The most important parts of the wedding, to me, were my dress, location, and the photographer. I confess, since confirming these three essentials I've kind of slacked off on everything else. It got really frustrating at first. It seemed like every vendor I called was already booked, or had booked up in the time it took me to call them back. Apparently, Christmas was not early enough to get engaged in order to plan an August wedding. (Seriously, one vendor all but said that.) Fortunately, things are coming together. We got a great outdoor venue that includes catering, and booze! (SCORE!) Our photographer has an incredible portfolio! The flowers are handled. The cake is ordered. All I really need is a minister, and I still have 4 months to go so... Whoever said it takes a year (or a decade) to plan a wedding is just trying to get your money before anyone else does.
Which brings me to, The Dress!
Almost immediately after The Cowboy proposed, I started looking at dresses. I didn't really have anything in mind at first, but I knew that something super extravagant was just not my style. I got a couple of ideas, and while meandering though the Bridal show, I saw a dress that stopped me in my tracks. I walked up to the lady at the booth and said "I have to try that dress on." She smiled, opened her little appointment book and penciled me in for the next weekend.
Fast forward seven days...
We booked two dress fittings that day. The first in Clackamas at 9am the other in Longview at 1pm.
Coffee ingested and a little weary, we entered the first shop. It took an hour just to look though all of the dresses. Each cut has a section, and each section had between 10 and 25 dresses. Once I had picked one or two from each section we proceeded to the dressing room. The process of elimination had begun. Many were easy to nix before I even looked in the mirror. I never felt like such a princess (I kinda liked it.) (shhhh.) Trying on wedding dresses is a lot like playing dress up! (maybe that's what it's all about.) I narrowed it down to two and had to put them both on twice before I picked the one I really liked.
I knew it was nothing like the dress that I had seen at the bridal show, but I really felt like Cinderella in it. I almost cried when I had it on, then I felt silly for being all girly, only to be reminded by several strangers that brides are supposed to get all excited and emotional when they find the dress. We took down all of the information about the dress and told our attendant that I needed a day to think about it. She tried everything she could to get me to order that dress that day, but I told her if it really was the one that I wouldn't need to rush... I still had 8 months!
We stopped in Vancouver to pick up my Grandmother, on the way to Longview. All the way up there all I could think about was how I felt in that dress, and how incredibly exhausted I was.
We got to the cute little hole in the wall shop. There was a tiny (in comparison) section to the right, a platform with 3 mirrors to the left, and a larger room full of hideous prom dresses to the left of that. The dressing rooms in the back. The owner checked us in, I told her I wanted to try on the dress from the bridal show, she said she knew the one and told me to go ahead and look through what she had hanging just to see if there was anything else I liked. I picked 3 other dresses, and almost immediately discarded them in comparison to the dress from the Clackamas store. She saved the one from the bridal show for last. She said she just had a feeling about it.
It's not extravagant. It's rather simple actually. It doesn't have a bustle, it doesn't require a slip, the train is an accessory that I later decided to add.
The minute I put it on I knew it was The One, as assuredly as I know The Cowboy is the one. I wasn't emotional. I didn't feel like a silly girly princess. I felt like a confident, beautiful woman. I went out to the platform and imagined the look on his face when he sees me for the first time on our wedding day. It was (is.) perfect! I found a simple veil on the rack that didn't cover my face, but is a hair piece, with these clear sequined "daisyesque" flowers all around the trim, which completely matches the detail on the dress. The shop owner was a little surprised when I showed her. She said she couldn't have picked a better one for that dress.
I made my decision. My mother was hesitant. She said I didn't look as excited about it as the one at the other shop. I told her I was tired, but I knew this was my dress. The shop owner told us it could take 12 weeks to get the dress in so we needed to order it as soon as possible. I didn't want to drive back up to try it on again so I decided then and there to just go with it. As she made her calls to place the order and started all of the paper work, my mother just looked at me with questioning eyes. She was trying to read me, to see if I was settling. Upon passing her silent quiz, she paid for the dress.
I slept so hard that night. I dreamt that the dress came in and I hated it. That I wished I had picked the other dress, and that I felt awkward on my wedding day and everything was just awful. I woke up a little panicked, but reassured myself that I picked the right dress and would have had the same thoughts about the other dress had we decided to go with that one.
The dress came in two weeks ago. (12 weeks my ass.) I took Monkey with me to try it on again, and you know what? I LOVE IT more than I did the first time I tried it on! When Monkey saw it she said, "Oh Mommy, it's perfect."
It Is Perfect!
(and since this blog is my secret... I can post a picture for you to see!)
(no that's not me.)
~cheers!
The most important parts of the wedding, to me, were my dress, location, and the photographer. I confess, since confirming these three essentials I've kind of slacked off on everything else. It got really frustrating at first. It seemed like every vendor I called was already booked, or had booked up in the time it took me to call them back. Apparently, Christmas was not early enough to get engaged in order to plan an August wedding. (Seriously, one vendor all but said that.) Fortunately, things are coming together. We got a great outdoor venue that includes catering, and booze! (SCORE!) Our photographer has an incredible portfolio! The flowers are handled. The cake is ordered. All I really need is a minister, and I still have 4 months to go so... Whoever said it takes a year (or a decade) to plan a wedding is just trying to get your money before anyone else does.
Which brings me to, The Dress!
Almost immediately after The Cowboy proposed, I started looking at dresses. I didn't really have anything in mind at first, but I knew that something super extravagant was just not my style. I got a couple of ideas, and while meandering though the Bridal show, I saw a dress that stopped me in my tracks. I walked up to the lady at the booth and said "I have to try that dress on." She smiled, opened her little appointment book and penciled me in for the next weekend.
Fast forward seven days...
We booked two dress fittings that day. The first in Clackamas at 9am the other in Longview at 1pm.
Coffee ingested and a little weary, we entered the first shop. It took an hour just to look though all of the dresses. Each cut has a section, and each section had between 10 and 25 dresses. Once I had picked one or two from each section we proceeded to the dressing room. The process of elimination had begun. Many were easy to nix before I even looked in the mirror. I never felt like such a princess (I kinda liked it.) (shhhh.) Trying on wedding dresses is a lot like playing dress up! (maybe that's what it's all about.) I narrowed it down to two and had to put them both on twice before I picked the one I really liked.
I knew it was nothing like the dress that I had seen at the bridal show, but I really felt like Cinderella in it. I almost cried when I had it on, then I felt silly for being all girly, only to be reminded by several strangers that brides are supposed to get all excited and emotional when they find the dress. We took down all of the information about the dress and told our attendant that I needed a day to think about it. She tried everything she could to get me to order that dress that day, but I told her if it really was the one that I wouldn't need to rush... I still had 8 months!
We stopped in Vancouver to pick up my Grandmother, on the way to Longview. All the way up there all I could think about was how I felt in that dress, and how incredibly exhausted I was.
We got to the cute little hole in the wall shop. There was a tiny (in comparison) section to the right, a platform with 3 mirrors to the left, and a larger room full of hideous prom dresses to the left of that. The dressing rooms in the back. The owner checked us in, I told her I wanted to try on the dress from the bridal show, she said she knew the one and told me to go ahead and look through what she had hanging just to see if there was anything else I liked. I picked 3 other dresses, and almost immediately discarded them in comparison to the dress from the Clackamas store. She saved the one from the bridal show for last. She said she just had a feeling about it.
It's not extravagant. It's rather simple actually. It doesn't have a bustle, it doesn't require a slip, the train is an accessory that I later decided to add.
The minute I put it on I knew it was The One, as assuredly as I know The Cowboy is the one. I wasn't emotional. I didn't feel like a silly girly princess. I felt like a confident, beautiful woman. I went out to the platform and imagined the look on his face when he sees me for the first time on our wedding day. It was (is.) perfect! I found a simple veil on the rack that didn't cover my face, but is a hair piece, with these clear sequined "daisyesque" flowers all around the trim, which completely matches the detail on the dress. The shop owner was a little surprised when I showed her. She said she couldn't have picked a better one for that dress.
I made my decision. My mother was hesitant. She said I didn't look as excited about it as the one at the other shop. I told her I was tired, but I knew this was my dress. The shop owner told us it could take 12 weeks to get the dress in so we needed to order it as soon as possible. I didn't want to drive back up to try it on again so I decided then and there to just go with it. As she made her calls to place the order and started all of the paper work, my mother just looked at me with questioning eyes. She was trying to read me, to see if I was settling. Upon passing her silent quiz, she paid for the dress.
I slept so hard that night. I dreamt that the dress came in and I hated it. That I wished I had picked the other dress, and that I felt awkward on my wedding day and everything was just awful. I woke up a little panicked, but reassured myself that I picked the right dress and would have had the same thoughts about the other dress had we decided to go with that one.
The dress came in two weeks ago. (12 weeks my ass.) I took Monkey with me to try it on again, and you know what? I LOVE IT more than I did the first time I tried it on! When Monkey saw it she said, "Oh Mommy, it's perfect."
It Is Perfect!
(and since this blog is my secret... I can post a picture for you to see!)
(no that's not me.)
~cheers!
Busted!
Everyone knows that all men look at porn. That's a given. It's expected.
That being said, it still bums me out when I actually bust The Cowboy looking at porn on the computer. It's a little "awe com'on" when I find it in his phone, but to come home from picking up my wedding dress, walk up the back steps and look through the back door (which is a big window) to see naked chicks on the computer monitor... it's a little depressing.
All in all I think I handled it well. I shook the handle (to get his attention.) set my purse down on the porch, told monkey to go find the puppies, so she wouldn't catch a glimpse, and methodically started digging for my keys. He had to close several screens before he could come open the door. He was pale... that part was funny. He thought my mom was with me. Fortunately she had decided not to come in. I didn't say anything, but I didnt act like I wasnt saying anything because I was upset either. I just went through the kitchen and set down my things then went to folding the laundry.
I know The Cowboy likes beautiful naked women. I've happened upon his "picture" files on more than one occasion. And, I've met more than one of his ex-girlfriends. I know it's silly to let it bug me and I try really hard not to, because I know that ALL guys do it. There is just something about not being ogled by the man who wants to marry me, knowing that he ogles lots of far more beautiful, photo shopped women, that just ...
dammit! it hurts my feelings and makes me feel inadequate.
OK I said it.
I know it's stupid and lame and well... stupid and lame, but I cant help it. God didn't bless me with beautiful full breasts and it's something I've always been very self conscious of. I've suggested a remedy to this problem, but he seems to think that should I get this "correction" it will automatically mean I will cheat on him... because apparently that's what women do when they get that done. I have a different opinion; these are for ME!
Him being fully aware of this insecurity of mine does not stop him from hunting down better things to look at, on the internet. I don't even know how to broach this subject with him. I know that, really, I just need to get over it. I know he does it... just something about catching him, not just finding the pictures, but actually catching him surfing thorough them...
grrrr......
~cheers (it's Friday)
That being said, it still bums me out when I actually bust The Cowboy looking at porn on the computer. It's a little "awe com'on" when I find it in his phone, but to come home from picking up my wedding dress, walk up the back steps and look through the back door (which is a big window) to see naked chicks on the computer monitor... it's a little depressing.
All in all I think I handled it well. I shook the handle (to get his attention.) set my purse down on the porch, told monkey to go find the puppies, so she wouldn't catch a glimpse, and methodically started digging for my keys. He had to close several screens before he could come open the door. He was pale... that part was funny. He thought my mom was with me. Fortunately she had decided not to come in. I didn't say anything, but I didnt act like I wasnt saying anything because I was upset either. I just went through the kitchen and set down my things then went to folding the laundry.
I know The Cowboy likes beautiful naked women. I've happened upon his "picture" files on more than one occasion. And, I've met more than one of his ex-girlfriends. I know it's silly to let it bug me and I try really hard not to, because I know that ALL guys do it. There is just something about not being ogled by the man who wants to marry me, knowing that he ogles lots of far more beautiful, photo shopped women, that just ...
dammit! it hurts my feelings and makes me feel inadequate.
OK I said it.
I know it's stupid and lame and well... stupid and lame, but I cant help it. God didn't bless me with beautiful full breasts and it's something I've always been very self conscious of. I've suggested a remedy to this problem, but he seems to think that should I get this "correction" it will automatically mean I will cheat on him... because apparently that's what women do when they get that done. I have a different opinion; these are for ME!
Him being fully aware of this insecurity of mine does not stop him from hunting down better things to look at, on the internet. I don't even know how to broach this subject with him. I know that, really, I just need to get over it. I know he does it... just something about catching him, not just finding the pictures, but actually catching him surfing thorough them...
grrrr......
~cheers (it's Friday)
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