For Under Appreciated Husbands Everywhere

I would just like to add addendum to my previous note. I'd like to say that through all this pregnancy crap John (my husband) has been wonderful. He has been supportive and loving and taken all my bursts of sobs, extreme hatred toward random strangers, and hopelessness at my growing stomach, with a grain of salt. Like the time he was leaving for work and I just started crying for really no reason at all that I even know of, but the tears just kept flowing and flowing and I couldn't stop. Or the time I just didn't like the way this one family in the doctor's waiting room looked and sat quietly plotting their demise because the husband was a goth and wearing a world of warcraft sweatshirt, and their baby was still in it's pajamas and they were having another one, that no doubt our taxes are paying for. Or the time that I freaked out after we went to Target because my wedding ring doesn't fit anymore and ya...He always knows the right thing to do and say even when it's the usual correct answer to "How do I look." I'm sure he's thinking, "Well your butt is like three times as big as normal and your face looks kind of puffy and you're starting to look more and more like a house." But of course he says..."You look beautiful," and "Your stomach is so cute." The really awesome part is that I actually think he does still think I'm pretty which is pretty cool. Not that I think I'm devastating now, but watching your body change and grow isn't the easiest thing to have happen. So it is my hope that everyone out there can find or has as cute of a husband as I do who buys you new clothes and glasses and perfume when you feel down, and works so hard, and makes you feel like you are still a princess, even when you feel like an ogre. Without them, pregnancy would suck like fifty times more than it does. And I wanted to write this because I don't think that I tell him enough. I'm sure he thinks that he does nothing right, when in actuality he has been perfect. Which makes me think that there are lots of people out there I need to tell that I appreciate them and their magicalness. I think I will. P.S. What IS up with World of Warcraft and all the losers who think it's cool? Or all the guys that wear girls jeans. FYI you look ridiculous, I don't care if it's in style. I freaking hate all that crap.

If Only for the Kid

I'm just so pregnant. I always looked forward to getting pregnant when I was younger, excited about the prospect of being a mom, and I guess I had visions of myself as this cute little pregnant lady who would be in style and wear cute little clothes with a basketball just sticking out my shirt. And though I'm still excited at the prospect of being a mom, the wonderful vision of a cute pregnancy has quickly faded into the reality of what my pregnancy really is, a fat pregnancy. That's right. I went to the doctor a couple days ago for my sixth month appointment. And I gained too much weight this month. Having looked at pictures of myself just before I got pregnant it is definitely true. But isn't it the slow and steady weight gain that just scares the crap out of you? The kind that you don't really notice and don't really mind until you wake up one morning and you're shopping at Lane Bryant? (This has not happened to me yet...and hopefully I will lose at least ten right when the baby comes out, I'm just illustrating a point.) It's not the weight gain that bothers me so much, though, because if it was just that pregnancy would rock. Eat what you want, feel great, pop out a kid nine months later. What really makes it unbearable is the inability to do anything that you normally do. From what you eat to how you sleep, to the in style fashions you just can't wear, or the tanning booth you can't go to, the colors you can't dye your hair, the high heels that hurt way too much now, the hot tubs you can't swim in, or rides you can't ride, sports you can't play, and drugs (prescription people) you can't take, pregnancy seems like a long list of probably shouldn'ts, can'ts and definitely do nots, unless you want your kid to die, be deformed or retarded in some way, or die yourself. The sugar on top has been that I can't wear my wedding ring anymore. Ya, it doesn't fit. My hands are too swollen/fat (along with my ankles, feet and basically face.) So now I look like I got knocked up and have no husband. Don't get me wrong, it's great too, there's lots of wonderful moments. Like the first time you see the baby on the ultrasound, or when you feel him kick, or see the look on your husband's face when he feels the baby move for the first time. It's all really magical and special. Maybe some people have it much easier and love everything about their pregnancy. (Probably the basketball stomach people who don't gain weight any place else besides their baby.) But I have to just tell myself that it will be over one day, and then I will be able to starve myself and go tanning like all normal people. Until then, I will press on in my three pairs of pants and two skirts that still fit me, and continue to endure whatever this pregnancy thing throws at me, if only for the kid. Only four more months...

Men, Women, DirecTV and Stress Relief

So the latest happenings in my life are pretty dull. I am steadily growing larger in the stomach region and the booty region and everywhere in between...and just been trying to study for my dietetics boards. Really the most amusing part of my life has been John lately. Well, if you look at it that way, which I definitely do. So John has been working a lot of late, as usual, but this weekend in particular, since they had a big sale. He's basically really burnt out of work and needs a vacation. I just want to preface this tasty little snack of humor by telling you that I can only remember one other time that John has gotten as mad as I'm about to describe, and when these situations happen it's all I can do to stifle the laughter at the absurdity and hilarity of his antics. He's rarely mad at me, usually work or some other situation so it makes it easy for me to get a good seat and watch without fault or blame. So that one other time, he couldn't find his keys and he was really late for work. So he was essentially moving through the house like a tornado, looking in places that his keys would never be like under my pile of clothes on the chair. But neverless each item of clothing was effortlessly tossed in the air and across the room as a child would throw up leaves from a freshly raked pile. He then madlly searched our bedroom and the rest of the house. It got to the point where he was just throwing things out of place just from sheer frustration. And it's mean of me but it was all I could do not to laugh. When he finally left I moved through the house after him restoring order similar to the way the women of the house in Mary Poppins did after the colonel down the street fired his canon off the roof. But I digress...the point of this particular entry is to talk about the DirecTV "mishap." So John came home after a particularly stressful day and sat down on the bed to relax and watch TV, when the DirecTV remote started malfunctioning. I don't think it was really working at all. And this wasn't the first time we had had problems with our tv, satelite, phone and internet, all through direcTV. So, I'm calmly sitting on the bed when all of a sudden John throws the remote on the floor as hard as he can screaming "Gosh dang it!!!!" Or something to that effect. I am totally shocked and basically frozen with amazement and wonder, when he throws it down again as hard as he can and before I know it bits of plastic are flying everywhere and the whole remote has split apart into atleast 6 pieces...the inside, the rubber buttons, the two outer shells and some other broken plastic shards. So as I am picking up plastic, I calmly inquire why he has just destroyed the remote, because up until this point I had not even realized that it wasn't working. To this question he replies (in an almost surpisingly calm voice after what just happened)..."Well DirecTV doesn't cover the remote control, you have to pay for it, so if it's going to be broken it might as well be BROKEN." "I see, okaaay." RIIIIIGHT. So he calls DirecTV to cancel or whatever or get something done about the crap service. I kind of tuned out for most of the phone call, but tuned back in when I hear..."About the remote...you don't need that back if you give us a new one right, because I sort of dropped it on the floor to see if that might make it work better." To this I burst out laughing and I think I said to the dogs..."Actually he smashed the crap out of it because he's a rage-a-holic isn't he Maya." To which we both start laughing and I get the "Shhhhh!" So I guess the moral is....sometimes you just need to smash the crap out of something to relieve stress. I think it might be more of a male need, because I would much prefer to sleep or read to relax. But the remote smashing is something that reminds me of the Cromagnon men that we learned about in Junior high that we were supposed to have evolved from who tried to make fire and jumped around and got angry like monkeys would. I don't believe in evolution in that way, but when our men act like this I can see how other people can find the similarities. I'm sure us women do some pretty interesting things as well that no man will ever understand, just like we don't always understand them. But I guess until I do, I'm content to sit back and enjoy the show. Because it's always a good time.

I guess I'm a nerd after all

I've just been reading Harry Potter. I read the last two books (the ones they haven't made movies of yet) and I have now joined the ranks of those I used to ridicule. But I haven't read all of them, so I'm not a super huge geek, but I have to say the last two were pretty good and I read them both in 4 days. That's like 1400 pages folks. Why couldn't I read like that in college? I guess text books don't turn the pages as easily as "the boy who lived," if you will. Yes, I said "if you will." So now I have to figure something else out to do. Besides puke up my breakfast and take long naps, I mean. Naturally those things are my first priority. But once I have them taken care of, I'm pretty bored the rest of the day. Anywho...just wanted to pass on some of my new found dorkiness and say that Harry is pretty awesome and if you don't think so I'll put a killing curse on you! ("Avada Kedavra!") Ha ha ha...I think that was too much. I'm going to stop while I have some dignity left. Actually the funny thing about that is, I was reading the book, and John's totally into them, but the movies, cause he doesn't really have much time or patience for reading. So I was explaining some part in the book and I told him "ya and then that guy put that killing curse on him! You know...wait what is it again? (Mostly talking to myself trying to find the passage in the book) But before I had even turned the page John says really matter of factly like I'm the stupidest person in the world..."A-va-da Kedavra." I'm like ya that, then I burst out laughing because that was pretty much the dorkiest moment in his life since the time he told me during the Superman movie, with the same matter of fact tone, that Gotham city and Metropolis were in the same universe. I however, did not realize that, one being batman, the other superman. Well what is marriage for, if not to rub off our inner dorkiness on each other. I think my dad once told me while I was in high school that every one is a dork in their own way, even the really cool people who never show that side of themselves to the masses. Then I asked my friend Jordan, who was definitely popular if that was true, to which he replied, "No, cause I'm not a dork...at all." And I couldn't really argue. Oh well, as an adult I've embraced my inner dork. And it took me a long time to do it, but I'm okay with it now. Sometimes I wonder if that's what growing up is, not necessarily learning more or becoming a different person, but becoming okay with the person you already were. And I think I have, finally.

No, it was not an accident. Surprise? Not to me.

Yes, it's true folks. Not only was I the first girl in my graduating class to actually commit to someone and tie the knot, but now I will be the first girl to have a child (in wedlock that is). Do miracles never cease? Well, I'll share the story of how all this began. So John and I had been married for about 5 months, and the whole time I'd been doing my internship. So of course I'd been stressed, and tired and just thought that my somewhat depressed and somber mood and sudden tearful outbursts were only the work of a lot of change as well as two people with different schedules, new jobs and no time. When one night John and I decided that I was not myself and basically that is was the birth control that I was on. Which was the Nuva Ring. So after a convo about all my weird personality changes, like depression ( I'm always happy), sadness even when I wanted to be happy (seriously we were on vacation), random tearful outbursts over nothing (one night john didn't say I love you and goodnight, so I turned over to have a good cry about it), and other general crazy mood swings, including headaches, fatigue and just wanting to rip people's heads off.

One time, when I was still a lunch lady for my internship, this little first grader was moving through the line with the speed of a special olympic hurdler. And he had a look on his face to match. It was all I could do not to tap on the glass in my fit of Nuva Ring rage and yell "Move it along you little terd!" When I started experiencing the inner fiery rage towards complete strangers on the street, just because of the look on their faces, or their slower than normal left hand turn, I knew something was up. But it was not until that night that I realized when John and I were discussing it, that I truly was crazy. And I felt crazy. So that month I took out the Nuva Ring. The next month all was well, then the month after that I found myself with child. I went to John's work because I could barely contain my excitement and told him. He was ecstatic, but didn't really believe me at first, since we hadn't been trying that long. But he was so happy and called his parents, and I called my mom. It was pretty special. Both families are pretty stoked.

So we had decided that night when I stopped the Nuva Ring that we would leave it up the big guy upstairs to decide when we got pregnant, having each known lots of people who took a long time to conceive, we figured we didn't want to be stuck at 30 with no baby. Little did we know that we are two of the most fertile people on the planet. So I guess next time we'll take more precautions. But we essentially didn't take any after that decision. Then one night John was telling his best friend that we were pregnant. I only heard one side of the convo, but this is what I heard. John: "Ya man, she's pregnant!" "Ya we're pretty excited." "Ya it was a surprise." To last part I couldn't help but burst out laughing. I'm like "It wasn't a surprise!" We knew this was going to happen...we were having unprotected sex. A lot. To which John's like "Well it was a surprise to me!"

But he's elated...as long as it's a boy. LOL. Atleast that's what he keeps telling me. Something along the lines of teaching him to pee in the snow or on the wall or something. You know boy stuff, penises, manliness. All subjects that elude me. But either way I'll be happy. I want whatever we're having and I'm sure I'll love it no matter what. So today we heard the heart beat, which was really fast, but normal apparently. And I'm supposed to maybe be able to feel it now or soon. Which I thought was hilarious, because the doctor's like..have you felt the baby yet? I'm like, "I don't know what does it feel like?" And she replies, well it might either feel like a gas bubble moving, or like a butterfly fluttering real low down there in your abdomen." So I'm like, "Well I might have, I mean I have a lot of gas." But come on! How am I supposed to distinguish between gas and a baby. Even though ever since then I've found myself stopping and muting the TV, yelling at the dogs to stop licking themselves, and concentrating real hard to see if I can feel anything. But then I come to my senses and realize I'm insane. I did think I felt something at one point, but then I just had to fart. So most likely NOT the baby.

But anyways, it's been an interesting ride so far. Morning sickness sucks. It shouldn't be called morning sickness, it should be called stop eating sickness, because it comes whenever I'm about to eat something I've really been looking forward to, ruining the meal for me. All for the best I guess, the more I can slow the growth rate of my butt cheeks the better, and just when I thought my boobs couldn't get any bigger...they have now started growing outward in a cone shape, like the Madonna video. If I lived in the fifties I'd fit right in I think. So needless to say I never leave my room without a bra on. Cause I did one morning to take the dogs out and got some pretty interesting looks from the neighbors. But I'll say this, I doubt the baby will have any trouble latching on when the time comes to breast feed. Well I'm sure that's too much info. But anyways I guess I better end this blog, it's pretty rambly and incoherent. Enjoy your thin bodies, and shirts that don't ride up while you can!

It's been a while...

Hey all, sorry I haven't written in a while, but I just wrote a long one about what I've been up to recently on our other blog John and Margan. There's a link off to the right. John writes on there too. So check it out!

Thought for the Week: Why do we say "A penny for your thoughts," but then someone has to "put in their two cents." ? Where does the other cent go? To taxes? Riiiight.

This Very Christmas Night

So...I'm sitting here in American Fork Hospital on Christmas Day next to my husband of a little over one week. John is laying here recovering from an emergency appendectomy. The honeymoon is definitely over...but not necessarily in a bad way. He had been sick all last night with what seemed to be either food poisoning or a bad stomach flu. He was adamant about not going to the doctor. However around noon today, the pain started to worsen in his stomach. And when he looked at me and said "The pain is getting worse baby," with the voice of a scared little boy I told him we were going to the doctor. I didn't care what his objections on the subject were And in that same scared whisper he said "okay." And as we were waiting in the emergency room and he was crying in pain, I knew it was good we had come. Which by the way...I've never understood that. It's called the emergency room, yet you wait? Isn't emergency by definition mean urgency? And the staff there walk around like they've got all the time in the world. That has got to be the most frustrating thing of the whole deal. We're sitting in the waiting room and this person who appears to be fine gets in before us, because he came five minutes earlier, while John is clearly doubled over in pain. Ridiculous. I would have done anything to have been the one in pain instead of him. You honestly know that you care for someone with everything you are when you can't bear the thought of them suffering in any way. Finally he got some pain meds and some care, and just in time too because I couldn't watch him squirm anymore. They ran some tests and his appendix was inflammed so they decided it needed to come out and six hours from the time we arrived at the hospital he is out of surgery and recovering. So Christmas eve I walked the dogs alone, ate potstickers and nursed my sick husband. And Christmas day I've been at the hospital most of the day. But now that John is safe and out of surgery and they got his appendix out just in time, a sense of what Christmas is truly about and an awe at the many blessings I have, has been renewed in me this Christmas night. While John was in so much pain and we didn't know why and then when he was in surgery I knew exactly how much he meant to me and how much I loved him. The thought of him leaving me seemed so unfair and cruel. But I wasn't thinking about the Christmas dinner and festivities that we missed with my family, or the presents and the fun we could have been having right then. All I could think about was John and my need for him to be okay. And I can see already how this experience has brought us closer together and even showed John how much he loves me too. So while I would never want him to have had to go through this, I am grateful that we did. Because Christmas isn't about ribbons or presents or trees or lights or good food. It's about Christ and his birth and ultimately his sacrifice for us, so that he could take away any sin or heartache or pain that we would have to endure. And I have felt the power of that sacrifice on this night, this very Christmas night, in a hospital room in American Fork, Utah.

A Brush with Danger

So today was Thanksgiving. I woke up and went over to Johns to start making rolls and jello and some other stuff I was supposed to bring to our family thanksgiving at my brothers. I decided to shower later on at Johns so that I could start on the food I had to make. That was my first mistake. So I make the rolls and then go to take a shower while they rise, before putting them in the oven. After getting out of the shower and dressed I realize that I forgot a brush. So I go to John's bathroom to see if he has one. All he has is one of those hard bristled skinny round brushes from like 1985. I hestitated, but I was in a bind and in a hurry so I pick up the brush and begin to quickly start brushing my messed up toweled dry hair. I started with the front, combing it forward to make sure my bangs got brushed through first. Then all of a sudden I can't move the brush or get it out of my hair. I HONESTLY have NO IDEA how this happened. Perhaps a sudden wrong twist of my wrist or something, or on the up stroke my hair was still in the brush so it just wrapped around those old little plastic bristles. So I pull on it and then twist it one way, then the other, to try to see just HOW my hair is still caught in this brush. But every movement seems to tighten the brush more securely to the base of my scalp. By this time I begin to panic. I have a wedding 3 weeks away and all I can imagine is having to cut this dang brush out of my head leaving a huge bald patch on the top of my head. So naturally the tears are flowing down my cheeks and I am running down stairs, all the while trying to pull the brush out of my hair, which might as well be glued to the front of my head at this point. I wake John out of his Turkey Day nap on the couch with my exasperated pounding down the stairs, and whinning cry. He calmly asks me what's wrong and what's happened and hugs me and tells me its going to be okay. So we go upstairs so he can try to get it out.

After forty minutes and one break down in the middle, where I exclaimed amid a mass of sobs "We're both going to have a bald spot at the wedding!" and a few other fits of rage John has pulled all the bristles out of the brush with his pliars, and I've soaked my hair in a bowl of water to loosen the brush. I was finally free with a mangled mess of hair resembling a small birds nest on the front of my head. So I re-wahsed my hair, pulling a couple of hand fulls out and half an hour later we're off to Thanksgiving dinner.

The moral of this story is do not ever, and I mean EVER use a hard little round brush that is only meant for guys. Guys who don't have that much hair in fact. Especially on Thanksgiving. I'm thankful for John that he took the time to get it out, while salvaging most of my hair, albeit at the expense of cutting off and tearing out the bristles from the brush he's literally had since junior high. Better it than me.

What a good boy

So get this. John actually went and got a mystic tan, for all the crap he gave me and how grouchy he was he just went and did it. Gosh, I just really love that guy. But he didn't know you couldn't shower for six hours after, so he went to work smelling like tanning stuff and his toe nails are all gross looking because he didn't put on any barrier cream. Hilarious. Poor guy. Put he definitely rocks the Mystic Tan. I mean he looks good. I mean really good. I wanna be friends with him. Or maybe more?

Diet Coke Crackheads, Runaway Nagging Trains and the Morning Grouch

Sometimes I feel like I'm going crazy! Planning a wedding is so stressful! I wish we could just elope. Like this morning, I realized that the day we're taking our engagement pictures will NOT be a good day for me, if you know what I mean. As much as I would love to be covered in zits and looking like a bloated cow, just like every other time we've taken important pictures it might be better if we moved them up. (The time we went to my house and to San Francisco, when John proposed, and now...our engagement pictures...which are not cheap.) So excuse me for freaking out a little bit and wanting to change it to this wednesday instead of next. But that throws a wrench in all my other plans because my mom is arriving that day and we had the day all planned to look at dresses and pick invitations. So I call John this morning from work, in a panic (probably because I had just drank way to much diet coke, so I'm talking as fast as a crackhead after their morning fix) and ask him if he can quickly go get a haircut and a spray on tan this morning before he goes to work at one. (I don't care what he looks like...I love him and it doesn't matter, however I do know him well enough to know that when I am tan and my teeth are white and he looks like Powder standing next to me in the pictures he will hate them. ) So in reality I'm looking out for his better interests. I think he'll look great no matter what, but he is a slightly harsher critic, anyways...I digress. So John's not really a morning person...and I can tell I'm seriously throwing a wrench in his morning of lounging around watching TV as he wakes up before he goes to work at one. And I can hear my voice and the way I'm talking, but I just can't stop. I felt like a runaway train full of anxiety and nagging. (Which normally isn't me). "Okay did you put the wash in the dryer yet? I don't want it to smell like mildew...How are the dogs?...So can you go get Mystic tan and a haircut?" By which I get the annoyed, raspy, "just woken up voice" reply of..."What's a mystic tan? How long does that take? I'll get my haircut on Wednesday morning, cause I have to go to Terri, I won't go to sucky Supercuts!" And I reply in an equally annoyed tone, "a mystic tan is a spray on tan...but professional! It takes like five seconds, gosh!" But then I feel so bad for bugging him, so I'm like "I'm sorry just do whatever you want"...and continually in the crackhead voice..."Are you mad? Don't be mad..you're annoyed aren't you...okay well I'll let you go." To which I know John's like "hallelujah you psycho..." But he just replies..I'm not mad, why would I be. okay talk to you later...So we get off the phone, but I just feel like a loser who just bugged the crap out of her fiance for no apparent reason. But I guess that's what diet coke can do to you in the morning hours. And what a wedding to plan can do. And I am still so mad about the pictures, but I can't call them till tomorrow because they're closed on Mondays. And on top of it I think i'm getting sick. So I guess we'll just have to leave the pictures where there are. Anyways the moral of this story is...don't call your fiance and bug them unless it is absolutely necessary. In my defense I thought it was. But I was wrong. Cause nothing is important enough to talk to John about while he's still waking up. Especially by a wedding crazed lunatic like myself. Trust me. It's a recipe for annoyance on both sides. But really who can blame the guy, I ambushed him. I just wish I hadn't cause I love him and I don't want to annoy him, ever. But that's pretty unrealistic.

Princess Maya

So John bought me a dog. Her name is Maya. She's a dog we got from this family who's child was allergic. The sad thing is that the family loves this dog, which they should because she's really sweet and smart and cute. So they don't want to give her up but evertime their kid gets near it they practically have to take her to the emergency room. So we went to look at her last week. And we took Frank, John's dog, with us to see if they would get along before we decided anything. So we go to the Woodman's house and Frank and Maya are just playing and running around the yard, getting along great. So we decide we're going to go talk about it and we'll get back to them. We say our goodbyes and leave and as we are walking away from the house, towards my brother's house which is three houses down, John says, "Well do you like her?" And of course my reply is "Ya I love her!" To which he says, "But do you want her?" And I'm like well ya! So John is like "Ok," and turns around to go tell them right then. So we tell them and John gets his check book while they get her stuff together. So then we get back to the house and of course the mom totally starts crying and hugging the dog and then the little kids start crying and stuff. And she's apologizing and then big surprise, John starts tearing up. And all the while I'm getting increasingly uncomfortable. (I'm not a cryer, atleast not a sympathy cryer. I cry when it makes sense for my life.) Ok...so they're all blubbering and I'm like "Well we should probably get going." In the nicest most sympathetic tone possible but inside my body was screaming ahhhh, awkward get me out of here. We're taking this poor family's dream dog from them, let's not draw it out anymore than we have to. So I'm trying to act like it's cute that everyone is crying because I really don't know what else to do with myself. So what seems like an eternity later, we are walking out the door with my new cuddly present. Merry Christmas to me! And since the dogs get along really well. They like to play quite a bit and sometimes get a little worked up but it's great because it tires them out.

I GOT ENGAGED!!!!

Well...it's happened folks. A Neumarker girl is getting married. And it is magical. So John and I went to Disneyland yesterday. We're here in So Cal visiting John's parents. So when we got to the park I told John, "Hey let's go take a picture in front of the castle." You have to have a picture of that. And he's like "No no, we'll do that later." So I didn't really think anything of it but I'm like alright fine. Then later in the day I ask again and he keeps putting me off, and then later again and he's like we'll do it at like dusk, better lighting. Ok...so then we eat dinner and then he's like getting all excited about the picture. He's like "You wanna go take the picture now, let's go take the picture in front of the castle." And at that point I'm like whatever I don't care about the picture anymore, but fine let's go I guess. So his parents were with us and John's like oh let's get one of the professional people to take one and I'm like why? Your parents will just take a picture. So his dad is trying to get the camera ready and John will not take his hand out of his pocket, so that was the first moment I knew something was up he kept a lid on it pretty long. I had no freaking clue. And so then in front of the Magic Kingdom John got down on bended knee and started crying (I didn't, I'm not a cryer, ok?) and he said "Will you marry me?" and I said "yes." And then people were clapping and cheering and then we kissed like in a fairy tale. Yep. It was magical...at the Magic Kingdom. And the ring fits perfectly. He surprised me with the whole thing I had no idea he was going to do it then. He had told me the day before that "Maybe...we could go look at rings to try some on," and he couldn't even say rings when he told me that so I figured it would be a while till he got comfortable but it was all part of the ploy to foil me. So ya it worked. The only bad thing is I looked sick cause we went on this rapids ride and my hair got all wet and then I'm like fat so that's not cute either, but oh well high five for love I guess. P.S. Check out the John and Margan link to the right to see more pictures of the magical day.

High Five for Love

I'm happy to say that I'm in love. I mean I just love that guy. I think he's most like his favorite candy...M&Ms. He has a tough outer shell, but just a gooey soft chocolatey inside. And I like it. I just want to shout it from the top of a moun-tain...but I don't have a mountain I have this blog. So the story in Margan's world is Margan loves John. That's from Anchorman, sort of. It's funny cause whenever I think of me and John I always want to say this one line from Anchorman where he says "Veronica and I had sex and now we are in LOOOOOVE!!!!" and it's so funny how he says it...all excited with the love all elongated and he throws his arms out and I can totally relate except for the having sex part. We as mormons believe in waiting until marriage before having sex. But as you can imagine this can be very frustrating especially when you're trying to stay as far from the line as possible. But since I do love him and I really can't express it any other way than saying it...I feel like I'm saying it all the freaking time. Like I love you, hey I love you, bye see ya later, I love you...hey did I tell you I love you? Ya...ok. And he does the same thing. Sometimes I'm like gosh we are so cheesy, I hate myself. But high five for love right? It's an inside joke between us...and that's really the beauty...everyone else is just, well...on the outside.

Bathroom Adventures

So today I go into the bathroom at work where, mind you, only one of the two toilets flushes properly. So I go in and open the handicapped stall (the working one) and this girl is sitting on the pot. For a couple seconds we share that awkward "what is happening right now?" stare, until I realize this stall is occupied, and quickly shut the door saying "I'm so sorry!" To make matters so much better she's in my region, so she sits near me but she's new so I've never seen her before today. And in my sad attempt at making things better I say "I guess we're closer now! Uhh..sorry I didn't see anything." And then instead of waiting for the bathroom I just couldn't take the awkardness and bounce. So I'm back at my desk, still needing to pee...so I wait for about ten more minutes and then I go back to the bathroom. Except I walk in and it smells horrible. The whole bathroom is full of crap smell. I'm talking HOT SICK you know what. So obviously I'm disgusted and can I just say, for me nothing is worse than sitting down in a stall where there's still a hint of poop smell from the previous occupant. Ok, and that said, I wasn't even IN the stall yet. So right as I walk in and smell it I'm like "UHHHHH, yuck!" totally loud and start coughing. (I have a really sensetive gag reflex). Then I pull the door to the stall and it's locked! The person was still in there! I felt kinda bad but not really since once again I had to bag going pee so that I wouldn't start throwing up right on the bathroom floor. So I leave once again and go back to my desk...I told my friend Emilie and we were laughing pretty hard. She's like poor person in there! And I'm like are you kidding? Poor me! So I still had to pee but I couldn't chance going back in there again.

Happy Birthday Jules!!!

Just wanted to give a shout out to my BFFFFFFF Julia Burgonarker!!! Happy Birthday dude! You're the best. Hope it was a great day! Sorry I couldn't be there!

Every Cowboy Sings a Sad Sad Song

So there's a 6 year age difference between me and my boyfriend. And normally, it doesn't get in the way at all. But I got into his car today (I'm driving his BMW because I got in a car accident and my car is being fixed...long story for another time, but he doesn't need his car because his work lets him drive a demo.) and normally I listen to the radio but I was sick of it, so I thought hey, I'll see what's in the CD player. So low and behold I turn on this CD and the song that it's on is "Every Rose Has It's Thorn." I don't even know if that's what it's called but...you all know it...every night has it's dawn/just like every cowboy sings a sad sad song. Anyways that song isn't bad, but as I continue to skim through the songs it just gets worse and worse. The power ballads just keep coming at me with no warning. Until I hit..."Don't you remember you told me you loved me baby!!!! Baby, baby, baby, baby ohhhhh baby! At that moment I lost it and burst out laughing uncontrollably. I had to keep driving around for a little bit just so I could keep listening and try to comtemplate what this CD was. But really there's no comprehending it. I'm thinking to myself how old is he really? And what's with the depressing break up/heart break songs? Obviously left over from his last heartbreak. And then I'm thinking wow he's way more jacked from that than I thought. I guess it was funny because I pictured him all depressing out the window listening to this crap and the mental picture was just hilarious, because these songs would never be my choice for sad music. They're way too cliche. But all I could do was laugh, because if I kept listening to those songs I'd probably start crying. Not from the touching lyrics or powerful guitar solos, but from the fact that it was there at all.

I haven't been writing because I didn't realize people still read this thing. But apparently they do...so I'll try to keep it going folks. I miss all you guys out in PA.

Random question to ponder: When was the last time you cried?

Nordstrom's Mirrors are Just Sub Par

Ok I just went to Nordstroms. And I am mad. What's the deal with dressing rooms where the light is so bad that you leave wanting to kill yourself? And feel like crap for the rest of the day to where you wonder why your boyfriend likes you at all. Or at least stop eating for the rest of your life. Ok, let's face it I'll be happy if I make it till the end of the day. Something about the 360 degree view of my butt in the mirror and every dimple of cellulite being visible (which I didn't think I had until today) just sort of put me off trying to squeeze myself into some new Sevens. Some thoughts that were running through my head: "I didn't realize I look like a man from the back." "These underwear don't fit as well as I thought." "Does my butt normally stick out like a shelf?" I bought plenty of other stuff while trying to pretend that this particular mirror had to be lying to me, because I'd never seen that person before now. Actually come to think of it I did the last time I went to Nordstrom's. It's probably time to get to the gym because having a day job is starting to pack it on. But listen that's beside the point because for how nice Nordy's is supposed to be...it's time to invest in some softer lighting, and possibly some more slimming mirrors. Because they just lost a customer.

College vs. High School

I was just talking to one of my friends from high school about how much fun it was. We're both here at BYU and both agreed that college sucked compared to high school. Like when we got to the dorms it was like...what? There are rules? Boys can only come in my room during a 2 hour window on wednesday nights? And it's called visiting hours? What are we in a hospital? More like an insane asylum with all the weird momos walking to campus with their scriptures and walking around with smiles plastered on their faces the whole time. When I first got to BYU (and I thought I was a pretty happy person) it made me so mad how everywhere you went everyone was just smiling and skipping, chasing butterflies through the quad. It's like wipe that stupid grin off your face. I know you're thinking I'm devoid of the spirit. It's not that, I just don't smile ALL the time. But after a while I got used to it, instead of letting them ruin my day. Some of us need caffeine or some other mood altering drug to smile and giggle for no reason. I was more free in high school than I was through all of college. It's kind of ironic, you're supposed to branch out in college and grow, experience things. My college experience was more stifling than high school. I haven't decided if that was good or bad.

I'm Having Trouble With My TPS Reports...

I think my favorite thing at work now is not having to talk to angry customers who are pissed because their salesman lied. When salesman lie, we have to deal with it. And I hate it. It's great now though, because I just do inventory and I rarely do CSR stuff, only when their busy. But I often feel like office space. I work in my cubicle, and I have stuff to do, but it's so true, so many times, you just stare at your screen and pretend your working. I come in, sit down at my cubicle, check my email, then my work outlook and then get started on stuff for the day, but always somewhere in there is some good staring blankly at the screen time, or I'll click the different tabs on the dish site. If I'm done with updates I'll do them again, or just keep a window up in case someone walks by and wonders if I'm working. I mean I usually am, but there are times that everything is done...and is it my fault that I'm a fast worker? I don't think so. But let's all ponder this question...Can dead end jobs turn even the most industrious and innovative minds into slackers? Interesting...