G Thang

Peter and I never text each other so when we do, I come across old messages – like way old. I saw one the other day from our annual San Diego trip. We had been enjoying the beach until PW was stung by a stingray  (or a creature as B calls it) and went back to the room to boil his foot (no joke, that’s what takes the pain away) and a beer.

Because really, who doesn’t love a reference to a Snoop Dogg rap when discussing their unborn child?

Also? Ignore the shnicklfritz comment (too much to explain) and the Big Momma is my mom (personality really, not size) – people tend to frown on women 8 months pregnant drinking on the beach…

Happy Anniversary

Peter and I were talking on my birthday and I asked if when we started dating at 17 if he had ever thought we’d be together at 30. His response was that he knew we’d be together at 30 and beyond. The man has a way with words alright.

Case in point: on our first official date, we went to our high school football game. He told me throughout the game that he heard a song and it made him think of me. I was so smitten and couldn’t wait to hear what it was. As we drove from the game to the dance, he put in a CD and smiled sweetly as Sir Mix-a-Lots I Like Big Butts blasted through the speakers. I couldn’t help but crack up. His sense of humor and willingness to take a HUGE risk just made me like him even more.

October 1999

We spent the next four years after high school living it up at UofA. I have plenty of pictures to prove all the fun we had, however, most of the people in the pictures now have respectable jobs where being dressed as an Olympian from the 80s with a 40 in their hand isn’t quite the image they want out there. And so save myself some time asking them for permission or cropping them out, I have found this picture that is a good indicator of the typical date dash.

Yes, yes my dress is made of plastic wrap. Thank you for noticing. Also please not that it is not see through – 4+ rolls does make for a lovely “anything but clothes” costume.

And on June 24th, 2005, in 110 degree heat, we finally got to say “I Do”.

I’m aware my extra large feet are not my best quality, but those were awesome shoes…

Happy 7th anniversary PW! Can’t wait for 70 more!

The DD

I have a theory about being pregnant and those around me drinking. My theory is this: I obviously can’t drink, so why wouldn’t I be the designated driver? And why wouldn’t I be the DD for as many friends as possible? Really, just because I can’t enjoy many many many glasses of wine, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t and have someone to drive you home safely and mostly for free.

I say mostly not because I would charge people for my taxi services – I learned my lesson charging for driving servicse one night in college. My parent’s asked me if I would drive them and their friends to and from dinner. I agreed, but for a price. And because my mother is far more devious than I am,  they made me wear a chauffeur hat, all sat in the back seats and instructed me to “not turn around”. Major backfire.

I wouldn’t volunteer to drive and then collect actual dollar bills…I say mostly because I do expect reciprocity. And I do keep track. If I drive a group of friends to dinner as the DD, in about 5-6 months, I will be calling them to go to dinner and I will expect them to drive, no questions asked.

PW gets the worst of it. And this time around he’s much more aware of his tab. With Baylor, my sobriety lasted a little longer than the standard gestation of a baby for breast feeding, severe sleep deprivation and because it took awhile to get back into my skinny jeans and my drinking shoes (who’s a lightweight? me!). Therefore his tenure as non negotiable designated driver lasted close to a year. Which is why this time, he is keeping a much closer eye on his tally.

Big Pig 2012

This weekend marked the second annual Big Pig Hunt by PW and his buddy Brian. And “thankfully”, this year it was a success.

Last year, the dynamic duo drove north and east to a remote location to hunt where they endured freezing temperatures, rain and no Javalina. This year they stuck closer to town, had 75 degree temps and still no pigs. The little devils are very attracted to trash so they terrorize neighborhoods and recycle bins rather than forage for food in the desert. I tried to tell PW they should just rent a house on the fringes of town, sit on the patio and pick the little beasts off as they knock over the trash cans. But the MEN like to camp. And hike. And pack a really ridiculous amount of gear – so much so that they were prepared for any scenario except for the apocalypse, and even then they would have been able to put up a good fight.

Sunday morning I checked my email to find this:

And yes, it’s only half a pig. Don’t ask why because I didn’t want to know. After seeing this, I began to panic wondering if Babe was coming home with PW and worse, what the hell he was going to do with it.

Thankfully, after a few pictures, Babe went home with Brian. I never did get a clear answer on what was going to become of him (her actually) so my guard is up for any suspicious packages from place like “Tom’s Tawdry House of Taxidermy” or “Craig’s Creative Creations”. Much like the beaver pelt PW bought in Montana one year, I threatened that things like that tend to have “accidents” at our house so they should really go do his office to live…which is why he meets clients in the conference room.