Go Elf Yourself

Meet the Elf Family:

Mommy Elf

Daddy Elf

Ryan Elf

Jaxson Elf

Have an Elfin' good day!

I just needed to move that picture below the fold...

That was Amy up late. With beer.

Got lots of new books today, and all I want for Christmas is time to read them!!!

Not that any of you care, but here are some of the titles I'm planning on getting to.

Ines of My Soul

The Brambles

Jane Eyre

One Mississippi

The Lady and the Unicorn

Wish me luck!!!

Aahhhh...Back to Normal(?)

My sister has been invited to attend Sandra Bullock's NYE party this year. The other one is wary about her new guy because she's never seen him without a hat on. Both her ex's now make a habit of visiting the other sis at work.

And then there's me:

Life's just funny that way.

Home Sweet Home

That's right -- chunkyrhino is back!! C'mon over and give us a kiss.

*UPDATE* My Bad -- I messed up the URL. The link should work now.

Warning: I'm bringing the nasty.

Jax just had a massive diaper explosion (you know, from the Benadryl/Maalox combo he's on due to the recurring herpangina. I would backlink you to it, but Blogger still hasn't done shit about chunkyrhino.

I digress.

So he's sitting in his chevy and his pants are feelin' heavy, and Shawn and I have been sitting here for 20 minutes, looking back and forth at each other, both refusing to get up.

Except now some just got on the couch, so I gotta run.

Of course there was

Just went to light the fire and found an old piece of toast sitting in the ashes.

Yeah, that sounds about right.

Seen & Heard

Ryan, to Menana last night while on the phone: "Menana? Could you hang up on me now and I'll call you tomorrow?" In other words? I'm done with you, bye!

Took Jax to visit Nin at her bank yesterday. It's lovely when an entire bank lets your 19 month old take over, throwing balls, taking swivel chair rides, having his mom spin him around then make him walk, all to the delight of the employees and patrons.

Right Now? Jax is eating the felt bits from the make-it-yourself photo ornament I'm supposed to crafting forRyan's teacher.

I should probably go.

Happy Birthday ...and other stuff

Happy(Late)Birthday Shawn! Welcome to my hell, otherwise known as the last year of your youth. Fun, no?

His mom took us, Lalo and Jeff to PF Chang's for a celebration -- we totally felt like 15 year olds ("Thanks for dinner, Ms. York!"). Ryan was soo excited to finally get to wear the pretty pretty princess dress Menana and Lea got her for Christmas, but apparently, it's very very ITCHY, so not only was her mood foul, resulting in us stripping her half-naked at the table, using her jacket as a top, but now I don't think I'll be able to get her into it for Christmas. Hope they didn't spend too much on it. At Neiman Marcus.

Jaxson sucked all of our energy out and used it to hurl himself at the doors while we waited for our table, following up with a great drum solo using everyone's chopsticks.

Lalo and Jeff got Shawn a mega bottle of Seven, so I'll have to remember to send them a thank you card when I'm wiping up the barf that always follows Shawn and Seven.

Now for the Other Stuff:

We took the kids to Sam's yesterday, where I taught them to yell "Shawn" really loud, since I couldn't find him, and Jax got reprimanded by a really old curmudgeony (?) man, one of those moments where I'm laughing at old people humor, because I think the man is just teasingly upset, but then he just keeps going to the point that you realize he really is an old fartbag, causing Shawn to interrupt his tirade, instructing Jax to just keep yelling as long and loud as he wants. Nobody verbally abuses our kids in public but us. Remember that.

I was just glad Jax was yelling the word Shawn instead of "Father", which he pronounces "Fucker". Although it does endear him to me even more.

Ryan came home from school last week telling me that a little girl in her class told her to sniff her butt, so she did. Then Ryan told the little girl to sniff her butt, and apparently no one stopped them. God Bless Catholic school.

Ryan was chasing Jax the other day, yelling "You are gonna be so mad at yourself when I get ahold of you!!" I still don't know what it was he did to her, but secretly? I hope he does it again. That shit was funny.

Anyway, Jax is waiting for me to play -- here's what we've been doing so far this morning.

OOH!! I almost forgot the remodeling pics. You're welcome, Lea. I know how you love stupid shit like this. Merry Christmas, from your Secret Santa.

Long Time No See

So, in case you haven't heard (although judging by your knowledge of the existence of this blog, I'm pretty sure you have), I got screwed by Blogger/Google. They'd been nagging me to switch to the new beta version, ensuring me that it would be newer, better, and whiter with just a couple of clicks. Everything would basically remain the same, but with 5.1 megapixel HD Soy goodness. Or something.

I switched. I switched, and now you are reading chunkyrhino via my other, more personal blog (personal as in just about Amy, not personal- dear diary- thoughts. I don't have those, and if I did, they wouldn't be anything I hadn't already written about on chunkyrhino. Here, I just cuss more and don't talk as much about the kids.

Things have been rocky at our house lately. It's all very,If Momma Ain't Happy, Ain't Nobody Happy.

Chalk it up to long hours, holiday dieting, the "wretched,horrible,why- wasn't-I-told?"-four's, and an amazingly adorable little boy who is damn lucky that he's cute, because otherwise he would packing his bags by now.

It's just been tantrums, pouting, screaming, kicking...and that was just me.

We trimmed the tree last night; I had been all set and ready to have a warm Martha Stewart holiday evening, so of course, Jax threw a fit, the camera's battery died as we were trying to take Christmas card pics, and Shawn fell asleep. Badumbum.

I re-did some of the rooms. Took doors off of closets, cleared the kids playroom, added kitchens, tables, dressers and vanities. I'm sure none of you care, but I had fun. I might even post pics -- just to piss Lea Ann off.

Jaxson has discovered his funny bone, favoring the hats/glasses bit. He demands you look at him wearing glasses/ sunglasses, fire chief's hats, tiaras, purses... I was all beaming with pride, thinking something from me had finally shown through in Jaxson, when Shawn decided to inform me that he did the exact same thing as a toddler.

Naturally.

Ryan will be getting her driver's license soon. Apparently, her 15-yr-old self has come to visit us like Scrooge's Ghost of the Future -- and, Bob Crachet, the future BLOWS.

She's still a sweetheart that loves to love (and be loved), but she's just less likely to, ummmm, obey.

She flat-out refuses to do what she doesn't want to do. Just spurts "No" to my face like I was Harry Potter (who, by the way, she would NEVER say "No" to, but you get the idea). So the fits and fights have been hectic, grounding Ryan for the week from any playdates, and not letting her go to her friend's birthday party. The wails were monumental, and the "I don't love you, I want to leave" screams hearken back to memories from my teenage years. I hate this age. I want to be 5.

Along with hamming it up, Jax has become increasingly needy over the past few days. I don't know if he's teething or what, but it has become a huge ordeal. He has spurts where he won't even go with Shawn or Ryan, which is pretty inconvenient as I'm frying bacon. (But the snuggly, hug-on-mommy moments are pretty cool.)

Other than that, Shawn and I aren't speaking right now. Something about me being a bitch.

He's right, but I like to hold my ground a few days, just to get some pent-up emotion out.

You know what I mean.

Five years, and we haven't murdered each other yet

That's right. Five years ago today, Shawn and I nauseously made our way up the steps of City Hall, me because of the bun in the oven, him because, well, you know...

I was so pissed off at having to get married in a courthouse. On a Tuesday. By some random judge. It was mortifying for me at the time, so below what I expected my wedding to be like. I cried the entire time we were awaiting our turn, causing my Mom to whisper, "If you don't want to go through with this, you don't have to."

Rolling my eyes, I let out the most resentful sigh, declaring, "I'm not crying because of that. I'm crying because I'm GETTING MARRIED IN A COURTHOUSE."

And then I saw them. The couple ahead of us, black man, white woman, beaming and nervous, and getting married in front of no one, other than our motley crew. They had no friends or family there, and when I looked over at my Dad, I saw that he was videotaping the ceremony. I guess he felt someone should document it, should be proud for them and their special moment.

Right then I sucked up my spoiled tears and focused on this couple, here not because their parents forced them to do it, but because they chose to be. Who knows why they chose this route, but here they were, taking this step together in front of strangers with videocameras. And they couldn't have been happier.

And so I took my grocery store bouquet, purchased by my Mom (and now framed and displayed proudly), held my soon-to-be-husband's hand, and we clapped for the new couple as they made their way out of the room. I stopped feeling sorry for myself (if only for a minute) and felt love in the way my entire family was there with Shawn's mom, cameras and all, and I became Mrs. Shawn York.

And I love that our story just keeps getting better, and I love that it was different and unorthodox and I love that it is ours.

And I hope that other couple is happy and proud and celebrating. And if they're out there, I've got a video they need to see.

Right on the Mark

Overheard in a conversation between my Dad and my Sis:

Dad: "You have to understand, Amy only has 2 modes-- Very Happy or Very Bitchy. She's like me, you either love her or you hate her."

Who knew my Dad was so insightful?

A Google of Geeks

You can learn a lot by viewing someone's Google History. Wanna see ours? C'mon, you know you do...

astros logo
Augusta pictures
austin city limits
austin neurologists
baked lays
bird flu
chocolatecakesandmore.com
central market
cofee mate
coffe mate
coffee mate
fat girls
golf channel
gruene hall
houston astros
Lean Cuisine
love languages
minute maid park pictures
nordstroms
nutri grain
pat green
phoenix az
quaker oatmeal
robert horry
shiner beerf

Thank you. We're here all week. Be sure to tip your waitress.

Lea Ann is her name, Bitchy is her game

So lil sis lea lea is 27 today. Right about now is the time I used to think about as a teenager when people would always say that she looked older, and I'd of course retort that that was fine by me, wait till we're older when it really matters.

And that time is now. How ya like them apples, baby?

I'm sure she's pimpin' it up in Phoenix right now, drinking too much, talking too much, and having just the right amount of fun for a 3-yrs-till-30 birthday.

I still remember as a little kid waiting for her to come home from the hospital after one of her eye surgeries, and sitting by her bed, crying because I was sooo worried that she wasn't gonna be okay.

She, naturally, does not remember this. She, naturally, remembers the time I threw her into the coffee table; the time I slapped her in the middle of the school cafeteria; the time I bounced the rent check in college.

I, naturally, choose not to remember any of that.

I miss her. And her restaurant comp card.

Come home Wee Wee, come home!!!

I (heart) Texas, and then some...

So, Motherpie recently posted something to effect that there lots of people who like to express their pride in TEXAS (more so, even, than NY -- gasp!!). I was well aware of this early on, when at the age of 16 I took a trip to DC and somehow just knew that we Texans were the pride-fullest of the prideful. My first and ONLY clue?

There were no earrings in the shape of the District of Columbia, Virginia, or any of the nation's other 50 states. None. No necklace pendands shaped like NY, no "Don't Mess With (Fill In the Blank)" shirts, NOTHING.

While I, being Texan, was at once ridiculously proud of this fact, I was also quite aware that the cashier at the gift shop whom I unleashed my new-found knowledge upon was not quite as impressed.

Which brings me to a conversation we had this past weekend while floating the Salt River in Arizona. We were talking about how much nicer the view was there than on the Guadalupe or Comal, and how, yeah, we could definitely see ourselves living in Arizona. Except, of course, for the kids.

"They have to be raised in Texas," I declared.

Why? Here are just a few of my many genius reasons:

1. The weather. I know, I know -- this seems like such a crazy notion, but where else can they experience the moist, suffocating damp heat of the rain forest, the blazing, arrid heat of the desert, the freezing-your-ass-off cold of the north, AND develop allergies of every kind all in one state? NOWHERE ELSE BUT TEXAS.

2. The Hill Country. God's Country.

3. Willie Nelson

4. The food -- BBQ done the RIGHT way (no mustard and honey shit here), Tex-Mex, and Steaks the way God intended -- red and mooing. Plus? You'll easily get as-good-if-not-better Cajun on the Gulf Coast as you will in Louisiana. And yes, I do know this for a fact.

Okay, well, that's all I can think of right now, but really, what more do you need?

Here. Right here. This is why I never wanted a girl.

Thanks, Oprah.

So, in an effort to avoid having my baby suck at loving herself the way I did (and sometimes still do), here's my letter to my younger self:

Hey dumbass. Look, life isn't about the way you look, or being the coolest, or having the most. It just isn't.

That unbelievably flat chest you've got? Stop bitching, and please please please stop praying for bigger boobs, 'cause damn girl, Mom was right -- you better be careful what you wish -- you just might get it. In volumes. Stopping your track career short and causing back pain previously unimaginable, garnering you more negative attention that you ever wanted, your endeavor to destroy them with surgery will render you useless in the Mother's Milk department, which actually isn't such a bad thing after all, except for the condescending glares from la leche losers and the fact that 9 out of 10 doctors agree that your poor formula-fed children will be lacking in all developmental areas.

Wait -- what was my point?

Oh, right, the LOOKS thing. Listen, you look the way you do, which though it sucks now, really isn't such a bad thing, seeing as how because you aren't they prettiest, cutest, sexiest, or even really desirable in any way imaginable, you've had to hone your comedic talents, and baby, you got loads in that area. You, of course, don't believe that you are talented, but you might as well be good at something, so let's just go with that one.

Now before you start listing all the ways that you think I'm wrong, I'm just gonna leave you with this last little nugget:

You are going to give birth to an amazing baby girl, who will be strong and beautiful, unique and funny and smart as a whip. She will be a mix of you and your totally hot hubby, your Mom and Dad, your sisters, and all those who helped make you the miserable way you are today. She and her beautiful brother are testaments to the love that was born before you, and will live on long after you are gone. They deserve a mother who loves them enough to love herself, to trust herself enough that she can let go of herself and those issues that will not only destroy her spirit, but may just end up destroying their's as well. And your mom deserves a daughter who appreciates what she was given when she gave life to you, because you are not the first mother to want wonderful things for her daughter, to wish for better than what she had, to vow to do whatever it takes to help her avoid the same heartaches she endured.

Oh, and those loser boys who tease you? Yeah, your future husband is, like 100 times better looking than they are, and can TOTALLY kick their collective asses. Just so ya know.

Now, onto the whole cool thin. Yeah, you just don't have it. No, really. Can't pull it off. But that's okay, cause all the "cool" girls around you? They're really not either. Just embrace your geekiness, love the nerd within, and she will love you right back.

As far as the need to have? Yes, money is nice, but it won't make your issues go away. It won't stop you from making the mistakes you are destined to make, and it certainly won't help you make smarter decisions. You'll value what you have when you have it, and won't miss what you don't. You're better than the money, it is not better than you.

But it would be nice to have a honeymoon, so please don't blow your savings in Vegas. No, really.

I Must've Been Absent That Day...

I just read an article on the Top 10 Careers for Aries, and apparently I totally missed my calling...or did I?

I bet I can find aspects from each of these jobs combined in the role of MOTHER. Don't think so? Read on, read on:

1. Olympic Athlete -- while Stay-At-Home-Mothering may not qualify as an actual Olympic Event (though if Trampolining can be counted, where do we draw the line?), many of the requirements they list fit perfectly into my current job description --
a. Dogged Determination: Potty Training, anyone?
b. Long hours, stress, injuries, early rising: I woke up yesterday at 6 am, went to bed last night around 11:30, then was awakened at 3:40 by two screaming kids; stress doesn't begin to describe all day everyday surrounded by two mpatient needy little beings; you squeeze 2 7- pound babies through your vagina, then talk to me about injuries; early riser? I refer you to my first example.
2. Personal Trainer -- although I take HUGE exception to the fact that they describe us Aries as "obnoxious" (choke on it, folks), I again have found many of the qualities needed to succeed in this field the same qualities needed to be a SAHM:
a. pushy and bossy -- umm, check! No matter how many times Ry tries to insist that I am "not the boss" of her.
b. love of competitiveness -- My kid's closests are full of Gymboree, Gap, and Ralph Lauren. Don't tell me you can't smell the whiff of competition there!
3. Bouncer -- I am laughing so hard, I can hardly type.
a. Breaking up fights -- thanks to the addition of Jax, this has become my new favorite pasttime.
b. Looking Impenetrable -- Just last night I spent 30 minutes blocking the doorway to Ryan's room in an effort to get her to get back in bed. I define "impenetrable".
c. "Aries affinity for really loud music and boisterous patrons will come in handy" -- click here.
4. Prison Warden -- "When faced with a riot, they are not daunted, and a rush of adrenaline takes over. They may have to watch their blood pressure and take anger management courses." Have I mentioned my Prozac prescription lately???
5. Drill Sergeant -- A position of "complete power". There may be some argument in regards to this one, but let's just the recall the age-old saying, "If Mama ain't Happy, Ain't Nobody Happy."
6. Stunt Person -- I'm just going to quote the first sentence in this job description requirement, and move right along: "This job requires a realy crazy person to sign up." There. No explanation needed.
7. Prize Fighter -- Agile, Powerful, Shrewd. Have I ever told you about the time it took 4 grown adults (Myself, Shawn, my Mom and my Dad) to hold Ryan down and remove a splinter from her foot? She was 2. When agility and power can't get the job done, count on the shrew in me to garner any help necessary to tame the beast. Just call me Kate.
8. Fire Chief -- "they have to be sharp, decisive, and able to respond to conditions quickly": It's called IMPROVISATION. A degree in Theatre Arts really should be a pre-req for any SAHM. Luckily, I already got me one of those.
9. Mercenary Soldier -- Okay, I'm rolling now. Tears streaming, knee-slapping, doubled over with laughter.
a. "toughness of mind": As I write this, I'm also balancing my checkbook, mediating bewteen the kids, and folding laundry. Score one for mental toughness.
b. "lack of need for personal safety": If you've ever unbuckled your front-passenger seat belt, crawled into the backseat of the 70 mph moving family car to feed, fetch, or force, you understand.
c. "ability to cope with lack of creature comforts": It's been 2 days since I've showered, and trust me, it's not for lack of want (or need).
10. High School Coach-- Need I remind you of my stint as a Middle School Teacher/Coach? And since when is the task of "forming young minds and bodies" limited strictly to High School? If that's not what I'm doing now, then why the hell am I here??

So maybe you agree with me, maybe you don't. Either way, the top position they definitely missed out on is the one I'm fortunate enough to hold, and lucky for me, the job security on this one is good for at least 18 more years.

CCR, partII

For those of you who know me really really well, you know how much I love love can't say it enough, LOVE CCR (Creedence Clearwater Revival). The fact that I have even used those intials in the title of this post as a nod to Cross Canadian Ragweed should give you a hint as to how much I love their stuff.

Jenny first intro'd me to them a few years ago, and being the condescending Big Sister I am at times known to be, I just smiled and nodded. Years later, this was the very first "country-ish" group my husband ever accepted, and has since left me loving them as well.

We just spent our first real date night in months at their concert, where I blew both my diet and my lenten promise (no alcohol) in honor of these guys.

They are just sooo good, and now I can barely sit still knowing they've got a cruise/concert thing going on this summer. Seeing as how my birthday is just around the corner, any donations toward this endeavor would be great. Or whatever.

Seriously, you need to check these guys out.

Freud Freud Freud, Part II

So here's an update of my "Shawn's Cheating On Me" dreams.

There was a lot of discussion between he and myself regarding the Oscars, and namely, "Brokeback Mountain". I, of course, am dying to see it, he vehemently denies it's worth and shuns its existence with virtuoso.

I'm guessing that's why my nightmare last night involved Shawn leaving the kids and I for Jake Gyllenhal. Just a guess.

FYI

If your trainer ever convinces you to go on an all-day fruit/juice/veggie-only cleansing diet that gives you outrageous gas, try not to schedule it on the same day as your gyno appointment.

Just so ya know...

Freud Freud Freud

So in the past week I've dreamt that Shawn has cheated on me. 3 different nights, 3 different girls. Christina Aguilera, Britney Spears, and a 40-yr-old CIA agent.

I've no idea what I should read from this other than the fact that my subconscious obviously thinks hy husband has horrible taste. And you know what that means...

wah wah wah

just venting over being married to a workaholic who, in order to provide us and our kids a lovely home, yummy food, and all that other nonsense, IS NEVER HOME!!!

Yes, I'm lonely, yes, I get bored with conversations revolving solely around Harry Potter, Disney Princesses, or Dora, but mostly, I just miss him.

Welcome to the Club

One of my very dearest and oldest friends has recently become pregnant. Rather than overload her with unwanted advice, I'd like to just send a memo of "talking points" regarding some of the things she can now expect. So here goes:

Chaika, Chaika, Chaika,

My dear girl. Many congrats on your upcoming addition!! There is so much in store for you -- I can't wait to see how you handle it all. For instance...

1. Farting. Get ready to fart your ass off. (If only!) And since you're a teacher, get ready to lie your ass off (if only!), as well. Because if your life is remotely similar to mine (which it's probably not, but you could get lucky), you will inevitably let one slip right about the time one of your darling students walks to the front of the class to ask you a question. Think fast, my dear, and DENY DENY DENY!!!

2. Boobies. Okay, so let's be honest -- neither of us are up for nominations into the itty bitty titty committee, but even so, those babies are gonna SWELL, and though it will likely hurt a bit and get on your every last nerve, enjoy them while they are full, because like Kellie says, once the baby's had a go at them, they're nothing but flapjacks. Seriously, flopping in the wind, hanging to your knees, rolling under your armpits flabby. Just get ready.

3. Boobies, part2. Everywhere you look, you will be urged, begged, pleaded, even guilted into breasfeeding your baby. That's great -- I hope you do and I hope it works wonderfully. But if you try and try, spending hundreds of dollars on "Lactation Consultants" and new-fangled contraptions you have to strap to your body, only to find yourself spending every day trying to feed your screaming baby, pumping when they are asleep, then cooking your bleeding nipples no less than 10 inchs away from a bare light bulb (you know -- to "toughen them up"), all the while praying your kid doesn't wake up anytime soon, because God help you, then they'll want to eat -- don't be afraid to say "FUCK IT". I did, and both my kids are clearly strapping young genuises, so if you can't make it happen, just know that formula is okay too.

4. Feet. Your dogs'll be barking, but that's no surprise, I'm sure. What I'd like to discuss is the effect their scent may have on your OBGYN. This person will most likely be seeing you down there at least once a month, then once a week, and while I'm sure you will be taking care to keep everything "fresh", don't forget your feet. I personally carried a travel-sized bottle of body spray for the sole purpose of freshening my feet before sliding them into the stirrups. Don't think my doc didn't notice, either. She even went so far as to say that she really wished some of her other patients would do the same. I'm just sayin'...

5. Old Navy has really soft, cute, inexpensive maternity panties. Buy them.

6. Multi-tasking. As your friend and admirer, I know that you are quite accomplished at multi-tasking already, but you'd best start brushing up on your skills now, my friend, cause you ain't seen nothing yet. Here's an idea you should feel free to steal: When you've had a bad day and need to relax, but the baby still needs to be bathed, draw yourself a bubble bath and share it with the kid. Sure, it may be luke-warm, and every now and then you may feel a small toe finding its way to your butt-crack, but all in all, it's worth it. Anytime you get a chance to multi-task, jump at the opportunity. There will be plenty of time to relax when the kid goes to college.

7. Sleep. Do it as long and often as you possibly can now. Once that bundle of joy pops out, well, I'll just refer you to #6.

7. Contractions. They hurt. If they offer the drugs, take 'em.

8. Labor. I'm not exactly sure how painful this part is -- I took the drugs. 'Nuff said.

9. Delivery. If you are as vain as I am (and I'm pretty sure you are!), and you have the luxury of being induced, spackle on the make-up. You will be soo glad you did when you get those baby-just-out-of-the-oven pics developed. Trust me -- remeber how bad my pics were after Ry, and how good they were after Jax? I learned my lesson, sweets. If you aren't induced, I recommend plastering on the pretty every day starting from about week 30 on. Just to be safe.

10. Baby. Oh my God, oh my God. You will not believe how much you will love this little life. I know you will hear that from everyone, and they are soo right. Just don't squeeze too hard, that's all I'm sayin'. Oh yeah -- and get ready to cry.

P.S. I know I said I wasn't going to dole out the advice, but I lied. I'm a Mom. We can do that sort of thing "for your own good". Just wait, you'll see.

Love you!!!!

Sweet Jesus, what have I done?

You remember that Friends episode where Rachel gets Monica to make all her decisions for her? Yeah, I coulda used that today.

I approached this trainer at the gym who teaches my kickboxing class with the idea that I would be willing to let him publicly note my progress (pics & all) in exchange for free personal training.

See, I'm an eensy-weency, itty-bitty, teency-tiny, little bit hung up on the whole 30th bday -- there are some things I wanted to have done in my life by that age, so I've actually gotta start stepping it up. This guy is so good that I know I can get there with his help, I just can't afford to pay for it. Great idea, no?

Huh. He's a bit more into the "before" part of it than I'd thought he'd be -- wants me to look as nasty before as possible; you know, for ALL THE PICS.

He doesn't want me to do anything for at least 3 more weeks because of my foot, which he said would actually be a plus; it'll get me a little less in shape. "It'll make the changes more drastic for the photos," he said. Sweet.

"Fine, I'll just go tan so I won't feel so heniously mortified."

"No no!!" he cried. "Don't tan. You want to be pale. If you tan it gives your muscles more definition -- we don't want that." Excellent.
Then he goes, "And no makeup in the pictures either."

Alrighty then.

Never in my life did I think the words "Bachelor" and "Recap" would be used in one of my posts

Shah turned me on to this blog. She has good taste. Seriously.

So much better than Bob Ross...

Check this out.

A Girl After My Own Cheap-Skate Heart

Check out where I'm lurking now. I think this may be my new fave blog -- after this one, that is...