I have a friend again!

Yay! I have reunited (momentarily) with my old friend Kaycee! She apparently lives here, in San Diego, only 15 minutes away from me. We plan on hanging out at least twice a day, although Kaycee does have a history of flaking out, and so we might actually only hang out twice a lifetime. We hung out once already, so we're down to hanging out one more time and then calling it quits. I really look forward to that hangout. *sigh* I miss seeing people my age. Where are all the 23 year olds in the world?

The hottest place on Earth

I have just found the solution to the United State's growing prisoner population. Take each and every prisoner, and drop them off in Arizona in summer. I can think of no greater or more terrible torture.

Josh and I were just in Arizona this last weekend, spending time with Eli. Josh's bro. Eli's work sent him and all other management and their families to a resort for some meetings and conferences. Well, we count as Eli's family and so off we went, to the hottest place on earth. It was incredibly fun, but that was primarily due to spending as much time as possible indoors. The daytime was like an oven and I continually wondered when my clothes were going to suddenly burst into flames. I kept thinking, 'Who lives here intentionally? Why choose to live in hell?' It was then that I got my grand idea of packing all the inmates of the US, building a giant fence that no one could get over or under, and putting the said inmates in the fence. If people were aware that should they rob that liquor store, they would be sent over to Hades, I'm pretty sure they would greatly reconsider. Tell them they would have to wear socks and covered shoes while in Hades and they would undoubtedly put the gun down and never rob again. I think we would see a lot more people in church and a lot less people in custody.

There were good times, though. The times in between being outside were pretty awesome and I enjoyed those very much. Like when I spent one of the days at the spa while the boys were out golfing. I got a facial, took a turn in the steam room, got a manicure, got a massage, and simply read magazines in my fluffy white robe and slippers. It was exquisite to be so pampered, although I don't really live a lifestyle that would elicit such treatment. I basically try to live as pampered as possible.

I should also mention the water park that the resort trip entailed. There was a water park inside of the resort and we decided to forgo our ages and see what creative fun we could have while trying to hide the fact that we were at least 10 years older than every other person there. Well, we get to these slides and naturally, one must be at least 48' tall. There was this little boy ahead of me, who was barely 3' tall, let alone the required 48'. I kindly asked him if he thought he was tall enough for the slides, to which he grinned, and explained to me that he had already been on these same slides 3 other times. I nodded, satisfied, deciding that if he hadn't died by now, he most likely would not die on the slides. Well, unfortunately for him there was a lifeguard change and the incredibly worthless male lifeguard who did more babe watching than actual life-saving was traded for some 13 year old, who had a better chance of saving a gummy bear than saving a drowning human being. Well, my little friend steps up to the plate, fearless I might add, when the 13 year old lifeguard stops him. She asks him to stand next to the height board, to which he obviously fails, and then proceeds to tell him that he cannot ride the slides; he's too short. Have you ever seen a riot, because I have ever since the day the lifeguard told the small boy he would not be riding the slide ride. People were booing and hissing at her, chanting and protesting. She held firm, though, clearly uncomfortable but clearly determined to not let the little person die on her watch (the male lifeguard hadn't even realized he was on watch. He was wearing his unibomber shades and I'm pretty much convinced he was asleep the entire time). Fathers of other children there were outraged and letting the pint sized lifeguard know it. It was pretty incredible, and I regret to admit that I moderately got caught up in the rush of outrage and maybe only once booed the lifeguard. I stopped immediately once her tears started. Hey. If you can't take the heat, get out of the kitchen, or in this case, Arizona.

Getting old

Today, while getting ready to face the world by applying thick sheets of makeup, I made a remarkable discovery. I could easily pass for 33 years old (I'm 23 by the way; if you thought I was older, I am coming to find you so I can torture you by making you listen to Josh rave and talk about his new Iphone. Seriously. Its the worst ever. You will beg me to kill you, but I won't, because then it wouldn't be torture; it would be compassion). I am deteriorating and aging at an incredible rate, and I can't say that I approve, although I can't say that I'm surprised either.

I was never one of those girls who was mistaken to be 13 when I was really 18 (my sister Britt), quite the opposite actually. People always assumed I was older than I was. People shopping in stores would ask me where to find a certain size, whereupon I would shake my head in confusion and crawl back into my stroller, reaching up for my binky. I thought that that was pretty awesome until I got a little older and waiters started asking me if I'd like an extra plate for my dentures and a straw for my pudding. It stopped being awesome right about then.

But I can't say that I am completely shocked, considering I've watched my body die since I was 16; thats about when my body hit it's peak, and since then, everything has been downhill. The veins are multiplying like bunnies, my skin is actually running out of room for wrinkles, and every part of my body seems to find a new way to sag. *sigh* I don't suppose going to bed at 3pm would be such a bad thing, considering I'm halfway there, but the waking up at 4am would definitely suck.

I have always found the impending veins in my legs to be inevitable enough, a flaw not my own, but of faulty genetics (thanks a lot mom and dad; the veins in my dad's legs could slice through a melon). The lines on my face I have mostly myself to blame, but I suppose I could put up a fight on that one since my mother wasn't officially abusive in forcing me to wear sunscreen every time light touched me, whether by actually being outside or just standing near a window. I cannot, however, blame anyone but myself for my anxiety lines. Yes, I have anxiety. Josh will testify. Actually, anyone that has spent a great deal of time with me can testify. Its that weird thing where I continually bite my cheeks? Remember it? Maybe not. Well, because of it I now not only have dents and slashes in my cheeks from all the aggressive biting, but actual lines, too! Isn't life grand? On top of trying to cover the bags under my eyes, the lines circling my eyes, and the baggage underneath my chin, I can now add to my list of problems, the lines around and above my mouth where my skin creases because of this formidable habit. It isn't like smokers' lines, but much more random and haphazard-looking. My sister Meg actually has the same cheek-biting problem and now probably the same lines. That sort of makes me feel better. I hope her face looks like someone drew all over it, too.
These pictures are from an 'Old Persons' party we went to. Our friends have themed parties and one of them was old people. I look pretty convincing, right?

"Take me out to the ballgame..."

So Josh and I went to a Padres game last night, and I have to say that I actually enjoyed it. Minus the fact that Josh kept pointing to every player on the field and claiming he could play that position. I started getting irritated and tried to convince him otherwise, but left field didn't bolster my argument any when he brought his sunflower seeds out to the field and continued to spit them out throughout the entire game. I mean, I've watched enough baseball in my life to figure it for boring (I can't believe baseball lovers have the gall to say that soccer is boring. Seriously. The outfielders took a total of 10 steps the entire game). You might agree, you might not. Either way, you're entitled. But I suppose the game wasn't typically boring since the stadium was filled with beer and people drinking the said beer. The combination of beer plus people equals an incredible amount of obnoxious behavior. Some of my favorite comments came from the drunk guys 3 rows behind us.

Drunk Guy #1: "You suck Romero!"
Drunk Guy #2: "Yeah Romero! You suck! Hit the ball before we trade you!"
Sober Guy: "Romero is pitching, not hitting."

I was equally impressed by the white-trash crowd sitting directly behind us. They made great commentary and I didn't have to worry about making jokes about them, since they were constantly yelling and making so much noise, they would never in this lifetime hear me.

White trash wife: "Whew! That boy Rodriguez is on fire! Someone get him a damn fire extinguisher!"

I think perhaps my favorite moment was at the end of the game (yes, we stayed the entire game... minus the first hour we missed because we were late. We weren't worried. We knew we weren't missing too much/any action). A woman appearing to be about 50 years in age, dressed very respectably, pointed up into the crowd, and shouted, "In your face! In your face!" Apparently, she was a Philly fan. I don't think the drunk guys were too offended, since they were too busy laughing and making crude gestures into the camera. Ah, yes. The glory of the drunks. I think I heard them singing.

"Take me out to the ballgame, take me out to the crowd!
Buy me some beer and more alcohol,
I don't care if I ever wake up!
Cuz its root root root for the Padres,
If they don't win I won't know
Cuz its one, two, three beers I'm out at the ol' ball game!"

10 Things I Hate about You

I thought everyone should be getting to know me better, so I put together a list of 10 things you might not know about me.

1. I keep a book in my purse most of the time.
   
2. I have an intense fear of being disappointed, so I train myself to not plan on things happening in my favor. That way, when it doesn't happen, I'm not disappointed. Some might say I'm a 'glass half-full' kind of gal. I don't really see it that way.
   
3. I'm an incredible saver. I seriously love everything expensive, but I am a very responsible buyer and rarely buy needlessly and never impulsively.
4. I have my dream house mapped out exactly in my head. I know exactly what it will look like inside and out. I could draw it out for you right now.
5. I am incredibly self-conscious about my ears. I hate them. They have absolutely no cartilage and sort of just flop out. Ugh. They're disgusting. I seriously want to get them cosmetically fixed.
   
6. I am extraordinarily proud of Josh. Josh and I are not the types to brag about each other to other people, but he is exactly who I want to be someday.
   
7. I love the taste of soapy water. The soapier, the better. I used to drink my own bath water. Gross, I know. But I'd do it again if I knew I wouldn't be ridiculed.
   
8. My favorite color is sometimes yellow, because thats my mom's favorite color
9. I sometimes talk like an air headed valley girl unintentionally. 'Like, I totally don't even care what he like says. Thats like, totally bogus. Whatever!'
   
10. I am one of the world's best sleepers. I never have a hard time falling asleep and staying asleep ever. I can take a nap for 3 hours, wake up for a few, and then fall back asleep for the rest of the night. But when we first moved to California, I hardly slept the first couple of weeks. I learned to appreciate my easy sleeping pattern and feel pity for those of who you have difficulty sleeping. Poor dad... Luckily, I'm back to my old self, sleeping as though I put a full day in. Yeah. Right.
    

She's holding my puppy!

Screw that last post. I am no longer happy. My sister just got a dog and I think I hate her. Yup. I do. I don't even remember ever liking her. Is there something against coveting, because I'm way past that. I really am sinking into a deep, black abyss. I hate my life. Who ever thought I could be happy without a dog? Not me. The devastation I'm feeling is overwhelming, its consuming me. I can't breath. I can't think. Where am I?

Let me just clarify. I have wanted a dog ever since before dogs existed (I realize that doesn't make sense but if you're thinking about pointing that out, consider my current mood and remember my history of violence). Josh keeps telling me it isn't possible, being that we are always living in other people's houses, but I think he's lying. I think he is just trying to torture me. He doesn't even really like me (all that smiling while watching our show was just a farce!), he just married me to ensure my utter unhappiness. He doesn't ever want me to be happy, so he refuses to consider hiding a dog in the house. He won't even consider taking up barking in public, so that when my purse barks expectantly, he can cover it up by barking himself. He even refuses to let me pretend I have a dog by walking in around the neighborhood on a leash. Okay. I've lost my mind. But who wouldn't when their sister owns one of these? Yes, this is my sister Meg and her new puppy. I hope the dog pees on the floor. Just kidding Meg. I think.

Kyle XY

I thought that I should make some sort of announcement declaring my absolute love for my situation as it currently stands. I was just recently reflecting on how good life can be and I thought that I should throw in a blurp on this blog of optimism and cheer, just to throw off any sneaking suspicions that I was utterly unable to comprehend anything but darkness and despair.

I started figuring my life to be pretty much amazing while after spending an entire day doing an incredible tv marathon with Josh. We have a certain tv series that we have a particular fondness for (none of you will guess it since it is relatively unknown to most persons...), and we dedicated most of our sunday to it. We woke up, watched an episode, hurried to church, came back from church, watched episode after episode after episode, made some waffles, and resumed where we had left off, watching hours more of the Traeger family and their run-ins with Madacorp. We took a break for oreos, and then weighed our options, where we decided our day would be completely wasted if we did not finish Season 2. Each episode is roughly 45 minutes long, and there are 26 episodes in each season... you do the math. We have been dedicating our nights to this show for 2 weeks, but today was the first time where we allocated the entire day. It was time well spent. Every now and again, we would be watching, and look over at each other, and know that we were meant for one another. Josh would smile, I would reach up and give a high-five, and we would stare, glued and perfectly content, to see what new power Kyle would learn. It was magic. We are hooked and deeply in love because of it. We figure that any time we get in a fight, we can just start watching our show and whatever it was that seemed so upsetting will just float away on a complex mathematical cloud (you have to see the show to understand any of this nonsense...).

I thought also I should do for Josh what he cannot do for himself. He would like nothing more to brag all about how we hung out with Danny Ainge and family and talk about how they're BFFs now, but since he does not have a blog and because I have found a recent appreciation for him since we both love the same tv show, I will do it for him. We hung out with Danny Ainge on Friday and Josh sold him and his family 6 pairs of CALLE shorts. I wasn't too impressed since I don't really care about the NBA or anything not to do with my tv show, but I guess this is the part where everyone starts worshiping us because we're basically celebrities now. Seriously. The paparazzi are probably on their way over to try and catch glimpses through our bedroom window of us perched on our bed, computer propped up on pillows, and a bowl of popcorn between the two of us, watching more hours of our show. I can't tell you what show it is, since Josh swore me to secrecy, something about being completely humiliated should anyone find out or something. Anyway, we hung out with ol' Danny boy and I tried the entire time not to blurt out that he should be taller. Either way, we're famous and not just for donut consumption now.

Breaking Dumb

So I'm listening to the little girls playing outside my window, hearing them pretend to amputate one another's legs because a rabid shark attacked them and now they have to raise money to pay for the surgery but they are having a difficult time finding the funds for the growing the medical bills (sounds like an episode of House or Grey's Anatomy...), and thinking how I miss playing. I miss pretending to have my leg amputated. I miss pretending I'm a poor woman who lives in a shack (my closet) but has found an unwanted orphan (my cabbage patch doll) and must feed and clothe it. I miss pretending I'm a fox with an incredibly large and fluffy tail, and I'm escaping from the pound (never mind what a fox is doing in a dog pound..) *sigh* I miss childhood.

I can't say that I'm too far removed, though, from childhood, since I was at a child's event on Friday. I'm only slightly ashamed to admit that I was at the Breaking Dawn opening event this last Friday. It was interesting to see all the 13 year old girls I had to push out of my way, trying to pretend I was looking for my 13 year old daughter. I could see the look of confusion in the young people's eyes, as they wondered what that old person -me -was doing at their event. Don't worry. I acted really cool and smooth throughout the entire thing. I only punched a girl in the face once, when she was reaching for the same Edward and Bella calendar as I was. And when another girl raised her hand during the Twilight trivia game and answered it wrong, I refrained from screaming expletives in her face, remarking only that she was the most brainless wanna-be-fan ever. I mean, who doesn't know how many times Edward mentions Bella's name in the first and second book? Thats like Twilight 101. Basic Twilight knowledge. And when a girl wearing a t-shirt with her first name and 'Cullen' as her last name walked by, I only gave a gentle shove, just so her nose bled a little bit when it hit the floor. So really, I wasn't super noticeable as I ranked everyone in age by at least 10 years (with the exception of my dear friend who went with me. Only she went because she really does have a 12 year old...). But I just want to report that I read it, it wasn't my favorite, and I'm actually really over the whole series now. Truly. I only wear my 'Twilight Fanatic' shirt to bed every other night now. Just kidding though. Seriously. I'm over it.

Umm... Josh just read that over my shoulder and asked me tone it down a bit. He said that there are people out there who might read this and consider me an incredible volatile individual, ready to explode at any moment. Let me just clarify. I'm an incredibly volatile individual who is ready to explode at any second. Really though? I only fantasize about relieving my aggression. I rarely act it out. That was supposed to make you feel comfortable around me again.