Monday, April 30, 2007

Because I'm Old[er]

Sunday was the 7th-Anniversary-of-My-29th-Birthday. My friend, Susan, came up for the weekend, which was definitely awesome. This is her:

If you are wondering why Susan looks like the Patio Rules sign, it's because she does.

The husband took us out to Gloria's, an awesome El Salvadoran/Tex Mex restaurant here in this longhorn city of ours this past Friday night. Massive food intake, including Margarita's and Mojito's ensued! Two shared desserts later we wound up at The Covey sharing a bottle of White Star Moet Champagne. In the word's of Borat, "Vary Niiice!"

Bringing my readers to Saturday, the husband took us out for dinner and a band at Central Market for "Burger's and Bach". CM grills burgers, sandwiches and tuna (the tuna was fantastic!) made to order or you can buy any of their drinks, salads or food from their store while hanging around listening to bands play the night away. A group of friends of ours met us out there as well. We stayed laughing, chatting, drinking and eating until the band packed it up. Then, once the 3 of us got home, Susan and I watched, "The Holiday," which is an excellent movie. I highly recommend it!

It's my birthday!
Turtle Cheesecake. . . . mmmmm. . . .

The husband, stealing CM's utensils in massive quantities.
(que "Mission Impossible" theme song)
Yep. The CM Chef caught him.
No jail time ensued. This was good.

The husband was very good to me this year. Too good . . . one of my favorite and most treasured gifts was the Corinthian Bells that I've been wanting for years. They look and sound amazing:

So faith, hope and love abide, these three,
but the greatest of these is love. (1 Corinthians 13)

Finally, we sold Eleanor-the-First, yesterday, on my birthday. This little exchange of supply and demand inhibited us from going to Medieval Times. While you might call me a dork, it is where I wanted to go eat on my birthday. It's supposed to be a really fun time (so I've heard - I can't say, because I've never been). Besides, it was my birthday and I can do what I wanted (even if it makes me a doofus). So there.

Except. . . I didn't. Which is okay too. We hit one of our favorite and cute little bistro's instead. Furthermore, consuming ice cream birthday cake from Marble Slab. Yum! We also settled in for some Zombie killing on the XBox 360. Sleep came pretty quickly. All in all a pretty darn good weekend, if I do say so myself.

Bye bye Eleanor.

One down, one to go

P.S. Happy birthday to my big brother too. He was born on the very same day only a year ahead of me. Hey. . . Age before beauty. . . !

Guest Pawsting II

Lola and I got into trouble this weekend by mama. I can't exactly figure out why? We were the one's who were frustrated. Cuz we dug that same hole three times!

And we were only trying to see if we really could dig to China. . . geesh. Lola and I talked. We decided to finish that hole when mama doesn't look.

~ Dixie out.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

Guest Pawsting

Mama has been a bit busy lately, so I've taken it upawn myself to post on her blog.

I am Dixie. I am a Boykin Spaniel. I am full of muscles. The humans also call me Dixie Doo and sometimes, cuz I get sooo excited and knock the peoples over, they call me The Bulldoozer. I am a southern belle; I don't knock them over for nothing. I only want to knock 'em over cuz it brings their faces closer to me. I can sit on them and kiss their faces. Why would people not like that?

I love my dad. I love to give kisses when humans are lying on the ground, in the bed and on the couch. I am not supposed to get on the furniture, but I've been known on occasion to maybe get up there. It's Lola's fault.

I love to dig. I dig holes around the backyard. Mostly by the fence, cuz then I can get out and tackle neighborhood peoples. I can give them kisses too.

I love to run. I love to fetch. I really love to bounce. I can bounce almost 5-feet off the ground. Ahhh. . .the ground, I love to lick the kitty litter off the ground. Mama says that's gross, but I like the taste. Mama says not even the cats do that, but who really cares about cats anyways? Felines are not our friends. They're fun to chase. I catch them sometimes. Cats are the enemy to this entire earth. I get along with Mia Bella The Cat, but I want to eat Pontius The Cat. Dad doesn't like that, but I'll get Pontius The Cat when dad's not looking and every dog will be happy. Speaking of dad, I love my dad too.

I love to sleep next to my mama. Then she can't move. I got a new doggie bed yesterday. I love it.

I love to bark. I love to chase squirrels. I will catch them one of these days. They think they're pretty tough running up in the trees and on the fence. Get down by me and then we'll see who's faster. I also love to chase things called birds and things called balls. I love to run. I love my dad. I love to chew bones. I get lots of bones from mama and dad.

I love Lola. She's my best friend. This is her looking like she is yelling at me, but she wasn't. We were playing. Even if she does get mad, I don't care. She never stays mad anyway.

Mama came home from training today on her bicycle and said she saw two Mallard ducks. A boy and a girl. She said she wished she had her camera with her, cuz she said the ducks were sooo pretty. She also mentioned all the cranes and birds flying around all that water right now. I love water too cuz I love to swim. I love birds even more. I'll catch the birds one day. If I had been with mama today I would have got those ducks and brought them back for her and then she could have pretty ducks all the time.

This typing thing is a lot of work. I'm going to eat dinner. I love food. I can eat a lot.

Dixie out

Sunday, April 22, 2007

My Husband,The Foreigner

On Saturday night, we were out to dinner with all of the husbands family to celebrate his Grandmother's 84 birthday. Yes, yes, Grandmother is wise beyond her years and a whole lotta fun too! We are already planning for her 85th!

But my point is, that we are talkers - all of us. Imagine, me, the Queen-Bee-of-the-Talkers with a whole family of talkers. And, even if we are all talking at once, we still know what everyone else has just said. It's remarkable! It also results in never a dull moment. . .

kat: . . . babies have the capacity to learn any language in the world that first year of their life! It's amazing! But the window closes after a year and it's not as easy for them to then learn a different language, even though they are still a sponge. *holding her/our newest family member 2-month old, Mallory*
me: I didn't know that! That's cool! *complete astonishment*
the husband: really? That is cool!
me: I wish I was bi-lingual. . . . *wishing*
the husband: oh, we're gonna be!
me: yep. We've been talking about taking another language together . . .
the husband: not French. . .
me: something more-like, Spanish! *finishing his sentence*
the husband: yeah! I'm going to be bi-lingual in, like, . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Australian!

Friday, April 20, 2007

Just Hold My Hand and Don't Talk

Today, I woke up in one of the the best ways possible.

The husband snuck out of bed way before the zombie [ahhhhem. . . me] saw the sun. He left the house and secretly made his way back in without even a single hound making a peep. This is completely unbelievable in and of itself until I found out that the husband took the Chobie with him. For those of you unfamiliar with the Chobester, he is the alpha male (AKA: Leader) of the Luton canine-pack and alerts all others, humans included, to the impending doom of when a door opens or closes in this house - this also encompasses any sort of vehicle door within 500-feet of our home. It's always a disaster that is approaching when it comes to Chobie's sense of "door" judgement. With no Chobie, there was no imminent catastrophe threat alert. Thus, not a peep from my other ferocious pups that lie with and at my feet. I am so protected when Chobie's not here. . .

But once again I digress.

At 7:58 AM this is what I heard:

the husband: baby . . . g'mornin' . . . it's time to get up . . . *ever so softly*
me: arrgh. mmmmrrph. uh. *zombies*
the husband: I love you
me: aaaargh. grrrrrr. mmmmph. *one huge puffy eye gradually opens barely focusing. . . *

To which I see the husband standing next to our bed holding a grande non-fat caramel latte and a reduced fat coffee cake for . . . . . me. When I can finally shake the sleep from my drowsy deflated morning brain, I take the coffee with a big smile on my face. The husband then curled up next to me with his own Starbucks and we sat like that for 30-minutes.

There was almost no better way to wake up to this day.

Thursday, April 19, 2007

Excellent! Buy Me a Monkey

A friend, a few years back, affectionately nicknamed me, Amazonian Princess. This did not offend me, because 1) a friend named me and 2) it's appropriate. I am Amazonian. I am not a princess or any sort of the monarch royalty by birth, but I can act like one of the best of 'em - just ask the husband. He'll tell you, but he is my husband and he can say these things without the threat of death by sporking lying over his cute little face. And most times, the husband will say I'm justified. So there.

At least I know it and freely admit it.

However, there are times that I do not know what to do with it, especially when it comes from someone I barely, if even, know . . . .

tri-man-athl: you must've been a swimmer previously . . . or . . . you must lift weights, because you have back muscles just like a man. . .
me: uh. No. I never swam, but - uh - I do lift weights at least twice a week. *could the earth immediately please split open and swallow me whole*
tri-man-athl: really. You have huge back muscles! *astonishment*
me: you really know what to say to a woman to make her feel just like a woman, huh. *kill me now. just kill me*

Really. Is that a compliment? Is that just plain scary? Or is that just a scary statement about me? Should I be scared? Should I have sporked his face off? I feel as if I'm in a bit of a conundrum here.

You see, deep down I want to be pretty. I want to be smart. I want to be a lady. I want to be able get off the Titanic first. I want taxi's to stop for me. I like being assessed by my shoes. I like being a slave to fashion. Finally, I like my girlie parts of me. What I do not want is to have a. well. muscled. man's. back.

Do you think chocolate will solve this problem?

Being a woman is a terribly difficult task, since it consists principally in dealing with men.
~Joseph Conrad~

Wednesday, April 18, 2007

$25.00, A Piece of Pizza and Some Dignity

me: ow! *finally finding the husband at the computer looking up bike racing information*
the husband: what's wrong, baby?
me: ow! *pointing to my thighs*
the husband: *laughter*
me: seriously. The hills and I have an understanding. . . . . . . we hate each other. I tried to tell you. And, just to reiterate, ow!
the husband: are you going to be okay? *baby voice followed by more laughter*
me: no. *I am a baby*
the husband: it's good for you. . . . . What would you like me to do? *laughing and laughing and laughing*
me: you did this on purpose *almost, but not quite crying*
the husband: welcome to my world! *then with a ninja stealth-like maneuver deliberately taps my iliotibial band*
me: aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah! *explodes through roof of house*
me: that's not funny! *musn't cry. mustn't cry. I'm not a baby. I'm not a baby.*
the husband: *laughing uncontrollably*
me: you'll pay for your sins. . . . . . . you'll pay. *limping off to a corner to lick my wounds*

Monday, April 16, 2007

Perfect For the Everyday Super Hero

The husband may just be right. I may have no shame, but these people have less than I:

Best of Craig's List

The Fires of Hell Will Consume You

He trusted me with a knife at that very instant.

the husband:
um. Can't you cut that for me? *almost grabbing the lunch I just prepared for him before jerking his hand back as if a venomous non-revivable death cobra was about to strike*
me: I'm sorry, what? You can't pick up a knife and cut your own . . . What? *laughing*
the husband: well, no. It's like a surgeon. It's precision. . . I just can't do it. *peering with pitiful, forlorn and the most dejected glance ever produced in the history of mankind*
me: holy crap. *shaking my head while cutting his sandwich in half*


Upon seeing the immediate construction of this blog.

the husband: you have no shame.
me: huh? me? what do you mean?

Use It. Enjoy It. And Remember To Wipe Off The Sweat As a Courtesy to Others

I am very aware of my AWOL'ness these past few days. While I could give you a list of the things that have gotten in the way of your When the Godiva is Gone blog reading pleasure, I won't. Suffice it to say that I've been busy. Really busy. I am so supremely busy, it's taken me 5 weeks to get to the grocery store. Yes. I said 5 weeks. It got so bad that I didn't even have water in my fridge. Sure, the husband and I were able to eat out twice a day, but that is some serious jeopardy for the waistline as well as the fact that that even gets monotonous. I do like vegetables not strewn in butter soup now and then. Not to mention fresh fruit. I don't even like butter. . . .

Anyhow, I did manage to get to the grocery store twice yesterday. Once for lunch fixings and the other for dinner ingredients. In between, I managed to wake the graveyard working husband to attend the Pink Martini concert yesterday afternoon. Free tickets from a neighbor and a really good time. I still have the major grocery shop to finish, as well as to mow the yard and plant more bushes. I'm not even going to mention the flowers I have to plant - besides, the squirrels seems to think flower roots are their very own personal gourmet meal. I'm about to go and buy out this entire Longhorn city of its Cajun-burn-the-mouth-seasonings . . .

Finally, once the husband awakes today, we'll be hitting the CompuTrainer where he has informed me that I must begin to train on hills. For at least an hour. An hour of riding hills. Do you know what that will do to me?

the husband: you do realize that you have to start riding up some hills, right?
me: uh. *zombies*
the husband: you need to do that.
me: ugh. *zombies everywhere*
the husband: Jen. . . . *exasperation*
me: uh. I. Don't. Want. To.
the husband: it'll be good for you.
me: um. is there such a thing as easy hills? *what do you mean there is no tooth fairy*
the husband: *laughter*
me: seriously. I hate hills. I don't just sound like I'm dying going up a hill - I AM DYING.
the husband: it won't kill you.
me: what if I do die, then what?
the husband: you won't die.
me: what if I do?
the husband: you are not going to die riding your bike up a hill.
me: how do you know that?
the husband: because I do.
me: well, if I do die you're gonna feel bad. . .
the husband: You. Are. Not. Going. To. Die.
me: I could. . . .
the husband: cutitout! *walks away*
me: ugh. grrmph. mmmrzzzph. *more zombies again*

Currently, I am awaiting a call from my bank to inform me of my escrow situation where I can then politely turn around and share said information with my accountant. Taxes are such a lovely thing.

Today's list has only just begun and somehow is growing like sea monkeys.

Tuesday, April 10, 2007

I've Thought About This and You Are Not Going To Win

me: awww. . . . hon. . . . that's so sweet you came and found me. . . . *finding air and a great big smile*
the husband: you didn't ride up here? *slightly dazed and confused*
me: no-ooo. *oh crap*
the husband: so, you didn't ride your bike up here? *still hoping*
me: so. . . how was work? *note to self: must change subject*
the husband: so, you didn't ride your bike up here?
me: me? No. Um. I drove Coco Chanel and put my bike in the back seat. *super-duper crap*
the husband: you what? ! *face dropping past his bottoms hitting the store floor with a decided thump*
me: well . . .I, uh. I was running late. *loss of blood from entire body*
the husband: *crickets chirping*
me: why is your face on the floor?
the husband: *more crickets chirping*
me: I didn't do anything to Coco. *defiant*
the husband: you. put. your. bike. in. Coco. *laser death ray eyes*
me: I thought you'd be proud that I figured out how to . . . but. . .
the husband: don't.
me: but. . .
the husband: don't.

A few minutes later . . .

the husband: did you at least lay something down on the seat? *decidedly thinking*
me: um. No, but. . .
the husband: don't.

20-minutes later . . .

me: it's just a car.
the husband: I said don't. *maniacal laser death ray eyes*

I am now dead to you all, writing from beyond the grave.

Monday, April 9, 2007

Are There Any Hobbits Still Left in America

Do you ever have one of those days where nothing you can say or do seems to be right?

Welcome to my day.

Appeasing the "Explanation Request Gods" Addendum:

I am not in the habit of either of these two individuals, but one day, in a galaxy far far away, I was flipping through the TV channels only to find Oprah talking with Miss Janet Jackson sans wardrobe malfunction. Apparently, at this time, Janet had recently turned the big 4-0. Insofar as much as I can remember, here's what Oprah had to say: "what's it been like for you to turn forty? I ask this because, I have found that when I had turned forty, I stopped caring about what other people thought of me. For example, am I good enough, am I happy enough, was or wasn't I offensive, does someone like me or not, etc., etc., etc.? It just wasn't in me to care much about what others thought of me. It was very freeing to have that thought . . . ."

Essentially, if I got this one right, Oprah was saying: I am what I am. Either you like me for that or you don't. To the same degree, it no longer bothers me.

I want to be forty.

Saturday, April 7, 2007

A Precipitation in the Form of Ice Crystals

It's April 7 in this longhorn city. . . .

. . . and it's snowing right now.

Friday, April 6, 2007


Contrary to popular belief, I am not dead.

However, the same could not be said for my old 2WIRE modem. The lightening on Friday night, at exactly 7:23 PM, killed it dead. It was not replaced until today, Friday, April 6. At this very moment (as well as for a WHOLE entire week) I do/did not heart AT&T. And, my battles have only just begun . . . .

Imagine Jen without Internet. For. A. Week. With no blogging.

me: *Thursday afternoon* Can you believe we still don't have Internet service? It's been a week already. . . . . *sigh*
the husband: Yeah. I almost don't care anymore.
me: But I haven't been able to blog.
the husband: *chuckles*
me: . . . . that's like asking me to not speak for, like, 5-minutes!
the husband: *more laughter* I know! *laughs harder*