We'll Make It... I Swear.

Because every single person that I know is doing/has done the Thirty Day Song Challenge, I'm bowing to peer pressure and doing it as well.  Observe:

Today I posted something I told Dave on Wednesday.  Selling cars is a tricky business, and while it can be really lucrative, when you're having a bad lull times can really get tough.  Dave switched dealerships in January after a really huge shuffling in management at his first place, and brought the few bad months he'd had with him to his new place.  The past few months have been hard on our finances, especially as we bought a new car and went on vacation.  He's really been beating himself up about not bringing home any more than enough to cover everything, as we're trying to build up our savings and buy some new furniture and a new computer for the spring, and has a tendency to talk himself down.  And I mean really down.  Like "Jessica is going to leave you, you're fat, you're a failure, etc." until eventually he snaps when we have an unexpected expense and our bank account takes a hit.  Wednesday the water bill was due, so I paid it.  He didn't know it was due, and saw that $150 disappeared from the bank account.  He flipped out and an argument ensued.  An argument in which he told me that he knows I'm going to leave him, at which point I pointed out that I've stuck by his side through six years of ups and downs, and that if I haven't left yet, I'm not likely going to leave.  This has been a topic that comes up a lot during our arguments lately, and I think I know why.  His older brother recently informed the family that he and his wife of six years, who were together for a total of ten, are separating.  She no longer thought she wanted to be married, so she moved out and found a place of her own.  This happened about three months after the death of Dave's beloved grandpa, when we noticed that something "wasn't quite right" about their relationship - but no one, NO ONE, saw it coming.  To everyone, they were the perfect couple: he's a rocket scientist (no, seriously.  He's a rocket scientist) and a firefighter (I know, right?  What the hell was she thinking?), and she works for the CIA; they both love dogs and as far as everyone knew, were planning on trying for kids soon; they were insanely active, always hugging and touching, and matched each other in both wit and intelligence.  They had just purchased a gorgeous townhouse outside of D.C. and were remodeling the kitchen.  And then she decided she didn't want to be married anymore.

Dave idolizes his older brothers (a rocket scientist and a Physics instructor - they're real smarty-pants twins) and looked up to both of their seemingly fantastic relationships; Chris and his wife of four years have adorable twin boys, a dog, and a gorgeous home outside of Philadelphia, in Dave's hometown.  So I think that the whole breaking down of Dennis' marriage really freaked him out.  And since we're not married or engaged yet, that makes it only so much easier to leave.  But I'm not going anywhere.

So after we both cooled down (we're both hotheaded, but I'm worse - I can fly off the handle at the smallest provocation) we talked.  And while he didn't tell me all of that other stuff, he finally admitted that he thinks terrible things about himself, and thinks he's a terrible person for not being able to provide a better life for us - - but we're young, really young, I told him, and how many people do you think are working right now just to cover their expenses?  I make great money, and he's not feeling like he can carry his weight.  So I reminded him that he's lucky to HAVE a job - no less than a job with a great company that loves to promote from within!  And the opportunity to make as much money as he can... AND the security of a salary to go with his commission, something he didn't have at his first dealership.  And he agreed with me.  But I needed to say something regarding how he puts himself down.

So I told him something I was thinking about just last week, when I was down in the mouth and beating myself up for forgetting something my boss had specifically asked for at work.  I told myself I was a moron, a complete idiot, a total failure who had fallen on her face in front of her boss... and then, when I felt really terrible, I thought of something else.  When any of my friends are feeling low, would I EVER say anything like those horrible insults to them?  Would I kick them while they were already down?  Would I judge them for something out of their control, or something they honestly had forgotten to do?  No, I thought.  I'd never say anything like that to Michelle, or Dave, or Erin.  I'd never say those things to my brother or my step-sisters.  I'd never dream of saying anything like that to my Mom.  So what right did I have to say those things to myself?  Shouldn't I be my own best friend?  Shouldn't I care about how I feel?  I should be FORGIVING myself, not berating myself.

So I stopped.  I told myself it was okay and just got the paperwork in a few days late, and it wasn't a big deal.  I started trying to look at the bright side of things: there are things I can control and things I cannot control.  I will never be able to control how my Mom treats me, and it hurts.  I worry about it far too much.  But I've got people I can talk to, who will listen to me, and instead of beating myself up for not being the person my Mom would be able to want to be close with, I can thank myself for being the kind of person my friends and boyfriend love.

So today I posted that little thing as my Facebook status, and while not many responded, the people I love most did - my friends.  Granted, they responded with quotes from the movie "Mean Girls," but that's just something we do.  And I thought, should I beat myself up for eating McDonalds this morning, or just HAVING to have pizza tonight? or should I thank myself for having friends who make me laugh?  I chose to thank myself.

And then quote Gretchen Weiners.

Today it's raining at the beach.  I would like nothing more than to leave the office, go home, and curl up with a book next to our fireplace.  This, however, is not going to happen.  But I suppose that's okay.

This morning I stopped at McDonalds on my way into work and grabbed a Shamrock Shake.  Then, being the bitch that I am, I called Dave so he could hear me moan while I sipped it in the car.  That sounds really dirty, but I wasn't doing it to be seductive; I did it to be a nasty mean girlfriend, because he left the bank card at home and had no cash on him to get one for himself.  And he's got to be at the dealership until 9am (insert evil Mad Scientist laughter here).  But, after hearing the dejection in his tone as he explained all of this to me, I let him know that if he ran home for lunch, there was a twenty dollar bill hidden in my wristlet - you know, just in case of emergencies.  But there was one caveat: if he was going to take the money, he had to bring me my new copy of The Sims 3.  There's actually a really good reason for this.  You see, my little brother bought me a copy of the game for Christmas, but my desktop at home doesn't have the visual acuity to play the game, and while we've been discussing purchasing a new computer, we just haven't gotten around to agreeing on one.  So, since my boss promised me a new computer at work and has actually purchased a new Mac for my office (and is planning to install it today), I'm going to install the game on my WORK computer and play it while convincing all of my coworkers that I am actually hard at work in my office.  (I do this all the time.  Seriously.  I'm fairly certain that most of 2009 was spent playing Dofus while I was supposed to be doing paperwork.)

On another McDonalds related note, I got hashbrowns this morning.  This is always a terrible choice as they make me feel like death and general nastiness.  I ate them anyway.  After the terrible 15lbs shedding while in Mexico last/this month, I need to look less like the stick figure from hangman.

I'm thinking of buying a new electronic book to read this weekend, but I know I should go to Michaels instead and pick up the yarn I need to finish my newest afghan.  I don't particularly feel like crocheting this weekend, but I'm sure something weird will happen to make me flip out, and I'm going to desperately need the distraction (yes, I do crochet when stressed - something about the methodical stitch counting makes me calm down).  And I don't really have anything to do tonight, save for laundry, and I have three or so hours of downtime after work since Dave won't be done at the dealership until 9.  And he's there tomorrow until 8, so I'm going to need something to do.

Today, Dave's twin older brothers left for New Orleans with a few friends for a buddy's bachelor party.  They always plan these elaborate bachelor parties that ALWAYS end badly (at least with the group going today) for everyone, themselves included, so while Dave is actually in the wedding next month as well, I'm glad he decided not to take the time off work to go.  For Dennis' (Twin #1) bachelor party in August of 2004, they all decided to go to Vegas.  Dave and I weren't together at the time, and he should be thanking EVERYTHING HOLY that we weren't.  While the normal drinking, gambling, and gorging did occur, the boys also did the absolutely unthinkable: instead of being normal and going to a strip club, Todd (today's Bachelor) decided they should hire girls to come up and dance for them in their high-rolling suite at the Bellagio.  But, when the aforementioned "strippers" arrived, imagine the boys' consternation to discover them idly derobing and beginning to arrange "a half-hour of private time for the Bachelor, and them time for each of the guys."  Yes.  They unknowingly hired prostitutes.  Brilliant idea, guys.

Chris' (Twin #2) bachelor party in San Antonio wasn't much better.  In fact, it's the single reason I very nearly slept with someone else in order to punish Dave for being so completely idiotic (in my defense, the individual I nearly slept with was someone I REALLY liked and with whom I had crazy sexual chemistry - but that's a different story).  For over a month before the party in June of 2006, Dave promised over and over and over again, and I quote: "No, no one is gonna want to go to a strip club.  And if they DO decide to go, I'll just go back to the hotel and hang out in the bar or something."  This promise was made without ANY prompting from me - in fact, I didn't really care all that much about it.  It's a strip club, not a bordello.  But the weekend of the party came, Dave went, and I went home to visit my family (we were finishing up a few credits at PSU during our last summer there) and the weekend passed without incident ... until Dave called juuuuust before boarding his return flight and I answered juuuuust before boarding my return bus and said the following: "So I uh... might have done something you're gonna be mad about."  Right, went to a strip club after promising on his own accord for over a month that he absolutely WOULD NOT.  And when I brought this up, his response blew my mind: "What did you want me to do, Jess?  Go back to the hotel and hang out?"  Um.... isn't that EXACTLY what you said you were going to do in precisely that scenario?  And I saw red, and words that should probably not have been said were exchanged, and we hung up angry - and I went back to school livid, and with the knowledge that while I would arrive back in State College around 5pm, Dave wouldn't be back (as they were flying into Philly) until around 11pm.  So I did what any good girlfriend would do:  I called my friends, arranged to meet them at a local bar (Pickles Tap Room - yummy!), and texted the other guy (remember him?  Crazy sexual chemistry?  Also yummy!) to meet us.  Then I got blindingly drunk; Helen Keller drunk; so drunk that when Dave finally found us, I was angry enough to instigate a fight which resulted in Dave throwing a bar stool across the bar.  Then, as always we made up and went home, and the next day invited both my friends and the guy out with us when we went to the bars.

(Okay, so about the other guy in the story.  His name was Nick, and when I was an RA my senior year, he was my resident coordinator.  He had a girlfriend throughout most of the year, and Dave and I had only been together for six months - three of which were summer break, when he was in Philadelphia working and I was in Pittsburgh working.  It started pretty innocently: our Supergroup - eight RAs in all - met every Wednesday evening in his dorm apartment, and we all had bi-monthly hour long meetings with him in his office, just to discuss how our residents were doing, any programming we were planning, etc.  Well, after about a month our meetings were less about the residents and more hour long discussions and debates about anything from secret government organizations to lifetime aspirations.  From there the meetings got longer and longer, until our original hour long timeframe had stretched to two or three hours - - and a conversation with my best friend - also in my Supergroup - revealed that everyone else's meetings had gone in the other direction: her's usually only lasted a half an hour at most.  Then his girlfriend started showing up to interrupt our meetings.  Then Dave started showing up to interrupt our meetings.  Then my co-RAs started talking about the very obvious attraction that was going on, though I denied that he was attracted to me for the entirety of the school year.  Then... the year ended.  And about twelve minutes later he and I were hanging out, going out, etc. - always with friends and Dave - until the night I wrote about.  Then the text messages started and he finally FINALLY admitted that he was into me.  And our playful flirty relationship continued, on and off, for a few years.  Then I finally got a smack upside my head from my best friend - she had been in Mongolia in the Peace Corps for a long while - and I got the hell over it.  And that's the story.)

In other news, my mother went to the Pitt basketball game last night.  It began at 9pm, so she didn't get home until 1am - and this woman is NOT a night owl.  She goes to every home game, courtesy of my little brother, who worked as a newscaster on the Pitt television station during college, then graduated and took a position in the Pitt Sports Department doing, basically, the same thing he did during college.  Now he's the Marketing Director for Pitt Sports and has two graduate assistants working for him (Go Jason!), which takes up most of his life and doesn't pay nearly enough to keep him in the thousands of shirts he buys at Kohl's every week.  So, she went and took my step-sisters, both of whom have kids, so I can only assume that they're both shot as well.  She'll spend 7+ hours dedicated to Pitt Basketball and ruin a good night's sleep, but I couldn't get her to spend an hour with me at the spa in Cancun.  Seriously.  She agreed to go with me for a massage and facial, but cancelled on me at the last minute to go to a timeshare seminar with my step-father.  This is the same women who I asked  to have her engagement ring from my father for Dave - my father died in a car accident when I was four, so while he obviously can't escort me down the aisle, I would like to have a little piece of him with me for that walk - conveniently forgot.  For three years.  Even though we've asked her more than ten times.

So while we were in Cancun, I casually mentioned to her and my step-father that Dave and I were looking at engagement rings (and everytime I mentioned the word 'engagement,' she cringed and made a face of absolute disgust).  She immediately responded that she thought that we wanted HER ring for our engagement (oh, so NOW she remembers), to which I replied, "We've asked so many times that we're just not comfortable asking anymore.  We're going to just do it ourselves, since you're obviously not willing to actually give the ring to us."  Well, you'd think I slapped her.  Then, to lighten the mood, I jokingly said that I was going to hand all the planning over to her - make her my wedding planner, have her arrange everything, etc. to which she replied, "I don't have the time to help you with any of that.  Really, you two should just elope."  And then she canceled her plans with me.

I have serious Mommy-issues, in case you can't tell, but the above paragraph has been bothering me since Cancun.  Dave and I are planning on buying the ring and getting engaged within the next three months, and while I've been looking forward to this for six years, she's really put a damper on the whole thing.  She spent most of her time with me down there lecturing me on refusing to become engaged until Dave loses weight - he's put on weight over the last few years, and while I'd like him to get healthy, I know that I can't force him to do anything he doesn't want to do.  He's going to start training to go out for Police Academy next February, so I know that he's getting serious about losing his gut, but I'm not going to throw him out if he doesn't go to the gym everyday.  I mean, we've been together for six years and I love him, 160lbs or 250lbs - he loved me when I was heavier and loves me now even though I occasionally look skinnier than the Grim Reaper - and I'm not going to put off my own happiness simply because his pants size is a little bigger than I'd like it to be.  Mom isn't amused - I understand, because Dave's Dad is on the heavier side and had a heart attack when Dave was eleven, and she's simply looking out for me because she doesn't want to see what happened to her happen to me.  I certainly don't want to lose my husband and be left with small children to raise, but I would appreciate some response to our upcoming engagement other than grimaces, barely amused smirks, and lectures.  I'd really appreciate some kind of interest in her only daughter's wedding.  But over the years I've become accustomed to being sidelined.

Dave and I had a discussion about this last night as we ate our grilled cheeses.  I asked him what more I can do to make her take an interest or show half the attention she reserves for my brother:  I gave up my freedom my senior year of college to become an RA, because Jason was starting at Pitt and two college tuitions would have been too much for her to handle... So I took the RA position, got free room and board, and she was able to take the money my grandparents sent (my Dad's parents - they paid for half our college costs) to her for the two of us, pay my tuition, and take what was left over to pay for Jason's.  I only went on Spring Break once, to the Dominican Republic for an all-inclusive resort week with my friends.  It cost something around $400 and I ended up paying for it myself (when I wasn't an RA, I scheduled all of my classes on Tuesdays and Thursdays so I could work a full time job), but she still complained.  Jason went to Australia to study abroad for a semester (which cost an arm and a leg), and while he was there he got her to pay for a 10-day long Spring Break Extreme Sports trip (which cost the other arm and leg) and an additional pitstop on his way home to New Zealand ... and he managed to get out of working while he was there.  The entire six months.  And, funny enough, whenever he wanted spending money he'd log into my Mom's online banking and transfer money into his account - while at the same time, I'd spent $50 on groceries for Dave and I up in State College, and when she saw the transaction she emptied my bank account.  My WHOLE bank account.  Leaving me with no money to live on, because while you were an RA you couldn't work.  In order for me to have money to live on, I had to resort to donating plasma.  Thanks Mom.

Or how about the time I bought my first car with money from my savings?  She and my step-father decided that I should pay for half up front, then have $229 monthly payments for four years to build my credit and get me used to paying bills - okay, makes sense.  But then Jason buys his first car a few years later, and when I asked him what kind of payments he got hit with, no one would tell me.  I asked him, my Mom, and my step-father multiple times in multiple ways and every time I asked, they would change the subject.  Turns out they allowed HIM to just buy the car outright.  Thanks Mom.

The worst part about all of this is that, with our engagement coming up and all of these things running through my head, it makes me think that maybe we should just skip the whole wedding idea and just go get married at the Justice of the Peace, simply to avoid what will inevitably just make me cry.  Only problem is, I've missed out on so many other things in my life because I was trying to make someone else happy that I don't think sacrificing our wedding is fair.  Or nice.  Or appropriate.  Especially when all I can see in my head is our elopement and Jason's eventual wedding/his fiance getting everything that I gave up: the engagement ring, the dress shopping, the cake tasting, the stroll down the aisle, etc.  And all I can see if my Mom being overjoyed and excited and wanting to do everything with his fiance.  Because I know how she is: she LOVED his high school/college girlfriend (it lasted until he went to Australia and proved what an asshole he can be by cheating on his girlfriend of seven years) and did absolutely EVERYTHING with the girl.  Now don't get me wrong, I loved her too.  She's like my little sister.  But the way she treated his girlfriend and the way she treats Dave are night and day, and while she professes to love Dave, nothing he ever does is right or good enough.  I actually once had her tell me, after he came to our house for a holiday and spent the day volunteering to clean, cook, and help her prepare for my giant family coming over, that she thought he tried too hard and that she found it irritating.  So I told him, and the next time he came for a holiday, he sat on the couch and didn't offer to help at all... then she told me that she thought he was lazy.

But the best, the very best, happened in Cancun.  Let me tell you something about my Mom: she becomes ludicrous, absolutely head-smackingly idiotic, after a few beers.  We'd all gone out for dinner and she had a few, and when we returned to our hotel we decided to go check out the karaoke in the sports bar inside.  Normally I love karaoke, but I'd eaten something that disagreed with me and felt disgusting, so I didn't want to get up.  Dave wouldn't stop bugging me about it, and the noisy atmosphere and his repeated questions started to irritate me, so I snapped at him.  A minute later my Mom is storming out of the bar claiming we've ruined her night with our "argument."  Right.  Her tirade continued all the way through the hotel, up four flights of stairs, and into our suite.  That's when she started harping on me for being a "bitch," claiming our relationship was terrible, claiming she'd never heard two people talk to each other the way we do (so we swear at each other a lot and I have a habit of telling Dave he's stupid - we're a couple, we fight.  Deal with it), etc. etc. etc.  Now here's where Jessica (who'd also had a few drinks along with her dinner) got stupid - I fought back.  I know not to do this in arguments with my Mom after a lifetime of conditioning, usually I just agree, apologize, and pray she doesn't follow me out of the room, but I was buzzed and I fought back.  And when I snap on her I get downright mean, for a lot of reasons, mainly because she calls me and tells me about EVERY fight she and my step-father have, so I have a lot of ammo.  I started laughing.  She's the biggest harpie on the planet in arguments, she swears, she curses, she throws things that happened fifteen years ago in your face, and my step-father is no better.  He's a grand proponent of the F-Bomb.  So I pointed that out to her... and apparently, according to her, she and my step-father don't do any of that (though I've seen them in action).  Once she threw a phone at his head.  Once he cornered her in a coat closet and screamed for fifteen minutes about an inch away from her face.  So yeah.

Then Dave got involved (something he knows NEVER to do - one time he did, his brand new phone was thrown across the room hard enough for it to explode.. because he was trying to call a hotel so we wouldn't have to stay at the house) and pointed out a few select things to her... at which point she told him he wasn't winning any points.  And continued ranting until my step-father, who at this point has been standing idly by, allowing my Mom to flip out on me and Dave for close to twenty minutes, got her out of our room.  All because I didn't want to do karaoke.

As you can see, this has all been bothering me since I got back.  What makes it even worse is that Dave's parents are the two nicest human beings on the planet, and when we flew back into Philadelphia (they'd been puppy sitting for Morrison and Cobain while we were gone) they were just amazing.  Even after having to take up TO the airport at 3am and pick us up at nearly midnight (delays delays delays)...  They even gave us our Christmas present while we were there: a 40in flat-screen ... which makes the fact that my Mom bought us a 47in flat-screen even more amusing.  Especially because, as we couldn't go home this year for Christmas (I was violently ill and the 8hr drive would have killed me), she still has it.  And won't have it shipped to us.  Because, even though we work CONSTANTLY and have three long distance weddings to go to in the next 4 months after just taking a week off for vacation, she wants us to come up and visit my family.  And THEN we can have the television.  This all really irritated me, because I wanted to have the thing up for the Superbowl (which was on the day after we got home)... So instead of a 47in to watch the game on, we watched my beloved Steelers lose on a 40in screen.  I've never cared less about 7in (that's what she said!).

I don't know if there's anything more I can do about my relationship with my Mom.  I've exhausted every avenue.  Every member of my family sees the difference in the way she treats me and Jason - but if anyone brings it up to her, she denies it.  She denies it to my face (perfect example - I could be on the phone with her, having a serious conversation, and if Jason buzzes in she'll take his call and hang up on me).  She questions why I even bring it up, and if I do bring it up, she accuses me of jealousy and can't understand "why I hate Jason so much."  Now realistically, I wouldn't want to live an hour away from home where she could come visit at any moment (she goes down to clean his apartment and buy his groceries - he'll be 25 this year), but it'd be nice if she made the attempt to see us once and a while, and not only when I land my dumb butt in the hospital (last two times I didn't even tell her I was in there, simply because I didn't want to have to deal with her visiting) and not only to criticize our house, our lives, our choices, etc.  I just want a decent relationship with her - but I think I hit the nail on the head when I told Dave that she NEEDS me, but she doesn't really give a damn about me.  She needs me to listen to her complaints, her problems, give her suggestions, help her out, take care of what she doesn't want to do, do her shopping when I visit, and so forth, but really has no desire to know me as a person, other than that I'm her daughter.  I can't go to her with my problems, my issues, my concerns, because she judges them.  Seriously.  I don't know why I let this bother me so much.  I know it won't change.

Ugh, I'm depressing.  On a lighter note, Dave stopped by to sneak me my copy of the Sims 3.  I didn't realize it was the DELUXE version (thanks Jason!) that has the Ambitions expansion pack.  Now, if only my boss would show up to install my new Mac, I can be a happy camper.  Seriously, if he gets here before the end of the work week, I may break into the office tomorrow to play it all day while Dave's at work.  Screw laundry.

So since this has basically been a ramble about the state of my relationship with my Mom, I figured I should throw you a brilliant nugget of hilarity.  Last weekend I was de-stressing with Dave (i.e. drinking rum and diets) for a few hours before hitting the hay.  Now as everyone knows, once the seal is broken there's no telling how many trips to the bathroom you'll be taking.  I got up in the middle of the night to pee, and on coming back to bed, missed the bed entirely and fell into a wooden chair.  I have no idea how I did this, but I managed to deeply scrape my back from shoulder to hip at a strangely 45* angle and land, HARD, on my butt.  I only realized I was in pain about 2/3 of the way down and howled so loudly I woke Dave, who was, for some strange reason, in the fetal position on the floor.  After drunkenly lurching to the bathroom for a wet paper towel, he returned to mop up my back while I crouched, keening like an injured bear, on the floor.  He promised it "wasn't that bad," but when I checked it out in the morning, it looked like I'd been mauled by a werewolf.  And two days later, the deep scrape sported an equally deep purple bruise.  And my butt?  Looks like someone whipped a softball at my right cheek.  It's STILL dark purple.

Well, I guess that's it for the day from me.  I actually have to do something before the powers that be realize I'm not the most productive employee here today.  And Dave just buttdialed me.  I hate that.

Jessica:  A twenty-six year old Anthropology grad from the Pennsylvania State University who has never, not once, except while trying to impress during Bones, used any portion of her degree.  Originally from Western PA, she loves her Primantis, her Stillers, her Pens, and her Nittany Lions.  Does not take kindly to losing at any sort of competition (which has caused her to be banned from completing jig-saw puzzles, playing miniture golf, driving go-karts, or mentioning the game Connect Four) or being criticized for her erratic driving.  Cannot live without her pink BlackBerry.  Enjoys reading, writing, her dogs, and experimenting in the kitchen.  Would cease to exist without cheese.

David:  A twenty-seven year old Health and Human Development grad from the Pennsylvania State University who used his degree (to become a teacher), but he hated that; then he used his degree (to become the Director of a childhood learning center), but it closed; then he used his degree (to become director of a childhood development center), but he hated that; now he sells cars and is happy as a clam.  Originally from Eastern PA, he loves his Pat's, his Eagles, his Phillies, and his Nittany Lions.  Does not take kindly to losing the remote control to Jessica (as this generally results in either episodes of The Tudors or the movie version of Pride and Prejudice) or being criticized for his failures in the kitchen.  Cannot live without his Android.  Enjoys harassing Cobain and Morrison, watching Doctor Who, and experimenting with drinks (newest development: the 'Sonic').  Would cease to exist without soup.

Morrison and Cobain:  A three year old and year-and-a-half old set of Shih-Chon puppies with the same parents.  They enjoy barking at anything that moves, stealing their treats from impossible places, and any chew toy shaped like a bee.  Morrison hates vacuums and being accidentally locked outside; Cobain hates anything that walks past the house, large dogs, small dogs, children of all ages, losing her squeaky bee, and being quiet.

Welcome to our noisy, confusing, cluttered and entirely over-the-top existence.  Nothing is every normal; we seem to attract chaos like pollen attracts bees.  We've just recently returned to the cycle of everyday life after a week in Cancun, MX with my (Jessica's) family, but I'm embarrassed to admit that after two weeks back, the laundry still isn't finished and there are still bathing suits "hanging to dry" in our spare bathroom.

I love to write, and Dave rarely has the time, so most of the posts on this blog will be written by me.  Believe me, when Dave decides to contribute, you'll know.

So it's getting toward the end of the workday now (thirteen more minutes!), which means the endless "what should we have for dinner" conversation is currently running on my phone.  Dave's not feeling well tonight, so he's just suggested we have a fry-up for dinner.  A fry-up is something I introduced all of my friends to back in college.  It's essentially the best way to recharge and lose the crappy tummy after too much drinking and usually involves eating the greasiest, fry-iest, nastiest breakfast foods possible... and then suddenly, magically, the stomachache goes away.  I'm not feeling it, so I think we've decided to settle on grilled cheese and tomato soup.  I know, not exactly exciting, but after last night's culinary accomplishments (brie and apple crepes, potato and leek soup, and a mesclun salad with white balsamic vinaigrette) I think we deserve a night off.  This always happens on Wednesday/Thursday, because I get all inspired by Top Chef.  And since Dave's got an early day tonight (9-6) we get a chance to actually hang out.  Last week he worked nearly a full week of bell-to-bell's (9-9) and I thought I was gonna go insane.  I ate wayyy to much Vegetarian Vegetable soup as a result.

So that's that I suppose.  Hopefully some of the craziness that generally accompanies my life will amuse and entertain you - and I'll be adding recipes and assorted other things that you might be able to use, so it won't ALL be my random ramblings about life at the beach.