Changing it up!

Hi! You may have noticed already...but just in case: I haven't been that great at updating my blog here because I've got a personal website set up now. I'm posting entries over there now. I will still try to apply posts here as well, but just in case, you can find me at:

www.sassysideup.com

Please check it out and feel free to leave me comments or feedback!

The Boy is Mine

Oh ho HO! Oh, no you DIDN’T! Are you kidding me?! No seriously. Is this a joke? Please tell me you’re kidding. I truly can’t wrap my mind around how beyond ridiculous this is. It HAS to be a joke. You completely out your damn mind if you think your trickery is getting you anywhere! I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with. I have no problem whatsoever showing you your competition…but that would be insinuating that there is actually a contest. There is no contest. You lose. You lost a long time ago. I trump you, times ten.

If you know me at all, you know that I can be extremely possessive, highly protective, and pretty jealous. The jealousy typically no longer applies to many things where Dorian’s concerned, because hey, I’ve got him. He’s not going anywhere and I don’t have to worry about any other girl catching his attention. It is safe to say that “The boy is mine…”

And though I am completely confident of my status in that man’s heart, there are apparently a couple people who may need to be informed that he can officially be labeled as TAKEN (and HAPPY about it!). They seem to think that they can finagle their way back in …or something twisted along those lines. My opinion of these people is the lowest of low. They strike me as manipulative, immature, foul, catty, petty, idiotic, naïve, classless, scheming, controlling, fake Dirty Pirate Hookers. And I’ve informed them, very colorfully, of their insignificance many times…but only in my mind…because, hello? I’m Passive Aggressive.

The fact alone that they think they can work their way back into Dorian’s life, in any venue, is actually quite hilarious. And watching them try, absolutely takes the cake. I do not feel threatened by them in any way, shape or form. Because as long as we’re talking about shape and form ::snicker:: I’m a Stone Cold Fox compared to these slutty mc-slut bags. And if you know anything about how insecure I am about how I look…and how hard I am on my size and fitness, you know what I’m saying about these girls. Ha HA! I’m insulting them, a lot. And I don’t feel a moment’s guilt about it. I truly have nothing good to say about them.

They clearly have no sense of right and wrong. This man is married. Back. Off. I mean, I could help you back off with a hefty punch to the face with the ROCK on my left hand. Oh, I’m sorry, have you not seen the evidence? Because it’s pretty clear. Come here, let me show you. Oh, you can see it from there? You’re blinded, you say? That’s what I thought. Now let me give you an additional piece of advice: Drop it. Stop trying to contact, my husband. With every single feeble attempt, we laugh at you more. That’s right, we mock you. HE mocks you. I mean seriously, take the tiny shred of pride that you may or may not have left, and walk away. Because believe me, we’re running away from you.

Commencing Respect Elimination...Now

Hey, you over there. Yes, you. Shhh, come here. I’ve got a story to tell you…but it’s a wee bit personal and entirely humiliating, so I’d rather not shout it out. If you’d rather not hear about the…uhmm…ins and outs of this story…I suggest you end our little talk, right here.


No? You want to hear all about it? Well, let me tell you. “Dignity” is no longer a word that I am personally acquainted with. “Why is that?” You say. Well, I had to go to the Doctor this morning. A fun little excursion of which repeating, will be prioritized on my list around…oh, I don’t know….french kissing a warthog. How about that. Yes, that sounds about right, I do believe this experience will be repeated right around the time I have a juicy make-out session with Pumba, himself. So never. Is all I’m saying.

I’m going to share with you two key elements of background that you can firmly file under, This Blog No Longer Has Boundaries.

Key Element #1 – I am very, very skittish about pooping in public. Can’t do it. Well, I can…I am physically capable of pooping in public, fine. But mentally, I think I’d rather kiss that there warthog. I realize that everyone’s crap stinks. I get it. But I have this crippling fear of the embarrassment of being walked in on when I’m the one emitting that aroma. The feeling, to me, is the equivalent of walking all the way across a school gym FULL of students of all ages (including the boy that you’ve had a desperate crush on since you were five) with your dress tucked into your undies underneath…and a teacher running behind you urgently trying to catch you to pull your dress out and cover your bum…when you’re in third grade (this may or may not have been me. I admit to nothing. Except it totally was me and ohmyword, I died. Came back to life, threw up…and died again.). Crippling. I hate the idea of grossing someone out. As if pooping doesn’t already feel gross enough…particularly after about 3 cups of very strong coffee…and a bran muffin. There’s just something horribly vulnerable about making things STANK…and having someone else know that you’re the cause. It erodes at least three solid levels of respect, minimum. So all that to say, I hold it. To a very painful degree. I know for a fact that I can control my bowel movements for 7 days. SEVEN. And that’s without any level of post pregnancy pain or anything along those lines (and speaking of which? The more I read about that stuff? We’re adopting!).


Key Element #2 – Holy cow, I’m about to share a LOT…I need to psych myself up a bit. Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Okay. I’ve been losing (what looks like) an incredible amount of blood when I’ve gone to the bathroom (you know, pooped) over the last month. And because of our insane schedules over the weekends and my “inability” to go at work…I’ve been going extremely irregularly…so that when I do go…I die. My insides become my outsides and I cry and it hurts and ohmyword the HORROR. So I tell Dorian what’s going on so that if he comes home to me passed out…well, at least he knows to attribute it to loss of blood? Maybe?


So! Awesome! See what I mean? I’ve just depleted at least 3 levels of your respect for me. Oh, five!? Sweet!


So I’d been attributing the um, the blood…to ugh, hemorrhoids. That sick nasty, thing that only old people are supposed to get (no offense, but you have to admit that they do just sound like an elderly “problem”). So I looked them up on WebMD (I challenge you to find a more informative medical website)… and discovered that they can be caused by, get this, straining. And believe me, when you wait that long to go to the bathroom, and your body thinks that maybe you’re just playing around when you finally do sit down to release, so it keeps holding, because hey! this is just a joke anyway! My goodness, there is straining. So I thought I’d solved my problem (well, at least the problem of not knowing what was going on) until two days ago…when I don’t think I’d ever seen that much blood. Ever. There was, A LOT. So I tell Dorian…and cry a little…and he’s nervous…and wants me to call the Doctor…so I do…and they think I should come in…and it all leads up to, this morning…

Where I laid on an examination table, nakie from the waist down…and I really, really think…I may have done it. I think I pooped, right then and there. I had had coffee before I went, so duh, I just needed to go to the bathroom…but there was no time! Shocker! So I was holding it…and I made SURE to tell him that. And he proceeded with…the prodding. And after that appointment? I didn’t have to go anymore. I think I felt…release? And I don’t even have a delivery push to blame that on. So there you have it, I gave my Dignity an affectionate embrace and kicked it mercilessly to the curb.


(Oh and p.s. Nothing is wrong with me. Not even a hemorrhoid. I was shocked. The Doctor was even surprised. My diagnosis? I need to poop, regularly. My body is effectively throwing me the middle finger for holding it the way I do. So now, I get to take Metamucil every night before I go to bed and follow it with a cup of coffee in the morning, and let nature do the rest. Kill me).

You Could Find Me in the Club

Dorian and I went on a spontaneous date night last night, courtesy of one of his patient’s $25 Appelbees gift card to him. When I meet this patient, I might have to hug them. It was so nice to just go out, and not have to worry about money. He told me about the gift card at lunch time, so I had our little datelet to look forward to all afternoon long. I looked at the menu online and knew immediately what I would be ordering. The California Turkey Club.

Oh, my goodness, I love club sandwiches. And this one, sounded like it would be the King of all things Club. Marbled wheat bread, melted mozzarella cheese, sliced turkey, crispy bacon, ripe tomatoes, fresh lettuce, and a creamy avocado ranch dressing. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. And the sandwich tasted just as scrumptious as it sounds. Scrumptruelecent, really. Sometimes, I am astounded at how such a basic combination can taste so ridiculously delicious.

And, as if anyone wants to hear me crying about Mexico anymore, our resort had incredible club sandwiches too. I ordered them from room service, ummm…well actually more times that I can count…so a lot. Which, heh, explains a little bit about why i’ve had to work a bit harder lately at that whole weight thing. Ooooops. But, the room service/club sandwiches. Focus, Kristen. They were delicious. And every single time I ordered one, it was made a different way. The same basic ingredients, but always something added or subtracted…and always stacked differently. Some tasted better than others, but all tasted wonderful.

I think it’s fair (cliche, but fair) to say that I could live on club sandwiches, alone. No other sandwich compares. And the fat girl inside of me is eternally grateful to Applebees for bringing my sandwich obsession so much closer to home. The End.

Hands & Knees 101

Ok, shoot. Let’s get that selfish tirade post pushed a little bit further down the page. I’m embarrassed at it’s current prominence. Today’s post will hopefully show you my true heart…well, maybe it will at least over rule the blacker parts of it. Here we go. A non-exhaustive laundry list of things I am thankful for…in no certain order:

• My job. Every single day when I come into work, I read on the news or hear my co-workers talking about another company that has had to go through layoffs. I would never be so naive to think that my job is immune from that possibility…but I’m thankful for every day that I can come in to work.
• My husband. I know that I went on and on about him a couple posts ago, so i’ll try not to be redundant. Dorian just blesses me to my very core. He completes me. I think it’s fair to say that I don’t know what I would do without him. I’m thankful for who he is. I’m thankful for the way our personalities absolutely compliment each other. I’m even thankful for when we have conflict because of the way it proves to bring us closer together. I’m thankful that I consistently learn new things about him. I’m thankful for his sense of humor and how it cultivates an environment between us that is never dull. I’m thankful for his outlook on life. I’m thankful for the way that he sees me. He values me and loves me for who I am. And though i’m not ever a ”fake” person with anyone else, I am very guarded…and I don’t have to be with him. He loves me, including my walls…well, maybe more accurately said: he loves me, despite of my walls. And he doesn’t mind having to knock them over (again) every once in a while (fine, all the time). Stuff it. I’m working on it!
• Our families. My family is incredible. I married in to another incredible family. The family situation in my life is just an all around incredible blessing. There are little dysfunctions and problems here and there, but truly, what family doesn’t have that? And if you don’t? Well, i’m honestly a little sorry for you. You must tell me how boring your life is! In fact, would you like a bit of our dysfunction? It’ll make you smile, I promise. Our families are chocked full of character. Bursting at the seems, actually. And I wouldn’t trade that for all the “normalcy” in the world. I love each and every individual that makes our lives as full and colorful and exciting as they are. They are wonderful, caring, loving, giving people. I think I would succeed in writing The Longest Blog Post Ever if I were to tell you how much I love every one of them and why. So just know, I love them a lot and am overwhelmingly thankful that they are mine. My family.
• Friends. My word, I have amazing friends. The kind of people that would leave a gaping hole in my life if they were ever to make an exit from it. I mean, gaping. I have the kind of friends that define the idea of being by your side through thick and thin. They set the standard. If you look at our wedding pictures, the women standing next to me? Make my heart beat. Friendship with them is a fulfilling, rich, thrilling experience that cannot be accurately bound by words. And if I’d had my way, 10 more people would have been standing there too. I truly have more incredible friends than I could have ever asked for.
• God’s power and control and timing in guiding my life every second from before I was even a blip on the radar. The history involved in bringing my life to where it is now is just staggering to me. I cannot be more thankful for the way people allowed God to work in their lives which transitioned into teaching me to allow God to take a hold of my life, which often times meant that he was holding it and guiding it without my knowledge and even against my will…and I. am. HUMBLED. That even when I didn’t understand and was saying “umm, I think you might be a little wrong…alot! Let’s do more what I want, please. Thank you.”…He knew and was still gently leading and creating this beautiful, wonderful life filled with things that I can’t ever be thankful enough for.
• Summer. Breezy, fresh, beautiful, WARM, sunny, eventful, sandy, chlorine-filled, tanned, vacationy, colorful, long-anticipated SUMMER. Um, I love summer. Enough said.
• The sky. Very vague, corny sounding. But bear with me. I haven’t ever seen the same picture in the sky twice. I am completely mesmerized by how beautiful it can be. Every aspect of it. Sunrises, sunsets, clouds, rays of sunshine, and rainbows. Almost every time I get into my car and get onto a long stretch of road, I am greeted by a different scene in the sky…and I love it. I can literally look forward to it, every time.
• My car. It can be a temperamental, needy little thing…but I really do love my car.
• Small group. I look forward to Monday’s ever week, because it means I get to go to small group. I love the women that are in my group. I love the dynamics that each one brings to the table. I love the discussions we get into. I love knowing that I can talk about what I believe with a group of people that are on the exact same page as I am. I am very thankful to have been able to get involved.
• The (technical) freedom to believe what I want to believe.
• Anything pink. What a beautiful color. Oh, oh, ok. But to make this a serious thing to be thankful for…how about the abilityto see clearly. haHA! Yes, my eye sight. So I can know beyond a shadow of a doubt, that pink is the best.

Ok, now I feel like i’m just getting into the fifth grade list of Things I am Thankful for…but I am very glad to say, that I could keep going and expounding. Which is honestly encouraging, even to me…I was a little upset with myself yesterday at how quickly my mind went into that pithy little tirade. So, there you go…i’m not a completely selfish ogre. Only, very dominantly.

Slipping into my Snippy Pants

Ok, I tried to write a post about Panera’s impressive customer service. I actually had quite a bit of material…but it’s just not where my mind and heart are at right now. So instead, I’m going to regale you with a pissy post about how life is so unfair. Boohoo.

I would like, very much to go back to Mexico. Or maybe to the Bahamas. Or maybe Hawaii. Just…some place tropical, okay? And I realize I just sound like a two year old stamping my foot…because I was just in Mexico! I had an incredible honeymoon there! I couldn’t have asked for anything more. Except, you know, here I am…not so much “asking” as throwing myself into a fully body tantrum, begging! I’ve already proved to you how selfish I can be with my Vera Bradley ranty nonsense, so let’s just emblazon that horrible persona a little deeper into my flesh. Here, I’ll help you light the fire!

I want to go back to Mexico, now. Right now. And I am very, very frustrated at the fact that I may literally never get to take a trip like that again. I’m struggling with justifying spending money on a long weekend in Grand Haven for birthday celebrations later this summer, let alone an all inclusive vacation in the tropics. Heck, I’m struggling with justifying spending any extra money on grocery shopping this evening for a specially requested dinner by Dorian. Macaroni and hot dogs, folks. The man asked for macaroni and hotdogs. And I am more than happy to oblige. Thrilled! In fact. But it does require groceries that are not already in our cupboards…and I’m struggling with the justification.

I just. Wish. Money wasn’t so fracking limited. I knooooowwwww I’m singin’ to the choir here. Oh yes, two year old stamping my foot. That’s right. But I don’t care. I’m indulging in my selfish tantrum and you can just deal with it….or roll your eyes at me. That’s fine, too. I just would love to have an opportunity to take another trip that was that extravagant…to know that it could possibly happen. It would be amazing to even be able to do our trip over, but with the experience of already having done it. We would be able to do a few things differently and possibly enjoy things that much more!

I’m truly driving myself nuts with my own selfishness. I think I might just be struggling a little bit extra right now with hearing about other people’s trips, plans, etc. And then to just rub salt granules the size of baseballs into my gaping wound, my company just announced the recipients of an all inclusive, all expense paid trip to Rivierra Maya. A trip that I didn’t have a crazy shot in hell at. My job is completely low profile. Even if I worked my butt off every single day for the next 3 years, I wouldn’t be noticed. I just don’t have a position with any kind of recognition capabilities. My boss recognizes me and appreciates my work, but not in the mentality of “hey! she’s worked hard enough to get to go on this incredible vacation!” oh no. Believe me. It’s a pretty male dominated favorability in this company. And I, clearly, do not fit in that category.

So just, bah! You know what? I’m going to post this because I wrote it and it is truly how my mind was working…but I already am regretting letting my pettiness get as far as it did. Dorian and I both have wonderfully stable jobs. We are hugely blessed to have a double income that we can count on. I’m more blessed, than I know how to wrap my mind around, to know that I can go to the grocery store tonight to pick up a couple things just because my baby wants them. It might not “fit” into our budget, but we have the money to cover it, for sure. And not many people can even say that. This is what I’m going to do: I’m going to absolutely require myself to write a post that is composed of nothing but the things I’m thankful for. And if that post isn’t longer than this one? I’ve certainly got some humbling soul searching to do. What are you thankful for today?

On Weekends and Wrap-ups

In bullet point format…because that's where my head's at right now:

• My hair is growing on me (what does it say about me that the pun-iness of that statement absolutely cracks me up?).
• I went to my cousin's baby shower this weekend and had a very wonderful time. It was so nice to see her and to get to spend some time with her and her husband the next day. I used the phrase "We're going to make like a baby and head out…" in perfect context, for once…and people actually truly found it funny. Which is just the most wonderful thing ever, to me, because I always find that phrase hysterical. What is it with me and the puns lately?
• I am a complete oxy-moron when it comes to thinking about ever becoming pregnant. I see my cousin pregnant and think she looks amazing and think it will be so incredible to become a mother…but then I think about the actual pregnancy, and you know, the HUMAN growing INSIDE of you…and the whole picture just looks a little too much like an excerpt from Alien. And I frantically grab for my birth control and breathe a sigh of relief when I have it in my hands. Clearly, this one's not ready to be a mommy.
• My car is fixed in a very miraculous-God provides, sort of way. Remember how much I said it would cost to fix the bushings? Somewhere in the ballpark of $750? Well, the guy that ended up fixing it is a friend of my dad. He ended up finding out that what needed to be fixed/replaced was twice as bad as what Todd Wenzel found…which would bump the price up with all the replacement parts…and he did it all for $150. $150!!! Tell me that's not amazing. You can't!
• I got my car stuck in a snow bank. In the dark. In a snow storm. On Friday night. Swear words were uttered. Tears were shed. Voices were raised. Steering wheels were struck. We could sum that half hour up with the phrase "Not Kristen's most admirable moments…" I did learn how to rock a car out of a snow bank though…so that when Dorian's not there to save me, I'll be capable of doing something other than turning into a frustrated, bumbling pile of tears.
• Some things are sticking in my head from this weekend that hurt my feelings and confuse me in an exasperating kind of way because there is no resolution. None. And it just makes me want to scream and cry and be extremely, painfully blunt. But I know I can't because even though it might feel good in the moment to finally say some things that I have the grounds to say, I can't say them because the shock waves would ripple out in a cacophony of uncontrollable ways. And in the end, it would just be a dramatically selfish picture of me licking my own wounds.
• I'm excited for small group tonight! We're starting a new Bible study book and I'm really looking forward to this study. And then of course, I'm just looking forward to seeing everyone.
• Question: When is DeAnna coming back on The Bachelor? Is she? Inquiring minds need to know.

(This list is completely susceptible to change without notice.)

In Honor of His Majesty

A few weeks ago, Dorian and I purchased The 30 Day Shred DVD by Jillian Michaels. It’s become quite the fad, from what I understand. But rightly so! Holy monkey, if you’re not lugging around a little less heft after 30 days of this video, then yer doin’ it wrong! She pushes you ‘til “you think you’re gonna die”…and then pushes you some more. I, for one, LOVE that. I haven’t been this challenged in a workout in over a year!

Some days, Dorian and I do this video together. And, an aside: You know what Dorian looks like. Big, strong, tough man. Wanna-Be Thug? Yes, you know what he looks like. Picture Mr. Thug Man working out to a video comprised of 3 lean, sinewy women, in our tiny little living room. Got the picture? Are you smiling? I thought so.

Anyways, this video takes 25 minutes. And it will shove you down like a bully in a playground and steal your lunch money. If you’re not lying on the floor panting after every workout, you didn’t do what she was telling you to do. Now, to get you to this “shredded” state, there are a lot of basic moves…that just work. Moves like jumping jacks, jump rope, oblique twists, skaters, knee lifts, and butt kicks. The key thing to remember about all of these moves? They involve jumping. And we all know what jumping sounds like to the person in the apartment below you, don’t we?

So yesterday, immediately after I’d gotten home from work (around 5:30pm), we popped the DVD in and started the workout. We were about 3 minutes into it, just wrapping up the warm-ups (which involved a set of jumping jacks that last for about 30 seconds), and we hear an incredibly loud pounding on the ceiling below us. It sounded like someone was trying to beat their way through our floor. A very, very clear message that we were disturbing His Majesty, below. It startled us, obviously, especially because I do this work out every single day at this time. So we attributed the angry pounding to the fact that it was probably louder than normal with both of us together. Well, duh. So we went to opposite sides of the apartment for the jumping parts and stood near walls to accommodate for our mass. And not 2 minutes later (so only about 5 minutes of noise), we receive another admonishment for our ways. A proverbial middle finger, if you will.

Now, I’m sure the force of Dorian and I vigorously jumping up and down on your ceiling doesn’t exactly sound like waves lapping up on a beach. It probably sounds more along the lines of a herd of elephants, or a jack hammer drill, or kids running around on a playground or or! A roller coaster straight through your living room…oh! Or! Your world literally about to come crashing down around you. So I do understand that a monotonous thunder-thump straight above your head doesn’t exactly fill you with sunshine and daisy feelings for the people living above you. I truly sympathize with that because when Alisa and I were living together, the guy that lived above us was HORRIBLY loud. At. All. Times. It didn’t bother us to the point of frustration, however, until it was around 10:30pm and we needed to get some sleep. And he clearly didn’t get the Night-Time memo because he was still stomping around at 1am. One in the morning! THAT guy, deserved a wrathful banging on the ceiling (did your mind just go somewhere dirty? Well, mine did).

I think, when you live in an apartment (condo, multiple family environment, etc.) your anger level in regard to noise, needs to be in direct correlation with the time of day the offending noise is being made. So, in my very humble opinion, the guy below us is an absolute crotch sniffer for getting all up in arms-bang on our ceiling pissy about a 25 minute workout video…at 5:30pm. I’d even give more credit to his tantrum if it were around 8pm. But 5:30? You, Sir, are a prissy little man that either likes way too much sleep or assumes that the world’s noise level must cater to your every whim. And Dorian and I will prove to you…around 5:30pm this evening…that you are sorely mistaken. You’ll want to take this healthy dose of reality with a full glass of water. And have a nice day.

Car parts and Golden hearts

Ladies and Gentlemen, I am completely surrounded by softies. That's right, softies. And I couldn't feel more blessed by that little nugget. The three most golden hearts in the world, all coincidentally belong to the three most prominent men in my life. Let's take a wild stab at Golden Heart #1, shall we? Not hard, Dorian. Please. The Golden Heart #2 award goes to (drum roll, please), my Daddy. And last but certainly not least, Golden Heart #3 goes to my wonderful father-in-law, Mr. Dan DeHaven (aka – dad).

You all may remember my car problems, from last week. Since then, we have been scouring options ranging from, taking it up the tail pipe (tacky pun, intended) and paying Todd Wenzel to just fix it already, to trading my car in for a different car altogether, to only having one car for a while, to braving a drive out to NY for Dan to fix it, to checking with about eleventy billion mechanics in this area who could possibly do it for less. These three men have been tireless (heh, as in…searching without rest) in finding a solution. Frankly, I've had no choice but to just sit and watch this fiasco play itself out because they are each so on top of the situation. And it's things like this that put me in daily awe at the incredible men that God has put into my life.

When it comes to masculine influences on a woman's life, I know that I am one of the fortunate ones. Because of my father's influence and teaching in my life, I am a woman who understands my worth, and that it is found directly in the heart of God.

Terry McCracken, my father, is the strongest man of God that I know. He lives the kind of life that offers redemption to the name of Christianity. He is selfless and honest, wise and compassionate, faithful and trustworthy. He would go to the end of the world and back if it meant bringing a smile to your face or relieving some tension from your life. The wedding provided perfect example after perfect example of how selfless he is. I will never forget our conversation about my veil. I was debating on whether or not to have one because it seemed like one of those unnecessary expenses. So, I was verbally processing the pros and cons to him, and he looked at me and said, "Kristen, do you want a veil?" and I stuttered something along the lines of "Well, I think they are gorgeous and bridal, but but but it's sooo much money and I just don't…" He stopped me and said, "Kristen…Do you want a veil?" and I looked at him miserably and croaked "yes…" He said, "Ok, then." And that was the end of that. I had a veil. (I realize that this story insinuates that I get whatever I want when it comes to my daddy…and while that may be very true…there are puhlenty of times where he has told me no…I know my mom and Julie just choked on their water at the idea that my dad says no to me…because it's true that I hear "yes" more than "no" from him…but he'll say "no" when it's the necessary response). (And I just read back over this paragraph and realized how spoiled it makes me sound, and that wasn't my intention. Moral of the story: My father is as selfless as selfless can be).

Now, Dorian Eugene, my new and sparkly husband. His shine has not worn off and I don't think it's going to…because if you know me at all, I tend toward realism and cynicism…so before I even gave that boy a chance, I analyzed anything and everything negative that was within my realm of imagination…and he withstood that. Pretty sure he's going to maintain his Sparkly Diamond status, forever (except for the times I think he's a stinky turd for farting in my face). There is, and always has been, something about Dorian that has instilled a calm trust in my heart. Which is very important because my realism and cynicism can be added together to equate to a real hesitance in the Trust Department. But even with that, I have never doubted him…I have tried to, but I could never convince myself that there was anything about him that I couldn't trust. Dorian is a man of God whose perseverance is turning him into a giant in his faith. I have never met anyone with the amount of determination that he has. When he sets his mind on something, it is only a matter of time before the thought becomes reality. He has immeasurable patience. Dorian also has the softest heart of anyone I know. And all you little boys that think it's sexy to be tough and an all around thick head? You have fun scoring your Man Points with each other, because men like Dorian are the strongest men on earth. It takes a real man to be as humble, gentle, patient and selfless as this man is.

And the man that Dorian has become is a complete testament to how wonderful Dan is. I think that Dorian's character qualities are a mirrored image of his father's. When I think of Dan, my heart is filled with joy and gratitude for providing such an unwavering example of how to live a life that honors God, to have a humble spirit, to press on when things get difficult, to accept responsibility if things have gotten off track, to prioritize the things in life that are truly important, to treat your wife like the treasure God intended her to be, to put your desires last, and on and on! My husband treats me like I am precious to him because his father consistently showed him how a wife should be treated. And while I know that Dorian's personality would have led him in the direction of treating a woman right, it is his father's clear influence that makes being Dorian's wife the easiest thing in the world. Dorian brings out the best in me (even when the best isn't all that much…).

So today, I am thankful for a father who raised me to see how a man of God lives his life. I'm thankful for a father who daily showed me how women deserve to be treated…and a father who taught me that that treatment was worth waiting for. And I am thankful for a father-in-law who raised his son to love his family and to treat his wife like she makes his life richer…just for being part of it.

She Bangs, She Bangs

I got my hair cut yesterday. Bangs. Real, actual, very chunky…bangs. And you'll never believe this...I absolutely hate it. Shocking, I know. I'm sitting at my computer at work right now, doing everything I can to keep my back at a perfect angle to the door so that no one can see the fracking awful monstrosity going on, on my head. I haven't felt this insecure and anxious about how I look in I don't know how long. If this is even a blip on the radar of what Agoraphobics feel, I think I understand what they are going through. I got to work early so that I could be settled in my cube, not having to walk around, once everyone started showing up.

Do you want to know what it looks like? Jennifer Aniston's character in Marley & Me. For ONCE, I get a perfect replica of a Jennifer Aniston haircut...but not something that she would actually wear. It's an outdated mess of a thing. The more I think about it, the more frustrated I get.

I'm sure I'll get used to it and it'll grow out a little so it won't be this heinous, fresh "I JUST GOT A HAIR CUT!!!" look, but boy-oh-man…this transition time is making me want to cry. I just want a cute, trendy cut that doesn't require me to chop it all off…is that too much to ask?? (I truly do love my hair stylist. She probably did exactly what I "asked" for…but at the same time? Dude, you need to use your professional expertise and not make me look like I stepped out of a movie billboard from the 80's, for heaven's sake!). I need to stop writing because I'm ticking myself off more at just how blasted unfair it feels to not be able to get a haircut that I LIKE for once.

Bah, I just need to keep reminding myself that I never ever ever like my hair the first couple days after I get it done. Ever. I like it for a couple minutes at the salon, but even then, I've just come to the point where I don't look in the mirror once it's done because I know it'll settle and I'll like it just fine when I can figure out how to style it my way.

I will say though, that my hair always feels so unbelievably soft when I get it cut. It's inevitably lighter, and then the conditioner they use…I love it. I have it, actually. I splurged last time I got my hair cut. It never feels this soft when I use at home though…or maybe I just don't notice as much?

So, since this post has gotten me all verklempt, let's go out on the positive, my hair is yummy soft, note. How does your hair look today?

Depth in the Shallow End

Vera Bradley has come out with the new spring colors/prints. Guess who loves those prints. Guess who thinks they are the best prints she's ever seen VB run. Guess who emailed Dorian 3 times along with a couple texts and a note on the marker board at home…and the new print being left up on the computer screen, just for good measure. Let me give you a hint. It's totally me.

And do you want to know how conniving I can be? The proceeds to my favorite print, "Hope Garden"… support Breast Cancer Awareness. And who doesn't want to support Breast Cancer Awareness? I mean, I certainly want to do my part to support the cause. "It would be irresponsible not to get it…" may or may not have been one of the texts Dorian received yesterday. Maybe.

And can I just tell you how selfish I KNOW I am being? I mean, holy cow. A little background here? I just got a brand new, beautiful Vera Bradley tote bag with a matching zippy wallet for Christmas. I squeeled with sheer glee when I ripped the wrapping paper off that box and saw the Vera Bradley logo staring up at me. It is literally the best purse and wallet combo I have ever had. This purse is made up of a fantastic blend of blues, greens and shades of white and grey. It is striking! But the only thing that has more of a vice grip on my censory preceptors than such an amazing purse…is a PINK purse. And this Hope Garden print has such an appealing blend of springy colors with pink harmonizing them all into a symphony of "Kristen Must Have This Purse" that apparently all my current purse can do is puff on a harmonica.

This is such a blatant case of Never Being Satisfied With What You Have that I'm pretty much nauseating MYSELF. I'm being oh so shallow. And I really do hate that. My brand new tote bag is sitting right next to me, just as pretty as ever…and all I can think about is HopeGardenHopeGardenHopeGarden. (Oh, and also? One of the new prints is called Cupcake Pink. Tell me Vera Bradley's demographic isn't made up of me, myself and I. TELL ME!).

Moral of the story here: Be ye satisfied with what you have. Lesson learned? Let me think about that while I drool over the Vera Bradley website.

Caffeine and Memory Loss

Can I just tell you? That I think my short term memory has officially been blown to smithereens. The sleep that I have not been getting got all up in arms, picked up a shot gun, and aimed it heartlessly at my innocent short term memory brain cells.

My mornings typically look something like this:

6:30am – alarm goes off. Stare bleery eyed at phone while fumbling for the button to shut the blasted sound off.

6:30am and 20 seconds – Dorian's alarm goes off. I fumble again for the fracking silence button because we have the same alarm and I, in my delirium, assume my phone is possessed or just really, really anxious for me to get up. Realize it's Dorian's phone. Grunt at him. Fall back asleep for ten minutes.

6:40am – Second alarm. Dangit! Turn alarm off. Cling to the shred of time I still have left to lay in bed.

6:45am – Haul butt out of bed because there's no way this morning will continue in anything but a negative direction unless I make coffee. Lots and lots of coffee.

6:50am – brush teeth, shower, put contacts in.

7:00am - try to stay out of Dorian's way in our tiiiny bathroom as he stumbles in to get into the shower (an aside: he's barely awake enough to know to take his shorts off before he gets in the shower, and yet, he somehow has the ability to want a kiss and squeeze my butt…that blows my mind because I am soooo not in the mood to be touched when I'm that fresh out of bed).

7:05am – go to kitchen, pour two cups of coffee, drink them both…go back, and re-pour Dorian's cup…continue getting ready for work.

7:25am – (here's where our morning gets very exciting…no, seriously) pour travel mug of coffee trusting that it may very well be the only thing that will milk me through my morning.

7:30am – leave for work…and so on, for the rest of the day.

BUT, THIS MORNING (whimper) my 7:25am norm was foiled! I poured my blessed mug of coffee, tasted it, noted that it tasted even better this morning than it usually does, got excited to drink the rest of it at work….and LEF IT ON THE COUNTER. I get all weepy just thinking about it.

I realize the error of my ways as I'm getting out of my car at work and I reach for my trusty mug-o-coffee…and the cup holder is empty. I stand in the freezing cold honestly considering the 15 minute drive back home to get my coffee. Decide against it as there is just not really much logic to driving an extra half hour for coffee…*choke*

So fine, as I'm sitting at my desk at work, I decide that I'll just go home at lunchtime and get some things done, and make myself another scrumptious pot of coffee. I do this. I pour out the cold coffee from the morning, and re-pour the aromatic, steamy, delectable, FRESH coffee, put the perfect amount of cream and sugar in it, stand and hold it and smell it for a minute, because dang. This is going to be one goooood cup of coffee. I set it on the counter to put my coat and shoes on, grab my purse and keys…. and walk out the door.

And realize 3 miles into my drive back to work…that my coffee is still on the counter.

So clearly, my short term memory is just non-existent…because I'm tired. And do you know what would totally help with that?! A CUP OF COFFEE.

A Step I wasn't Ready for

I wasn't ready for this. I had no idea it was coming. I was completely unaware that anything along these lines could be on my horizon. But, alas...it was. My flawless husband...my wonderful Dowan...my sweet, scrumptious, savory, yummy Dorian...the one I could jump on at a moment's notice......

Just cocked his leg, and ripped a juicy one...right. in. front. of me. Awesome.

HTML, What?

Hi! My name is Kristen…

(hi, Kristen!)

And I am a Clueless Blogaholic. I love to write. I think about it all the time. I encounter day to day circumstances in terms of how I'd write about them in a blog entry. I dream about writing. I'd snuggle with it if it came in the form of a body pillow. I'd eat it up if you could serve it on a bun with fries on the side. But I am, sadly, extremely ignorant when it comes to things that are, most likely, the easiest tasks when it comes to blogging.

So! Here's my first question, that I'm sure, will be followed by many more. How do I link to other sites or blog entries, or what have you? For example, if I wanted to say something like, "I was reading so-and-so's entry on the bio-chemical differences between ear wax and toe fungus…" and I wanted "so-and-so" to be the actual link to their blog entry, how would I do that? (P.S. I never actually read a blog entry on the difference between ear wax and toe fungus, but now aren't you just a little bit curious on what those differences might be? I thought so.).

Now, no mocking if you think this is a silly question. Clueless Blogaholicism is a disease, people. I wouldn't mock you if you were cross eyed, or had a colic, or wore clothes that didn't match or liked to eat mushrooms (because clearly, something is wrong with you if you like to do that). So laugh, if you must, at my ignorance. But kindly, keep it to yourself and just help a girl out, would ya?

Crying in the Shower

Yesterday was the kind of day that made me think that sticking my brain in a blender set to "puree" might feel better than the barrage of inevitable auto expenditures quickly coming our way. In our economy today (compounded by the financial flounder we call "the first year of marriage"), it's not like you can ever really be "ready" to spend obscene amounts of money to fix your car, I know. And truthfully, I should just be 100% grateful to have it at all…and I am! But ugh, today? Let's just call a spade a spade. This thing isn't so much a "car" as it is a money-sucker.

It has latched itself so tightly to our bank account that I just don't even know what to do. It all started off by bringing the car to Discount Tire thinking that they might balance the tires and clear out the ice and snow and poof! Problem solved! Let's go get Starbucks! But no. They balanced my tires, yes…and told me I needed an alignment. Ok, that's totally fine…I assumed a simple balance would be far too easy, so I went over to get an oil change and schedule an alignment at Todd Wenzel. TW informed me that because of the weather, they'd had a bunch of cancellations and they could take care of my car right-this-very-second, if I had an hour and a half ("or so"). I did, because I'd taken a personal day, so to the back my car went.

About a half hour later, they called me back to show me some problems with my car. I think they might have pegged me as a cryer (or an idiot, one never can tell) because they explained things very, very carefully to my tiny little woman mind (no, they weren't really condescending, I'm just feeling snippy right now). I actually understood what they were saying! This is totally impressive because they were throwing words like bushings, suspension, steering column, brake pads, traction, etc, my way. It's already paying off to be a DeHaven! Essentially though, what he was getting at was that before it even made sense to have an alignment done, they had to replace the bushings on both sides of the front…and hey! that's to the tune of $725! Here's a barf bag. And THEN he tells me about the grease and the joints and the muscles (not really) of my steering column…and how there is no more grease…so the joints are rubbing together…and this is bad. No good. Need to fix it. But it's a steal! $225! Oh, (heh, she's not taking this so well)…do you want another barf bag? Oh and one more thing that is totally manageable because we've gotten the big numbers out of the way…your low light is out. We can fix it. For $45 please.

So I ended up taking my (very un-fixed) car home, to hopefully find someone who can do it for, oh, I don't know…$50? Yes, that would be very nice.

And then let's just make everything fifty frillion times worse by admitting that I didn't have my most shining "wife" moments yesterday, either. I pushed Dorian, my TeddyBear, to actual real-life (very warranted) anger. We were both wrong in our own way, but oh, I'd love to go back to yesterday and just eat my words and strangle my pride…because let me tell you that nothing is worth frustrating the Most Amazing Person in the World that badly.

So after things were figured out and as calm as they could be for the moment, I went to the only escape a one bedroom apartment can really offer on such a flipping cold night…the shower. I turned the water to as hot as I could handle, got in…and I cried. And cried and cried and cried. I was crying so hard that at one point, when I thought I'd spent all my tears, I was shampooing my hair and realized that the water dripping down my face wasn't just from the shower head. I was still crying. I think it's fair to say that I'd been holding my emotions in for a while…because I'd love to believe that a stupid car repair and a silly fight weren't the only things that could drive me to those kinds of tears. But I don't know. Suffice it to say, I'm glad yesterday is over.

Sand

I always get so jealous of the people that seem to have all this time for personal reflection and brilliant blog posts because of it. I can't remember the last time I've been able to go to the *insert place for reflection here* and just take time to be quiet and…reflect. To be honest though, I never really make time for it either. I'm a firm believer in the fact that you will have time for what you make time for. It's completely in your control. And when I do have time that's not scheduled away, I schedule it away to spending time with friends rather than any personal time. I'm definitely the kind of person that re-charges through relationships and investing in my relationships with friends and family.

But when I read about a beautifully serene afternoon at the beach, or reading a good book, or hiking in the mountains or the dunes…I do feel like I'm missing out. I realize that maybe I would be doing myself some good to carve some of my time out for me, myself and I.

I have an especially hard time with reflection in the winter. To me, the perfect setting for time alone would be a hike out through the woods and dunes to the beach on a warm fall day. Really getting in a healthy work out and then just resting, relaxing…breathing…on the beach. I ache for the smell of the water and the sound of the waves lapping up on the shore. I miss the feeling of the sand between my toes. I love raking my fingers through it as I sit and think. There is something therapeutic and awe inspiring to me about sand. I mean, have you ever thought about it? Have you ever tried to wrap your mind around how many billions and billions of grains of sand each beach has? And sand isn't even contained in just beaches…

It's concepts like sand that make me rest in my salvation and my God. He is so much bigger, so much more diverse, so much deeper than I can ever wrap my mind around. And as overwhelming as it seems it could be to not even begin to fathom a smidgen of who God is…it is actually comforting to me. I don't think I would want to be able, in my extremely limited perspective, to understand the Creator of the Universe. It is a beautiful thing to know that God has things in store that I couldn't begin to imagine…and he proves that through glimpses of things like sand. How can I know how many grains of sand there are? How can anyone? How can anyone know what God has in store when he clearly takes such joy in creating things as simple and as intricate…as sand? There is a freedom in the trust that that requires. A freedom that I rarely take joy in. A freedom that I rarely allow my heart to rejoice and rest in.

And right now? Today. I might just be sitting at my computer typing out a blog entry…by my heart is at the beach. Loving my beautiful, Creator.

Therapy

Tanning is therapy. That's what I always say. And I always forget just how therapeutic it is, until I'm laying in that tanning bed, feeling my stressors melt away (that "melting" feeling could be quite literal with the horribly dangerous rays frying me into a sweaty pool, but you know...whatever). In 10 years, I have no doubt that i'll want to come back to my 24 year old self and punch her in the face, because that'd be a whole heck of a lot better than the agey, sunspoty, wrinkly wreck that I will be. I bet that I will give anything to be able to come back, and yank myself out of that tanning bed...but right now? I don't care.

I don't know what it is, but something about tanning...mmmm. I never feel as relaxed as I do when i'm in a tanning bed. Ever. I would submit to you that my body is quite literally incapable of relaxing, unless i'm in that bed. I'm really a two dollar hooker when it comes to tanning. I'll do it anywhere. And now, more than ever, I'm convinced that it is directly related to my life source (or at least my vanity's life source, but again, whatever). I had 3 ugly aaannnngry, very bright RED pimples just taunting me whenever I would look in a mirror(And yes, I know...only 3? Oh you poor, poor baby, life is so hard...and so on.) But I went tanning once last week. Once! And they are gone. Gone, I say! You can't buy that kind of acne treatment (or, you totally can...because clearly I did by paying to go tanning, but shhh! my point!). My face stays soo much clearer when i'm going tanning. And like I said before, I knooowww tanning won't be "helping" my skin for much longer. But oh, I do love it. I was so absolutely insecure about those blasted pimples, and now they are gone. If tanning were human, Dorian might have himself a little competition...because Baby? I'm in love.