Showing posts from February, 2010

I think I'm turning Japanese

Got this in my email today: ホテル ヴィラ フォンテー It's part of the email address of our hotel in Tokyo. Better brush up on my Japanese. Konichiwa?

Good News!

In between being crazy and ranty, I've been BUSY! Here's some HAPPY news: We've finished painting the guest room, and instead of painting all four walls, we've decided to put up some grass cloth on one wall...its going to be a sweet sanctuary in there. And tonight Steve put in two new recessed ceiling lights. He learned how to wire them, cut out holes in the ceiling, and put in a dimmer. He is the most awesome guy on earth!! I'm getting my dress altered in LA this weekend and squeezing in some girl time with three of my maids! We officially booked our trip to Japan. 7 days and 8 nights in Roppongi, Tokyo! Woot woot! I've been going to the gym three nights a week for the past two months and I am getting seriously ripped. Watch out! Steve's parents were here last weekend and they helped us clean up the yard a bit. It looks gorgeous after the rain. We also planted 200 succulents for the wedding!! The best thing about Steve's parents coming is that they

Mr. Monk

Have you ever watched the TV show, Monk? I'd never heard of it until recently, but it's about this detective who helps solve crimes, but the focus is mostly on his quirky personality and severe OCD. We get a giggle out of crazy Mr. Monk because he freaks out about things like germs, personal contact, crossing the street, stepping on cracks, getting his hands dirty, not shutting drawers all the way, you get the idea... So we laugh and poke fun at Mr. Monk and his silly behavior, but the other night it struck me...I AM BECOMING MR. MONK! I am dead serious. It's getting worse over time, and only recently have I really noticed my problem. I used to be so much more laid back about my living space...messy room, messy kitchen, dirty dishes, chung in the bathroom sink. And I'd get to it when I got to it. I don't know whether it is the fact that I own my home or have some nicer things now, a dangerous combination of both, or even a little hypochondria sneaking in there, but

Forever Young

I totally understand getting carded for purchasing alcohol. I have my ID out and ready any time I am within two feet of alcohol. I even get a little bit of joy out of people's reactions once they grab my ID and quickly calculate my real age, which is usually followed by a "wow!" But I do find it annoying when Steve buys alcohol and they won't even let me grab the bag unless I show my ID. I love coming through the aisle with a case of Bud Light and a few bottles of wine. The other customers always look at me like I am crazy for trying such a stunt. I also think its funny when we are at a restaurant and they ask Steve for his ID after looking at mine. Come on people, if I am over 21, Mr. Gray Beard has GOT to be. But do you want to know what really burns my biscuits? Carding me for buying NYQUIL! Is this lady really going to make me sniffle through my purse to find my wretched ID to prove to her that I am over the age of 18. EIGHTEEN! I was 18 nine years ago! Then she

Drip Drip

While Helya was here a few weeks ago, I decided we were in dire need of pampering and stress relief, so we went to Sycamore Mineral Springs for a soak in the hot tub and a one-hour massage. Unfortunately for me, I started feeling sick that day so I popped a bunch of DayQuil and stuffed my robe full of tissues. So there I was, robe-less and face down on a table with my arms pinned down by my sides underneath several layers of sheets while my precious kleenex were hidden away deep inside my robe across the room. For the first 10 minutes of the massage I was feeling great - relaxed, calm and peaceful. That's when the DayQuil started to wear off and my nose started to run. It wasn't a steady stream of snot where you have to wipe your nose every second, but it was the excruciating kind of runny nose - a tickly stubborn dribble that shakes hands with every single nose hair. Now, instead of enjoying my massage, I could only concentrate on how to avoid dripping on the masseuse's s