Exploiting Grandchildren

My daughter in law encourages her daughter to say, "You guys are my bestest"...as in (best of friends).

It's so wrong.

I'm Married!

What can I say?  The man simply wore me down.

There are only so many "I love you", "You're so beautiful", comments a woman can take...before she breaks...(I mean before he get's a clue.) so...

We got married in an open cockpit bi-plane flying over the Pacific Ocean.

I mean...

We went to the County Records department.

The Records Clerk filled in the preliminary documents.

"You've got 30 days to get married," she said.  Sign here and return.  When I record it, you're married.

"Oh good," I said.  "I need a little extra time."

"Honey," said the Records Clerk leaning over the counter with eyes fixated on mine as if to communicate I was psychotic... "You've waited 51 years.  Do you REALLY need another 30 days?"

"You're right." I said.

I signed the damn thing.

And just like that, I was married.

Peer pressure is a bitch.

Ice Castles

Today I taught my 13 year old nephew how to say:  "Ya duhrty wee bastard" with an Irish accent.

As I told my friend LL...It's important to pass on family traditions.

I also brought him to see ice castles in Silverthorne, Co.

Here's what they looked like:

http://www.icecastles.com/category/media/

Check it out.

I also bought him a shirt that said; "Kicking your A$#, one step at a time." Well..it doesn't actually speak.

He's planning to wear it to school tomorrow.

I'll be picking him up from detention.

Love, 

Charmaine

Valentines Day...Good Lord

He presents a box of chocolates at 7:00 am.

"I don't eat that crap. " I say affectionately.

(Secretly, I loved it.)

He tells me he loves me. He says I'm beautiful. "Yea, yea..." I reply.

He kisses me. He leaves for work...giggling.

Did I mention...he giggles?

I barrel downstairs and dial in my music station. Yo-Yo Ma is playing the Marco Polo Suite.  Ah. Click below to hear it.  Don't look at the pictures...close your eyes (that's how you listen).

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qyElVYKZpVA

 Now for dinner:  My rack of lamb is expressing itself with Rosemary and Garlic.

My Cabernet Sauce has reduced.

English Mint Sauce is...fresh and minty.

The Sprouts are prepared to do good things.  (But they never REALLY do.)

Spuds await my command.   "Go Roast Yourself", I say.

The pink Champagne is chilling.  He calls to tell me has a surprise.  I know what it is.  A bunch of Peonies.  (Much better then roses.)  We'll see if I'm right.

Of course I'm right.

The table is set.

In the remaining hours...I'll finish painting the basement.

When he arrives home he'll say,  "You're every man's dream."

I'll have to agree.

  

Booty-licious.

I got these boots (BCBG) for Christmas.  I'm not a boot person.  I'm a flip-flop person.

WAS a flip-flop person.

Praise Jesus (and all God's) for the return of the "chunky" heel.  

Spiky heels and pointy toes (all things spawn from the devil) be GONE!

Amen. 

What's in a Name?

Yesterday, I called my fiancé "Gary".  (His name is Jerry.)

It wasn't the first time. (More like the 40th.)

Jerry is a weird name.  Like the name of some guy living in a trailer missing a front tooth.  Sometimes  I can't even manage "Gary".  When referring to him in conversation, to my sister, my mind becomes confused.  I can't remember his name, like a reverse form of Tourette's Syndrome.

I open my mouth over and over without making a sound like a fish plucked from the ocean trying to breath.  (Please visualize.)

Eventually, I exhale and say, "what's his name" or "that guy I'm going to marry."

My nephews scream, "Oh my GodDUH, you don't even know the name of the man your going to marry?"  The youngest nephew throws me a verbal life raft; "You mean Jerry" he says.

"Yes Brody.  That's exactly who I mean.  You're a very good boy." I say. "Please have some candy."

My mother called my father, "Pete."  I was 16 when I learned his name was really Richard.  Who creates "Pete" as a diminutive of Richard?

When I call Jerry "Gary"... at least I'm close.

Year in Review.

I Canyoneered in Utah. I was the fool that attached the backpack straps across my boobs..assuming they were seat belts.

Seatbelts don't work here. Yes, that's me.

I met new friends. I couldn't wait to tell them about the weird Mormons I'd met earlier, like the strawberry blond zombie waitress engaged to the restaurant owner (she pointed him out).  He was already wearing a wedding ring.

"Can you believe these Mormons?" I asked.

"We're Mormons," they replied. 

Driving past our lodge 12 times, we were still unable to find it. We called the innkeeper.  She said, "after the second bend in the road, there is a creek, the road swerves left and then right.  You'll see grass. There is a tree...THAT'S where we are located." "Are you Irish?" I asked.

The view of from my bedroom.

My girlfriend, Linda talked to the animals. Until he spit in her face.  Imagine Saint Bernard drool...times 50.

We hiked.

We experienced rock formations.

I embraced nature.

 Cows were perched in a front yard. I rattled the gate to summon the darling creatures, and was electrocuted... by the fence. I'd like to notify the Psychiatric community: Electroshock does NOT make one less depressed...it makes you want to kill someone.

We became annoyed with Utah, the Mormons, rock formations and high voltage fences.  So we drove to Telluride, CO.  No mormons were in the Gondola we rode to the top of a mountain for dinner. 

I got a new car.  It roars, literally.

I drove to Newport Beach and rented a house with a dock and boat.

I took flying trapeze lessons.

I went four wheeling with my nephew. We raced. 

He won.

I managed a political campaign.  We raced.

They won.

But now I'm on a first name basis with the Mayor.  "Hey Murphy", I say when we cross paths. 

I'm cool like that.