Belated Addendum to the Camping Post

Remember when I went camping back in May? I finally found the pictures on Danny's laptop today, so I thought I'd do a visual re-cap of our fun wilderness experience:

This is what we started out with that morning: lots and lots of snow. Fortunately, we found a campsite without snow, and began to set up the Martinez Camping Compound. And the boys began doing manly activities:

Danny spent two hours trying to put up an enormous tarp by hoisting children into pine trees and making them tie the rope around the tree. The wind was so strong that at one point the tarp took flight and lifted Danny off the ground.

All that set up made them tired. So they cracked their first beers at about 11am. Phill didn't move for the rest of the day.

The infamous Cheesy Poofs in all their glory. Yes, I already ate a bunch on the drive up. Shut up.

One of the best parts of the trip was watching Siva discover snow. I threw snowballs for her and she would plunge through the drifts trying to find them. She's turning into a beautiful dog:

Taking Back The Night

I regained my youth, people. I grabbed youth by it's silky straight hair and slammed it to the ground! During my youth bitch-slap I realized that it wasn't a matter of me being old, it was a matter of me being boring and bored. That's not being old, just stupid. And my angst might have been a bit of PMS too. Don't you hate that?? You spend a couple of days feeling like your life sucks and everything is really going down the drain and you start contemplating major life changes, and then one morning you wake up and you're like "Oh. It was hormones. Whoops."

But back to my weekend. It was a normal weekend for most people, and used to be a normal weekend for me until we bought the time-and-money-blackhole known as our house. So, Friday I went out with my wonderful friend Dos de Azucar (what does that mean, anyway? Two somethings of sugar?) and we had dinner at the trendy new taco and tequila bar. I had the best margarita ever, a blood orange margarita. I had to physically restrain myself from getting another one. Then we walked around and laughed (and quietly envied) the overpriced clothes at La Encantada. I almost bought a $50 pair of sweatpants because they had pretty embroidery on them, but where can you wear fancy sweatpants? Not to the gym or when working on the house, because you would ruin them. Not to work, because they're still sweatpants. It's a conundrum I couldn't resolve.

Then I took Siva to the park with my friend Rachel and her kids. I love her kids. They think I'm crazy and refer to me as "the loud friend". But they like me because I make fun of their mom. Siva spent the entire time trying to position herself in front of people so she could flop on her back and get tummy rubs. She isn't making much progress as a guard dog.

I went out with the boys (husband, husband's life partner, husband's friend) and went bar hopping. The twilight zone moment happened at a dive bar when I looked up and saw Danny's full name written on the wall. So either he was so drunk one evening that he doesn't remember somehow getting his name 8 feet up on a wall, or the other Danny Z (there's another in Tucson) goes to the same bar we do. How awesome/spooky is that?

We also went to The World Famous Golden Nugget, and it's the best bar ever because it has a pinball machine AND shuffleboard AND crazy chicks who come up and talk to you for an hour about your astrological sign. The second spooky thing? Even after I sobered up she made sense.

I've decided that shuffleboard is my sport. Why? You can drink while playing it, you are actually a better player if you use less physical effort, and the rules are super simple. Shuffleboard rocks.

The other highlight was that we introduced our hardcore beer drinking friend to martinis, and he was sweating and slurring after one. Take that beer!

All in all, we didn't get home until 3am. I was so proud of myself.

Mawwaige

(Title to be said in the Princess Bride wedding ceremony voice)

My last blog was a little bleak, wasn't it? I think that just by reading about the quarter life crisis I managed to put myself into one, because before that I was actually pretty content with my life. Or maybe it's the fact that I keep reading reviews of the Sex and the City movie, and everyone concludes that it's such a depressing ending because everyone gets old and married. It's all, like, realistic and stuff. Geez.

To top off my contented life, I got into a fight with my husband today. We don't fight a lot. Not to say that I don't try, because picking fights over meaningless things is really my forte in life. However, since my mild mannered partner in matrimony informed me a few weeks ago that he was the husbandly equivalent of a citizen of Pompeii constantly waiting for Mt. Visuvius to erupt, I've been trying to be, well, nicer. A little less explosive. This lasted about two weeks, which is good for me. And I still contend (not out loud at home, but here in the safe haven of my blog where I am always good, nice, and most importantly, right) that this fight was not my fault. I have spent the last two weekends on my hands and knees scrubbing grout, an activity that is just about as fun for me as doing long division. So when I looked up and found my charming mate sitting on the couch watching Smokey and the Bandit, I merely suggested that he could, you know, work.

Granted, he had been working and was taking a break. Whatever. I didn't say it meanly, I just offered him a couple of items on our To Do list that needed to be completed. Hurtful words were exchanged, and I ended up storming out of the house and driving around the back roads of Tucson for two hours, fantasizing about driving to San Diego for a week and seeing how long it would take him to worry about me. By the time I returned to the house I was calmer, but had a list of very well thought out reasons why I was in the right. In the midst of fine tuning this list I noticed he had taken out the garbage. And scrubbed the grout in the bathroom. And grouted the empty spots in the kitchen. We hugged and I said "I'm sorry I hurt your feelings". Then I waited graciously for his own apology. It never came. "It's okay" he says. I wait another couple of beats, just to be sure. I contemplated prompting him, asking him, or pinching his ear lobe until he begged for mercy. I calculated how much gas it would take me to get to San Diego.

But then I thought about all the stuff he had done while I was gone, and how if I had been him I would have sulked around and defiantly not done any work. I would have probably laid in the middle of the living room floor just to prove that I wasn't going to do any work. But Danny is Danny, and he picked up the scrub brush I had thrown in a rage and tackled the shower. I decided that was enough apology for me.

Where's My Metamucil!

I've been feeling old. We did a class exercise a few days ago, and discussed the pro's and con's of each decade from people in their 20's to people in their 50's. What was interesting to me was that the people who were already out of their twenties were talking about how in your twenties you party all the time, have no responsibilities, can eat whatever you want without gaining weight, don't have any health problems, and generally have wonderful, care-free lives. I also joined a "twenty-something" bloggers group, and most of the blogs I've been reading are by people who seem to have these carefree lives described by my classmates. Frankly, I think I belong in the 30 or 40-something group. Instead of drinking to excess with my fabulous friends and dry humping some guy on a dance floor in 5 inch painless stilleto heels, I spent the weekend doing the following:
1. Painting the exterior of the house
2. Scrubbing and then sealing the grout
3. Sleeping and whining about how tired I was after doing numbers 1 and 2.

Granted, I had my fair share of drunken debauchery in college. Nights spent passed out on a friends floor, waking up covered in obscene scribblings written by my more sober friends. Mornings spent in hungover misery with my roommates. The ninja-like theft of a shopping cart from the UA campus. But really, those years were pretty tame in comparison to most other people. I made it all four years without going to a single frat party, I never got arrested, I never even got in trouble with the RA's. I was only single for a semester in between my high school sweetheart and my future husband, and I didn't have a single one night stand. I never even got a speeding ticket.

At the age of 26 I am a married home owner with two dogs. I definitely can't eat whatever I want, and in fact even when I subsist only on salads and water I still can't lose weight. I get tired by 11pm, even on weekends. I have a real job that takes an emotional toll on my personal life. I prefer wine to shots. The guy who brings me home from the bar is my husband, and usually instead of having drunken monkey sex afterwards, I fall asleep and drool on him. I groan when I get up after sitting too long, just like my parents.

I wonder if I've missed out on an important period of irresponsibility and delicious recklessness, or if I am really just happier being old and boring. Maybe my wild and crazy days will happen when my future kids are off to college, and I'll start bar hopping. But shouldn't those days happen when you're young and can still wear a mini-skirt without being laughed at? Who am I kidding, I already have cellulite.

Sometimes, I think longingly about high school and kick myself for having two long term boyfriends and being a responsible student. I should have been out playing the field, because I just found my senior pictures and dude, I was hot. I gotta say. I weighed like 100 pounds and could eat whatever I wanted. I should have been ditching class and making out with hot seniors behind the bleachers. While eating my weight in nachos. Why? Because I could.

Goodbye Brain

I spent most of yesterday trying to scrub several years of accumulated dirt out of the grout in the living room with clorox. That is, until the room started spinning and I couldn't stand up anymore. Danny found me face down on the bed and I still smell clorox every time I inhale so today I purchased actual grout cleanser which promised to be non-toxic. Unfortunately, it's too late for a few of my neurons which I'm pretty sure are toast. On the plus side I figured out exactly which ones I lost this morning during a discussion about a high school friend of mine and her pronunciation difficulties.

Me: I had a friend who couldn't say the word "wolf". She would say "woof" instead.
Danny: Woof?
Me: Right. Isn't that funny? And instead of saying "wolfs" she would say "woofs".
Danny: Wait, instead of what?
Me: Wolfs.
Danny: It's wolves. WOLVVVVES. You're making fun of your friend and you can't even say it yourself?
Me: Oh my god. I knew that yesterday.

So, the brain cells that knew the plural of wolf have bitten the dust. All in all, it could be worse. As long as I don't move to Alaska. With the wolfs.

The Joys of Not Being 13

This weekend I spent most of the weekend being grateful that I am not 13. Because, at 13, if my father had spent the weekend striding around Tucson with me in this hat:

I would have died. Not figuratively. I would have hurled myself off of the nearest structure, or started swallowing the contents of my purse in the hopes that it would kill me. As you probably surmised my parents were here this weekend. My parents, and this hat. Every time we left the house: "oh! I forgot my hat!" Anytime I complained of the heat: "would you like to wear my hat?" If he saw me putting on sunglasses: "I don't need sunglasses, I have my hat!" At one point he was wearing baggy cargo shorts half hanging off of him (he's lost weight, but lord knows he couldn't use that as an opportunity to update his wardrobe) a demin looking cargo shirt (yes, they make cargo shirts. By "they" I mean minions of Satan) that was not actually denim but some space-age technologically advanced fabric (did I mention the shirt was unbuttoned??) thick hiking socks pulled all the way up, and his fabulous hat. Women were swooning in every direction.

As it was, I was able to laugh it off. At one point I even tried on the hat in public. I made sure that I was laughing while trying it on to prevent anyone from thinking that I had actually spent my own money on this combination sun bonnet-Lawrence of Arabia turban-Australian bush hat. But at 13 you would have found me under the table of the restaurant wearing dark sunglasses and reading a guide to emancipation of minors.

I should mention that he also had the audacity to mock my purchase of some tasteful plaid capris from Express. They are very cute and fashionable, even though my mother, father, and husband made simultaneous gagging noises when I brought them out.

Cute, right? I thought so. I'll bet if they a 20 pockets, zip off legs, 35 straps and a matching headlight he would probably wear them himself.

Cheesy Poof Update

I had a few left, I just ate a couple. They tasted nasty. Apparently they are only good on road trips, which is definitely a good thing, because otherwise I'd weigh 500 lbs.

Also, I've updated my link list to include:

Sweetney- the owner of the most entertaining and aptly named pug- Truman. Hopefully, not the same one who peed on my cheesy poofs. Then we'd have to throw down.

Amalah- has the most adorable son ever, and gives fabulous make up advice.

Finslippy- tireless conversations with her son that sound a lot like the conversations I have with my "kids" (ie- clients). "AND THEN NEMO JUMPED OVER SPONGE BOB AND WENT PSSSSHSSBBBBBTH"

Klick-Here- one of my friends from high school! Also married. Also has cats, but not as evil as ours.

Fussy- creator of "yoga beans", where action figures do yoga. If I had action figures lying around...no, I can't lie. I'd never come up with that myself.

Tartraz- I randomly stalked her through Klick-Here, and she is hysterical. The most dedicated at weekly features I have ever seen.

Squirrel Legs

We went camping recently with Danny's family to celebrate his birthday. The day before we left a cold front moved into Tucson and the previously beautiful weather became cold and windy, and by the time we got to Show Low there was 13 inches of snow the ground. I refuse to camp in snow. I have camped in rain, wind, on rocks, surrounded by cows that sound like bears in the middle of the night, and in a tent with my mother who insisted on peeing into a pot instead of going outside in the middle of the night. I will not camp in snow. So I stated, vociferously, that I. Would. Not. Camp. In. Snow. Instead? We smuggled 13 people and two dogs into two second floor hotel rooms. I stayed in the room and would hurl my body on top of Hiccup whenever anyone entered the room in order to prevent him from barking. As it was, I'm sure several people caught the glimpse of a long german shepherd nose peeking into the hallway and myself suspended, Matrix-style, in the air above a furious pomeranian preparing to defend his room. Danny was smart and stayed next door drinking tequila with his family.

However by the next day the sun came out and we headed to the mountains. The next two days were filled with fish, camp fires, and cheese poofs. Oh, the cheese poofs. Every road trip we take, I have to buy a bag of delicious cheese poofs to consume on the ride. This year Danny purchased the largest quantity of cheese poofs I have ever seen at Sam's Club. We calculated that I could eat only cheese poofs for three whole days and STILL be consuming enough calories to make me obese. It was heaven. Unfortunately, people began competing for the cheese poofs, especially when we started playing "pass the bottle of tequila around the fire" (It's a complicated game. You drink tequila and pass the bottle. Then you end up lying half inside your tent threatening your dog that you'll "break his little squirrel legs" if he doesn't stop walking on your face). By the end of the weekend, people were deliberately consuming my cheese poofs to annoy me. At least, until the pug from the campsite next door came over and peed on the canister. Then they were all mine! On the last day we began duct-taping small, eager children to trees to "test their survival skills". Their revenge? Duct-taping the cheesy poofs. Oh, the horror.

The weekend was a lovely escape from the never ending renovations, despite the fact that my hair still smells of smoke even though it's been a week.

Best Character Assessment I've Gotten in a While

Danny and I were in Circle K today and a homeless looking guy came up to him:
Homeless Guy: She's got some red in that hair. Watch out! She might beat you to death!
Danny, turning to me: This guy has met you before, hasn't he.