Christmas was delightful. We have three families that we hit (not literally); My parents, Jordan's dad's family and Jordan's mom's family. I've never been grateful that my extended family doesn't get together for Christmas until I got married.
Last year was full of stress and much angst as we rushed from family thing to family thing, and we didn't even get to open our presents at home until late in the afternoon, and even that was rushed as we had to dash out for another family gathering. This year we had a better plan. And, miraculously our respective families had unintentionally planned their activities at the most perfect time for us to meet the needs of each party.
But, back to the plan.
Because my family was getting together at eight-bloody-thirty in the AM Christmas morning, that would mean that Jordan and I would have to get up around sixish to open our presents, shower and make it to my parents by 8:30. Yeah (humph) right. Christmas is to be full of joy and love, and me waking up at the butt crack of dawn doesn't exactly instill those emotions in me. So our plan was to open presents Christmas Eve. Coupled with the additional sleep this would provide and the fact that we were opening presents a good 9 hours earlier than we would have otherwise, I saw this as a win-win.
Christmas Eve afternoon (is that considered an oxy moron?) we went to BFE (that's my way of saying I can't even remember where we went) where Jordan's Grandpa (mom's side) was having a Christmas party. That was a lot of fun. We had also brought Jordan's mom's Christmas present with us to give to her. Jordan's brother rode with us, and also brought presents to hand out to the family. After we got to the party and had greeted everyone Jordan's brother got my keys to transfer presents from my car to pass along to Jordan's mom. After the party Jordan asked his brother if he had given that present we brought to his mom, and he said yup! So we get home and looked in the back seat and there is Jordan's mom's present! He rode home from BFE (a good 45 min) with it sitting next to him and didn't say anything! Good one Chad! :)
From there we went to my parents' house for Christmas Eve dinner, and I let it slip to my mom that we were opening presents Christmas Eve. She was less than pleased. She is very much against the whole idea of opening presents early. She made it clear that I was not to open presents early! But really, what is she going to do, ground me? HA! So after dinner my family was going to go look at some fancy schmancy lights in Lindon, and I declined saying I was off to go unwrap my waiting presents!!! Muahahahaha!!!
On the whole this was a brilliant idea 'cause we could relax and enjoy opening presents in our own sweet time. As we had finished my mum called. She said that they were around the corner, and asked if she could stop by. I looked over my shoulder to my shredded wrapper-strewn living room and said "Uh, suuuuuure." She laughed and asked if she caught me. Yup, she caught me red-handed all right. She then admitted that she was actually in AF. Trixy woman.
I had gotten Jordan a LoveSac for the blessed holiday, so we cracked that sucker out, and a DVD that I had also gotten him and enjoyed the rest of the evening sans stress.
Christmas morning we were able to make it to my parents in PG right on time and enjoyed a fantastic breakfast of waffles and then unwrapped presents from family, but had to leave right after to get to AF to drop off Jordan's mom's present in order to make it back to Orem in time to have brunch with Jordan's dad and family. After that we had just enough time to watch another movie and take a delicious nap and get over to Jordan's grandparents (dad's side) for dinner in Provo.
Phew, a crazy but fun and festive two days. We were able to make it to all the parties that we wanted to and had a lot of fun with all of our family. Although a small part of me wishes I married an orphan.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
The Evil Creatures Also Known As My Pets
I'm not one of those people that can sleep easily. In fact, I'm more like one of those people that have a really hard time sleeping. I don't think it would be so bad, if it weren't for the pets.
Bella is in a constant state of freezing, she thinks the only place she can sleep is under the covers up against my legs. She also couldn't possibly sleep without licking every inch of my legs and every single toe sufficiently before succumbing to a blissful sleep. While having her there doesn't exactly make me comfortable, I've gotten used to it. What I haven't gotten used to is . . . The Hunt.
Kloe is our cat. She's fairly large, although I suspect most of it is fur and super saggy skin. Kloe has lots of hobbies. Her hobbies include, but are not limited to; sleeping all day, sneaking Q-tips from the bathroom, playing with her sister Kea, kicking Bella out of the heated beds, lounging on the bathroom floor, standing in the space her water bowl goes (so when you try to put it back after filling it you can't), standing on the bathroom counter so she can lick the water off your hands as you wash them, and sitting on the tub so she can watch you shower.
But her favorite hobby of all, is to hunt Bella in the night time. Although I don't see what she gets out of it, as it couldn't be much of a challenge; she knows exactly where to find Bella each night. She'll jump up on the bed, and wack the spot in the bed where Bella sleeps. Kloe wacks, Bella yelps, Kloe wacks some more. Then I ever so gently NUDGE Kloe off the bed with my foot. Don't worry, no kittehs are harmed, they always land on their feet, right? Right? Meh- it's dark so I don't know how she lands. That's what she gets, 'cause she doesn't do this when I'm wide awake, she only does this when I'm on the cusp of sleep, and in my half awake- half asleep state a loud WACK on the bed scares the poo out of me.
Never one to be deterred from any activity she enjoys, Kloe inevitably returns minutes later to start the process all over again. Getting sick of the games, a couple nights ago I decided on a softer approach. When the wack came, rather than push her off the bed I snatched her up and proceeded to subject her to some fierce cuddling. This plan backfired greatly. My assumption had been she would freak out and run away never to return again, aha! However, she put forth the world's loudest purr straight into my ear, and began to lick my hand like a puppy, methodically moving from one finger to the next. She continued her barrage of love by rubbing her face into my hair (atomic purring all the while), and rolling around.
Once Kloe was bored, or more entertained by something else, she wanders off, and in enters Kea.
Should Kea find me lying on my side, she finds the only way she can be comfortable is to stretch out on top of me, molding to my side like a fuzzy kitteh blanket. A blanket with claws to ensure she stays atop me should I make the grave mistake of moving. If you're curious, yes-breathing constitutes as moving.
Should this creature of mine find me not lying on my side, she carries out her most favorite of early morning rituals. When I say "early morning" I mean early morning. She loves to trot in at 5AM and nibble on my ear. Not the fleshy lobe part, but the upper part that has that curling lip that is apparently so perfect for cat fangs to grasp a hold of. This particular brand of nibbling seems harmless at first. That's what she wants you to think. She locks her vice-like jaws softly, and gradually increases pressure, slowly pinching until you're convinced she has just pierced your ear. And the worst part is she does not let go, and there is nothing you can do to convince her otherwise. I have tried to pull at her scruff, shake her (again, ever so gently) and pinch her so she knows how it feels and empathetically release but no- you simply have to wait until she thinks you have been willed into submission by her power. And then she releases, and skips along pleased with herself.
All the while we have Brighton. This boy is dead to the world when he sleeps. Observe:
The worst part however is should I move, he slides in closer to me. For example; if I'm on my back, and I roll over onto my side, he will slide in closer to me and stretch along my back. But then, I can't roll back over (without squishing him). So then I am forced to roll over to my stomach if I need to change positions, but of course he slides himself right on over and I am again blocked off from rolling over the opposite direction. Many a time I have woken on the very edge of the bed, Brighton pressed against me and a massive gap in the middle. I have tried to pick him up and move him, but he just lets himself slide right back up against me.
It's a wonder I get any sleep at all with every single patch of horror we have adopted into our lives. They're still cute though, so I will keep them.
Bella is in a constant state of freezing, she thinks the only place she can sleep is under the covers up against my legs. She also couldn't possibly sleep without licking every inch of my legs and every single toe sufficiently before succumbing to a blissful sleep. While having her there doesn't exactly make me comfortable, I've gotten used to it. What I haven't gotten used to is . . . The Hunt.
Kloe is our cat. She's fairly large, although I suspect most of it is fur and super saggy skin. Kloe has lots of hobbies. Her hobbies include, but are not limited to; sleeping all day, sneaking Q-tips from the bathroom, playing with her sister Kea, kicking Bella out of the heated beds, lounging on the bathroom floor, standing in the space her water bowl goes (so when you try to put it back after filling it you can't), standing on the bathroom counter so she can lick the water off your hands as you wash them, and sitting on the tub so she can watch you shower.
But her favorite hobby of all, is to hunt Bella in the night time. Although I don't see what she gets out of it, as it couldn't be much of a challenge; she knows exactly where to find Bella each night. She'll jump up on the bed, and wack the spot in the bed where Bella sleeps. Kloe wacks, Bella yelps, Kloe wacks some more. Then I ever so gently NUDGE Kloe off the bed with my foot. Don't worry, no kittehs are harmed, they always land on their feet, right? Right? Meh- it's dark so I don't know how she lands. That's what she gets, 'cause she doesn't do this when I'm wide awake, she only does this when I'm on the cusp of sleep, and in my half awake- half asleep state a loud WACK on the bed scares the poo out of me.
Never one to be deterred from any activity she enjoys, Kloe inevitably returns minutes later to start the process all over again. Getting sick of the games, a couple nights ago I decided on a softer approach. When the wack came, rather than push her off the bed I snatched her up and proceeded to subject her to some fierce cuddling. This plan backfired greatly. My assumption had been she would freak out and run away never to return again, aha! However, she put forth the world's loudest purr straight into my ear, and began to lick my hand like a puppy, methodically moving from one finger to the next. She continued her barrage of love by rubbing her face into my hair (atomic purring all the while), and rolling around.
Once Kloe was bored, or more entertained by something else, she wanders off, and in enters Kea.
Should Kea find me lying on my side, she finds the only way she can be comfortable is to stretch out on top of me, molding to my side like a fuzzy kitteh blanket. A blanket with claws to ensure she stays atop me should I make the grave mistake of moving. If you're curious, yes-breathing constitutes as moving.
Should this creature of mine find me not lying on my side, she carries out her most favorite of early morning rituals. When I say "early morning" I mean early morning. She loves to trot in at 5AM and nibble on my ear. Not the fleshy lobe part, but the upper part that has that curling lip that is apparently so perfect for cat fangs to grasp a hold of. This particular brand of nibbling seems harmless at first. That's what she wants you to think. She locks her vice-like jaws softly, and gradually increases pressure, slowly pinching until you're convinced she has just pierced your ear. And the worst part is she does not let go, and there is nothing you can do to convince her otherwise. I have tried to pull at her scruff, shake her (again, ever so gently) and pinch her so she knows how it feels and empathetically release but no- you simply have to wait until she thinks you have been willed into submission by her power. And then she releases, and skips along pleased with herself.
All the while we have Brighton. This boy is dead to the world when he sleeps. Observe:
Passed out on Jordan's shoulder, doesn't look so comfortable, but Jordan could get up and walk around, pick him up, put him down etc. and he wouldn't wake up until he's good and ready to. Keeping along with the tradition of particular sleep habits the other pets have, this boy can only sleep stretched out in between Jordan and I. I have tried to move him to the other side of Jordan, but the speed in which he frantically scrambled over Jordan back to the very center of the bed could only be described as motivated by fear. Perhaps he is concerned about intruders and feels the center is the safest.
The worst part however is should I move, he slides in closer to me. For example; if I'm on my back, and I roll over onto my side, he will slide in closer to me and stretch along my back. But then, I can't roll back over (without squishing him). So then I am forced to roll over to my stomach if I need to change positions, but of course he slides himself right on over and I am again blocked off from rolling over the opposite direction. Many a time I have woken on the very edge of the bed, Brighton pressed against me and a massive gap in the middle. I have tried to pick him up and move him, but he just lets himself slide right back up against me.
It's a wonder I get any sleep at all with every single patch of horror we have adopted into our lives. They're still cute though, so I will keep them.
Friday, December 18, 2009
I Have Solved the Mystery!
We all know that Hollywood is rocked with scandal and scrupulous people. Well I, yes I BreAnn, have solved a hollywood mystery. The oldest kind of scandal there is. . . twins (wait for it) seperated at birth! (GASP!)
I don't think these people know that they are twins. It's going to be embarrassing when they find out and realize that I knew the whole time.
The unknowing sisters are . . .
I don't think these people know that they are twins. It's going to be embarrassing when they find out and realize that I knew the whole time.
The unknowing sisters are . . .
Maggie Gyllenhal
And
The girl from the Progressive commercials
Yes, now that you see the two of them, it's a pretty blatant resemblance, right? It's just a shame that they don't know they're sisters. . . yet. Perhaps I will write a letter exposing their sisterdom.
They'll probably write a haiku in my honor.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Public Restroom Woes Part II
It has been brought to my attention that I have left out some critical subjects that really needed addressing in my last installment. I also realized that there was some very serious material that needed to be brought to the public attention. If you missed part 1, don't fret, you can catch up by simply clicking . . . here! I've got your back.
The Rocket Poo- The big burly brother to the rocket pee. My sister mentioned that this needed to be included, and frankly I agree. How could I have left out the rocket poo? I am deeply ashamed. Perhaps I need to clarify for those that can't use your imagination; The rocket poo is where an individual (I'm not going to name names, although heaven knows I could) possibly has deeper gastro intestinal issues because there is more air than poo, and it is so loud there is question as to whether or not this person is taking a deep breath and pushing it out, and I'm fairly positive they are hovering a foot over the bowl by the effect of the blast.
The rocket poo is without a doubt a higher offense to the victim. "Victim" being defined as the person in the stall right next to the rocket pooer. Scratch that, "victim" could also be defined as anyone within ear shot.
The No Flushers- Heaven help us all when they get to the bathroom before you do. I didn't realize how difficult it was to push down the little handle. Perhaps I am jumping to conclusions, and there are mitigating circumstances I am not aware of. For example, maybe they don't have any hands. Or feet for that matter. Granted, I don't know a soul that enjoys putting their hand on a flushy handle knowing there is some weirdo out there that possibly flushed it previously with their hand caked in poo, but as careful as you are to avoid full contact with the handle, you'll always have the option to wash your hands one minute from the time you flush. The entire continent begs you to take that option regardless.
Then there are the souls that walk into a stall and see that the person before them had not flushed, and then they turn right around and hunt for a better, more adequately flushed stall. I like to think of myself as the brave one. If I don't flush that toilet, then that toilet could forever go unflushed. It's a simple matter to just go ahead and flush that bad boy, and consider yourself the better person for finishing what someone else started. I draw the line at nasty diarreah though, I walk into a stall with that and I can't get out fast enough.
To the souls that PEE ON THE SEAT: There are no words to describe my distaste for your kind. Needless to say, I will conjure a few for arguments sake. Once upon a time I was just a little girl and to be honest, I'm not sure how I learned this life lesson, whether my mom taught it to me or rather it was simply common sense from a very young age, but I learned long ago that peeing on the seat was not one way to count yourself as a successful member of society. I would go as far as to say if you manage to pee on the seat you've just matched the aim of both a three year old and a very very over-the-legal-limit drunk. Congratulations. You are also probably the reason people started to get the idea that you could contract AIDs from a toilet seat.
To the talkers: The cousins to the people on cell phones. I like to fancy myself sociable at work. There is a vast group of people that I could carry on a conversation with. However, there are times I consider "Bre times" and the bathroom is one of them. To those that have the urge to talk to me, know that I care about our friendship enough to say "Leave me alone!". Those that enjoy a good convo are generally of an older generation, so maybe it's something that was programmed into them subtly at school. Like brainwashing. Regardless of the method, or the age please know that there is a time and place, and "right now" is neither. There are even a couple people that I only run into in the bathroom. That being the case, perhaps we don't know each other well enough to talk through stalls. I even have my secret bathroom, this fabled place is in another building entirely, I have to walk through the freezing cold/blistering heat to get there, depending on the season. They still find me there. I don't know how they do it, but they are good.
There is a very real possibility that people may perceive me as mean to say such things, but those that I'm talking about will never read this (although I did have people admit to multiple offenses on the last list). Others may think that I'm a little weird to be addressing topics in this manner, but really, if I have gotten through to one seat-pee-er then my job here is done.
The Rocket Poo- The big burly brother to the rocket pee. My sister mentioned that this needed to be included, and frankly I agree. How could I have left out the rocket poo? I am deeply ashamed. Perhaps I need to clarify for those that can't use your imagination; The rocket poo is where an individual (I'm not going to name names, although heaven knows I could) possibly has deeper gastro intestinal issues because there is more air than poo, and it is so loud there is question as to whether or not this person is taking a deep breath and pushing it out, and I'm fairly positive they are hovering a foot over the bowl by the effect of the blast.
The rocket poo is without a doubt a higher offense to the victim. "Victim" being defined as the person in the stall right next to the rocket pooer. Scratch that, "victim" could also be defined as anyone within ear shot.
The No Flushers- Heaven help us all when they get to the bathroom before you do. I didn't realize how difficult it was to push down the little handle. Perhaps I am jumping to conclusions, and there are mitigating circumstances I am not aware of. For example, maybe they don't have any hands. Or feet for that matter. Granted, I don't know a soul that enjoys putting their hand on a flushy handle knowing there is some weirdo out there that possibly flushed it previously with their hand caked in poo, but as careful as you are to avoid full contact with the handle, you'll always have the option to wash your hands one minute from the time you flush. The entire continent begs you to take that option regardless.
Then there are the souls that walk into a stall and see that the person before them had not flushed, and then they turn right around and hunt for a better, more adequately flushed stall. I like to think of myself as the brave one. If I don't flush that toilet, then that toilet could forever go unflushed. It's a simple matter to just go ahead and flush that bad boy, and consider yourself the better person for finishing what someone else started. I draw the line at nasty diarreah though, I walk into a stall with that and I can't get out fast enough.
To the souls that PEE ON THE SEAT: There are no words to describe my distaste for your kind. Needless to say, I will conjure a few for arguments sake. Once upon a time I was just a little girl and to be honest, I'm not sure how I learned this life lesson, whether my mom taught it to me or rather it was simply common sense from a very young age, but I learned long ago that peeing on the seat was not one way to count yourself as a successful member of society. I would go as far as to say if you manage to pee on the seat you've just matched the aim of both a three year old and a very very over-the-legal-limit drunk. Congratulations. You are also probably the reason people started to get the idea that you could contract AIDs from a toilet seat.
To the talkers: The cousins to the people on cell phones. I like to fancy myself sociable at work. There is a vast group of people that I could carry on a conversation with. However, there are times I consider "Bre times" and the bathroom is one of them. To those that have the urge to talk to me, know that I care about our friendship enough to say "Leave me alone!". Those that enjoy a good convo are generally of an older generation, so maybe it's something that was programmed into them subtly at school. Like brainwashing. Regardless of the method, or the age please know that there is a time and place, and "right now" is neither. There are even a couple people that I only run into in the bathroom. That being the case, perhaps we don't know each other well enough to talk through stalls. I even have my secret bathroom, this fabled place is in another building entirely, I have to walk through the freezing cold/blistering heat to get there, depending on the season. They still find me there. I don't know how they do it, but they are good.
There is a very real possibility that people may perceive me as mean to say such things, but those that I'm talking about will never read this (although I did have people admit to multiple offenses on the last list). Others may think that I'm a little weird to be addressing topics in this manner, but really, if I have gotten through to one seat-pee-er then my job here is done.
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