Nature calls

To balance out Dave's feelings of goodwill from my last post, I hereby submit this account from last night.

Dave said he was going into the den to check his email while we were watching TV. A few minutes later I found him quite asleep in bed. When I crawled in he initiated some delightful snuggle-age. Apparently his subconscious self enjoys that a tad more than his conscious self. It's funny what a full-body cuddle will do for a girl. I felt happy. I felt fulfilled. Warm and tender feelings flooded me. "This is why people get married!" I mused contently to myself. My sense of well-being was so complete it was keeping me awake. I kept thinking of all the things I am grateful for about Dave. Every reason I love him came to my mind. I imagined 42 things I could do for him to make his life easier. I planned meals I could cook him. I stared at his sleeping self with fond rapture. I was filled to the brim with love. He jostled around and I told him I loved him. He breathed loudly in response. But he jostled again a bit so I knew he wasn't entirely asleep. I tried to think of a way to express how I felt and why I couldn't sleep.

"I'm exploding with love for you," I told him.

There was a thoughtful pause. Then he replied, "I gotta pee."

BHE

To put it lightly, Dave is less than satisfied with the picture he feels I've painted of him on my blog. He maintains that it appears he spends his life sleeping, snoring, lecturing me, refusing to cuddle, and effectively impersonating an all-around giant stick in the mud. This has been communicated through a few conversations on the subject as well as many grumpy sighs and large amounts of huffing after each new thoughtful musing is birthed onto my personal electronic journal forum (i.e. a new post appears). Last night, for instance, he was grumbling grouchily under his breath about what people that don't know him must think, and why couldn't I please once in a while write something about how he makes the bed every day or takes Pixie on millions of pee pee walks or scratches my back in church til my leg thumps. After initially defensively threatening to make this a private blog and not invite him to read it in a stand against communist-style censorship, I decided instead to create a post detailing a much lovelier side to my sleepy snorey sweetie.

This is a story from Saturday night. I came home from work and my feet were KILLING me. I hadn't sat down in nine hours. My poor little tootsies were throbbing and no amount of laying flat on my back was fixing it. I came in the door moaning and maybe whining a teensy. I laid on the couch and emitted feeble groans. Dave was watching his football games. Even so, he ever-so-kindly hastened to fetch some Advil, a towel, some Bath and Body Works lotion, and offered up his supreme massaging skills. He worked on the aching heels and toes until his own hands cramped up. And, I KID YOU NOT, he healed them. I am not joking. I have never experienced anything like it. The pain disappeared. He rubbed the misery right out of them. Now that is talent. And generosity. I wanted to marry him all over again, right then and there, on my back on the couch, with my newly euphoric (and Coconut-Lime-Verbena-scented) extremities swinging in newly pain-free abandon, over the arm of the sofa.

True story.

So what do you think of Dave now?? I bet you're speaking of him in hushed tones, murmuring acronyms and phrases like BHE (Best Husband Ever) and Mr. Magic Hands.

Ha Ha Ha

The other night Dave started laughing out of nowhere.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"Oh, nothing," he said, still chucking away.

"Tell me!" I insisted.

"Well, I was just thinking about how different we are," he began. "You really like to cuddle!"

Hilarious. Thanks honey.

For Claire...

DH and I at the Omsi sign!!

Must-See-TV

I have loved many a television show in my time. It all started with Silver Spoons in the early eighties, wherein I was so in love with Ricky Schroder that I pretended we were brother and sister, as that was the only relationship I was familiar with that would let us be together all the time. (Additionally, he became Mormon several years ago, wherein I praised the Lord and knew afresh the church was true.)





Another significant series for me was Beverly Hills 90210, which afforded me many years of wishing I was the identical twin of Kelly Taylor. (But then I hated it when she stole Dylan from Brenda. I feel sorry for Brenda to this day.) And Donna. Oh Donna. She spent the first 14 or so years widely publicizing her morals and virginity, only to have it all go down the tubes that night with David. Disappointing, Donna.






Then there was Friends. I never laughed so hard or squealed so much. My world was a better place when Ross and Rachel were on-again. I'll tell you why Jennifer Aniston's relationships never work out- 'cuz David Schwimmer's the one that got away! I bought all ten seasons on DVD and never watched them but feel better just knowing I could if I ever needed to.






All that being said, another show surpasses even these. It couldn't be done, I said. But it's been done. I'm still in shock that it's so good, though it's already going into its fifth season. Yes my friends, I am talking about The Office. Nothing has been better, nothing could be better. The awkwardness. The love-triangles. The angst. The yearning. Oh, how I love the yearning. And oh, how I love the Jim. If he can't be with me, I'm glad he's with Pam. Karen was an idiot. But aaaaaaah, how lovely to watch sweet Pam getting sweet love from Jim.

Labor Day

On Monday we went to the Oregon State Fair!




Here I am loving the duckies.

We liked the hairdos on these two.

Dave was horrified by the array of award-winning homemade clothes and announced that it was like looking at a Good Will store. He took a picture in disgust.

He captures my salivation over an embroidery machine.

Dave was apparently impressed enough with the grandeur of these reproductive organs to snap a pic to remember them by.

This piggie mama and her babies were SO cute!! Here one baby lovingly attacks his mother's sleeping eye.

At the end of the day, Dave regaled me with the list he had tallied of all of my requests since we had set foot at the fair. Apparently, in addition to wanting a piggie, I had also asked for a llama (they were starting at only $350!!) a baby goat, a team of horses, a giant kettle-corn maker, a labrador retriever (he told me I could pick between that and children), a jacuzzi, an $8500 sewing machine (hello-embroidery!!), a baby chick, a farm, and a fried Twinkie.

Alas, Dave was not in a giving mood. I did not receive even one of my requests. On the upside, I did receive a funnel cake with strawberries. I have a strict rule about fairs that involves eating everything you like. And being that my subconscious recognizes the importance of vegetables in my diet, it evidently decided to specialize in corn, as manifested by my consumption of kettle corn, a corn dog, and some buttery corn on the cob. And Dave is sure that our funnel cake had high fructose corn syrup. I also had french fries and an Icee. After all, a rule is a rule.

I ate my corn cob while watching a fabulous national dog-jumping competition where one of the handlers fell into the water pit in her white t-shirt. It was a highlight.

All in all, Dave gives our fair experience a round of applause!