• I hurt myself from yawning too big.  I think I overstretched the tendon that connects my jaws or something.  I know.  I’m now in competition with Sammy Sosa for lamest injuries.  I wonder if Workers Comp covers that kind of thing.  It was the boredom brought on by my job that forced me to yawn, after all.
• I dreamed that I had an affair.  With J.  No idea who I was actually married to in the dream.  But J’s conscience got the best of him at the last second and he backed out on me.  So I woke up guilty, bummed, grumpy, and horny.  I hate dreams.
• After 4 years, my dog has just discovered that he has a penis.  He has been licking it for 48 hours straight.  It’s driving us crazy, especially since he sleeps in our room and he’s decided that licking himself is more fun than sleeping.
• Don’t buy hair dye that costs less than $10.  Especially if you use white towels and don’t want to see it bleeding onto your towel 4 days after you’ve colored your hair.  Just saying.
• Also, don’t believe the stuff on the box of cheap hair dye that says it comes with highlights and lowlights and multi-faceted color that doesn’t damage your hair.  Bollocks.
• Tomorrow we close on the house we’re selling.
• Tomorrow we’re supposed to close on the house we’re buying.
• Yesterday we found out that the house didn’t appraise for near what we had agreed to pay for it, so now our financing is messed up.
• The appraiser totally discounted the sunroom, which would have made up the difference in the appraisal price.  He refused to count it as part of the square footage of the house (as a previous appraiser had done) because it didn’t have duct work or something.  But since nobody else in the neighborhood has a sunroom, he couldn’t find “comps” so he just didn’t give it any value at all.
• Because, you know, if nobody else has one then it must have been free to install.
• Apparently if you can’t find one just like it then it’s easier just to pretend it doesn’t exist at all than to do some more research and assign a value based on an educated guess.
• Lazy ass.
• So we’ve asked the relocation company to lower the price on the house because it doesn’t make much sense to pay more than a house is actually worth.
• But it’s a relocation company and it will probably take them a week to get back to us because when you have 150 middlemen, things don’t move too quickly.
• And we don’t know what they’re going to say.
• So we don’t know if or when we’ll be closing.
• Annoying, since we’re supposed to move out of our house in 2 days.
• Regardless, we have to disassemble and pack up our computer tonight or tomorrow, so I’ll probably be offline for a few days.
• Bummer dude.

Ok, it appears that I have been called out on my assumptions in the last post. I hereby pronounce that the dining room chairs look GREAT and are the perfect color.

Garden Ridge is having a 50% Off Sale on their baskets, which is great because I’ve found baskets to be my lifesaver in this whole “organize everything and leave nothing on top of any visible horizontal surface” movement we’ve been ordered to undertake. But now I’m out of baskets and have to go back to Garden Ridge (again) to get some more.

But I guess I can do that when I take back the artwork that my dear husband brought home.

How is it that I can go to the store and spend over $200 in groceries…and have nothing to eat?

How is it that sometime between last year and this year I got old, and can no longer play a game of rec league softball without injuring myself?

How is it that even when I have my Fathers Day gifts planned out weeks in advance, I still find myself skipping church to make an emergency run to the store on Father’s Day?

How is it that 6 years could have passed so fast?

Today, was our 6th anniversary. J’s dad was still here so we spent much of the day hanging out with family, then took him to the airport and had a nice dinner out at Fogo de Chao. Apparently FdC has grown more casual than I remember it being. Not only were lots of people wearing jeans*, but there were a suprising number of families there with youngish children.

In general, when a restaurant costs more than $50 per person, I tend to assume that jeans are not a appropriate attire and that children are … discouraged. Evidently I’m wrong about this. Of the three families (with children) sitting next to us, one showed up with McDonald’s Happy Meals for their kids. What’s the point of that? Find a babysitter. Your kids would probably appreciate it.

The last time I ate at FdC, which I think was 2 years ago, I gained 3 pounds from that single meal. And they stayed on. Hopefully that won’t be the case this time. Though I can say it would be worth it. That place rocks.

Afterward, we rented a movie and spent the remainder of our Anniversary on the floor in front of the big TV. Which is really the only way to spend an evening after you’ve just eaten 5 pounds of meat.

Happy Anniversary to my mostest favoritest person in the whole world who I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with!

*Which was doubly annoying because I had griped at J for wanting to wear jeans and made him change into slacks before we left, AND I would have been so much more comfortable in jeans myself because I could have worn shoes that allowed me to wear an Ace Bandage on my ankle. Instead, I went booted and braceless and my ankle hurt. Stupid softball.

I think my husband and I need to have sex tonight.

Sometimes he has these dreams in which I’m a total bitch. And my bitchiness quotient correlates precisely with how long it’s been since we’ve had sex.

In his past dreams, I’ve told him he’s a loser, I’ve ignored him, I’ve been hateful, and I’ve made executive decisions that ensure he gets the raw end of the deal.

Last night he dreamed that I told him I was never sleeping with him again because his penis size was inadequate.

Has it really been that long?

Despite my good intentions, I may have to change the look around here sooner than expected. I am, without a doubt, the world’s worst dieter. Reasons for this are twofold:

Reason #1:
Though I may profess otherwise, my actions tend to speak of a mentality along the lines of “If you screw up, go all the way.” It’s a good thing I lost my virginity to my husband or you might find me on a street corner somewhere today. Case in point: Today I fudged (how’s that for a bad diet pun) and ate TWO MEALS instead of my allowed “1 sensible meal (400-600 calories) per day” ration. Because frankly, I am SO TIRED of chocolate “shakes” and think they have no business being called “meal replacements.” And my second meal was PIZZA.

So, naturally, in my state of guilt afterward, I sent my husband to CVS for Peanut Butter M&M’s. See? I’m surprised I didn’t make a DQ Blizzard run as well. I can totally feel my lovehandles coming back though.

Reason #2:
I have an unfounded phobia of hunger. I don’t know where it came from, it’s not as though I’ve ever been deprived of food. And yet, at the end of my “1 sensible meal (400-600 calories) per day” I have this mini-panic attack where I start thinking That was it. That was all the food I get for the next TWENTY FOUR HOURS!

Cue Feeding Frenzy Freak-Out, where I think I have to eat all the food within a 5 mile radius because it will be TWENTY FOUR HOURS UNTIL MY NEXT DECENT MEAL, despite the fact that:

1. This is not a starvation diet…I get “shakes” and meal replacements and (albeit not-so-appetizing) nutrients galore
2. 24 hours doesn’t exactly count as a life-threatening fast

I don’t know where my hunger phobia came from, but I know I’ve always had it. I think it was the sole reason I avoided anorexia in high school. I was discussing it with J the other day and he couldn’t figure it out. See, he actually had times growing up where there was literally NO FOOD, where they would eat things like “ketchup soup” for dinner because there were no other options. And he doesn’t have this problem.

I, on the other hand, who have never been deprived of food, vividly recall ordering 12″ Subway sandwiches through middle and part of high school - not because I actually wanted to eat that much but out of fear that if I only ordered a 6″ I would reach the end of the meal and still be hungry. And then it would be too late.

Now I never think about ordering more than 6″ but I had to do a lot of mental training to get to that point.

“That’s why we get along so well,” says J. “You’d be satisfied with 6″ but when it’s a few inches bigger you’re really happy.”