Christmas Is Canceled Fa-La-La-La-Freaking-Da

It's been a while. Wish I had some excitement, some great news to share, memories to write out, general good times to recall. There has been lots of tv watching and online stress shopping. Christmas is canceled in the Happy Wife House and I'm okay with that. Last week, it was 80 frickin' degrees, so it doesn't feel all that festive anyway. I don't have one tree out, not one string of lights, not one ornament or wreath.

No dates since the last post. Ha! Romance. Dates. Ha ha hahahahahahah. At this point, I'd just like to see my husband sometime like in the house. Around the living room or something. Heh. The hubby has been working 7 days a week, gone before I get up and back after I'm asleep, and I stopped nagging about it pretty quickly after I realized how exhausted and overworked he was getting. Then I flipped over for a while to a "there's lots of meals for you in the fridge!" and "something broke but I'm taking care of it" mentality. The washer died and I was all, "Not today, B*tch" and I went to Sears and bought a washer/dryer in about 5 minutes and called it a day.

Side note: 5 minutes is not long enough to make an informed decision about that. I unknowingly bought not only a high efficiency washing machine but a steam dryer. Hopefully we will be laughing about this for many years to come (in that hopefully they will not break and/or I will not kill them out of anger at their he and steam-y goodness).

Taking care of things and the husband ended the longer Maverick-the-dog's saga wore on. I haven't been to the store in a month and I'm not using things long enough to even know if they are breaking. She's has been so sick that I A) no longer have any cuticles because I bit them all off and B) discovered that Xanax does nothing in my body. I might as well just eat a cracker. Which, along with jello and cereal, is all I've been able to eat for the past, what, 3 weeks now? I mean, I attempt to eat other things, but then I am violently sick. Sometimes some rice and chicken are worth it; other times, more jello for me.

At one point, I puked 12 times in 8 hours, having to stay on the floor of the bathroom when I wasn't puking during that time since any move farther just led to a faster recourse of more puking. I actually said to my husband (since I did see him at 2 am since half of this was at night, he stood over me concerned as I stayed still under a couple towels for warmth on the bathroom floor), "I am enjoying the puking." Which is how he knew I was sick. That isn't like me. But I felt so horrible that every time I puked, I had like a reprieve for about 20 minutes, so therefore, I enjoyed the puking. My husband asked, "Who are you and what have you done with my wife?"

He's been so busy that I drove myself to the doctor that week. I am proud of myself for that. I hate going to the doctor, but I needed her to tell me that this wasn't an illness made entirely from my mind and from my stress. She assured me what I was experiencing was some sort of bug. Sure. Let's go with that versus I have totally lost my sh*t.

Mav has had more than her share of the medical world this fall and winter. She's had blood tests and UAs and ultrasounds and all day in-house tests and admittance to the emergency vet to the point that for a while there, she was gone more than she was home. That was horrible to say the least. There is nothing worse than coming home to a Mav-free house. She was finally diagnosed with Adrenal-Dependent Cushing's Disease, which meant there was a tumor on one or both of her adrenal glands. A tumor that needed to be removed. Did you know CT scans alone cost $1,000? We didn't even get to the part where they would draw up an estimate for surgery. Holy hell.

Of course, Mav's "tumor" wasn't able to be located (hence no surgery right now), which led to more tests and then a new conclusion last week that maybe it isn't Adrenal-Dependent Cushing's Disease. Please shoot me. There is a specialist I am trying not to piss off who likes to say things like "I'm totally at a loss right now" and "I have no idea what's happening. It makes no sense." She also likes to say things like "We've never seen anything present like this" and "It's just a mess. Mav's just a big mess."

IT IS REALLY HARD NOT TO YELL AT THIS PERSON.

But we need her and I need her to not like spit in Mav's open cavity during surgery or whatever.

Anyway, I decorated for fall like a boss but by the time Thanksgiving came and went, I didn't want to spend any extra energy on Christmas. Actually, "want" isn't the correct word. I couldn't. Basically anything that isn't necessary right now is out the window. I have no ability for anything else. I am trying to be present and enjoy having Mav next to me, and I'm not doing anything that takes me out of that state of mind. Right now, she is in the middle of "7 days of stress-free life" before she can have yet another test. Stress-free life for a Weimaraner is hilarious and means I have an excellent excuse to not use the vacuum. Also, the kids across the street aren't allowed on their bikes and the UPS man needs to stop ringing the bell. Heh. It also means I can't take her on car rides or even to pick up stuff at the vet office since that gets her all excited. Poor Mav.

After one particularly horrible week where she had spent most of her time in a tiny cage in an animal hospital, I picked her up and had to bring her back the next day. Now, she had been so stressed out and had such an array of awful medical things happen to her that I thought it might be difficult to even get her back in the building. I mean, they really had done a (necessary) number on her.

We got there, and she ran to the door, got in the building, and, as always, wanted to get at every other dog, person in the waiting area, lady behind the counter, and vet tech in the place. Super speed wags, big drool-y smile, heavy happy panting. They took her to the back as she followed beyond thrilled, and when they returned her to me, they said she had kissed the vet and vet tech throughout the blood draw and visit. And something about that just broke me in about a million pieces and it took everything I had not to cry. She just bounded up my legs and planted some good kisses square on my face and was just as ready to go as she had been to stay.

That's where we're at and hopefully things will calm down soon and I'll have happier posts in the future. At the very least, I can dig out the late but still impressive fall decoration photos from the camera. We've had our good moments. I'm caught up on White Collar, have discovered the Macy's website, and am functioning at a level where I actually get dressed in real clothing on a daily basis. Mav still dances for every meal, grabs her plush toys and makes a beeline for the spot next to where I'll be on the couch, and lets the cats pay her more attention than usual. The hubby, well, he's employed still, and his Christmas break is coming sooner than later, and he has at least 6 soccer games on the DVR. We're still pretty damn blessed this holiday season.

Bonus Post - Hubby's Christmas Present Reaction Photos

Since I recently posted about the hubby's birthday, and all the photos of him opening presents are pretty similar, I figured it would be fun for me to post the Christmas-in-February-at-his-in-laws photos. Because they made me very happy. I didn't post about our February trip because I figured the family wouldn't want to be uploaded all over The Internets no matter how tempted I was to do it. Also, the one decent picture of me from our Xmas trip was the one where I was flicking the husband off but smiling very beautifully, which was both awesome and creepy but somehow R rated.

Ahem. Where was I?

Oh yeah. Let's do this.

My father is a Coca-cola guy. Husband, Pepsi. I know, I know, we're talking practically the Capulets and Montagues here. Somehow, my family has embraced this little nugget of war.

That might be because we are the same family that has given my mother every single item available anywhere ever that has a lighthouse on it, is in the shape of a lighthouse, or resembles a lighthouse in any way because once, she said she liked lighthouses. And then her husband, son, daughter, father, sister... Basically, we all took that and have run with it for, oh, thirty years or so.

Think of all the times you've been out and seen something with a lighthouse on it. Rug. Quilt. Candle. Painting. Sweatshirt. Toothbrush caddy. We have not only seen these things; we bought each and every one of them for my mother. Who now is sort of anti-lighthouse, shockingly.

Once, we even bought her a VERY LARGE carved statue of a lighthouse.

What was it carved out of, you ask?

Trust me, you asked.

Because it was CARVED ENTIRELY OUT OF PECANS.

Mmmm hmmmm. Bam! Nailed it! Gift perfection!

So, [new son-in-law that is hard to buy for] + [likes Pepsi] = [guess what you're getting for every holiday and birthday until we're all dead]. Who said I was bad at math! Heh!

It is also always a bonus gift because we're a Coke family. It's like we've double accepted him. Embracing the enemy that is Pepsi in a Coke household. That's love, People. Love that has started a Happy Wife household Pepsi collection. Current decorative and/or glass bottle total: 12. Tee shirt count: too many to bother actually counting. Boxers in commemorative Pepsi can: 1. That last one was me. We use the can on the desk in the office to hold pens and pencils. Boo-yah! 

The most recent addition was at February Christmas.

(February Christmas soon to be trademarked by Happy Wife.

Sure it will catch on. It's like Christmas

only without the festive holiday spirit!)

My husband is a sweetheart and listens to the

"where we found these old fashioned glass Pepsi bottles"

story with rapt attention and appropriate head nods.

Think I'm kidding? My Dad got up from his comfy chair

across the room to come over and share that story.

"Tell me again about this Rural King you speak of, Sir," said my

husband in his mind because my father has an impressive gun collection.

Mav's all, "Things!"

Then, it got fun.

"Thanks for the Pepsi bottle," said my husband.

"Keep looking in the box!" My father was adamant.

Heh heh.

"Oh, there is another bottle in here!"

My husband executed the perfect level of excitement.

Possible captions:

Check out the pair on that guy!

or

I wish my wife would stop taking my picture!

or

I'm doing the best I can here, Honey, and you're pushing it.

Family fun time is twice as fun when it is with your in-laws!

Right, Honey? Right!

Now you're just making fun of me, he said at this photo.

I'm making MEMORIES, HUSBAND!

And your mother tried to marry you to someone else,

SO DON'T EVEN START WITH ME BECAUSE

WE'RE GONNA TAKE MY FAMILY'S

OWN BRAND OF CRAZY AND RUN WITH IT.

Moving on...

In case the lighthouse story didn't clue you in, let me tell another tale. Last year, my parents got us 2 little flashlights. No batteries, fits in the palm of your hand, little button on an end. We ended up using them all the time. Weird little gift that ended up being great. So, when they asked if there was anything we could think of that we wanted for the holidays, I reminded them of the flashlights.

Which was fun since they did not remember giving them to us. Not. At. all. The conversation went like this:

"Are you sure we got those for you?"

"Yes, Mom."

"I don't think so, Honey."

"No, Mom, it was you. For sure."

"Are you sure?"

*Bangs head on desk*

"It wasn't us."

After a lengthy description and still no memory of it, I let it go and didn't mention it again.

But, remember, say "lighthouse" once in my family...

Fast forward to February Christmas. Did my family get us another flashlight like the ones from the year before? Of course not.

No! Ha! HA HA!

Don't be silly.

They got us 12.

6 red, 6 blue.

All individually wrapped.

All individually wrapped.

I repeated that on purpose because it bears repeating.

Individually.

Wrapped.

The hubby was in heaven.

"Look what I can do when I hold a bunch of them at once!"

Commence very, very bright light.

Also, look behind him at how bored Mav is of the flashlights. The husband kept playing with them until we worried for our sight.

And yes, I got my mother that lighthouse candle holder in the background of that photo last year for Christmas. Heh. I didn't even notice that until just now. Sometimes when we visit, I accuse them of putting out all the stuff we've got them about an hour before we arrive. They deny it.

We had a great aunt or something who, when I was little, gave us this stuffed toy circus monkey that was old, crusty, and horrifying. And huge. I mean, he was human baby size. And, bonus, he looked like his diet consisted of human babies. After he murdered them. My mother put him out as our dining room table centerpiece about five minutes before my aunt's every visit and put him away out of eyesight before she even got out of the driveway on her way home. It wasn't like she put him on a low shelf or secondary room end table. Dining room table centerpiece. Man, that thing was some kind of awful. If there was ever an object that was evil, it was that monkey.

*Shudders* 

Anyway, a young kid sees that and it doesn't take much to put 2 and 2 together as an adult that when I walk around a house where all my gifts are prettily displayed and nothing else is out, well...

I am actually cool with it, if it happens or not. Either way, my crap is out because of love.

Speaking of love, other than my hubby, one of my favorite guys is my little bro. Who got my hubby a daily military fact calendar. Which, in this photo, looks like it is receiving a soulful, possibly sexy serenade from the hubby.

*Belting*

When a man loves a woman-

Can't keep his mind on nothing else-

Except for military history and

historical facts no one else remembers and

possibly his latest game of pew pew pew

Battlefield Soldiers Wearing Halos In A Portal

or whatever it's called. 

Save the princess!

I mean, it's all so fascinating-

*Thud*

Sorry, my narcolepsy is acting up again.

I also asked for a group photo but never managed to get a decent one. This is my husband's face in the one photo I managed to take with more than one person in it. Do you think he really nailed my "Smile!" cue?

This photo proves it.

It being that nothing's more painful than love. Yes?

Well, except maybe exhaustion.

Although, Hulk Husband did come out for a second.

Take that, flimsy plastic!

Mav is obviously some kind of sidekick to Hulk Husband.

If a sidekick can simply be 100% annoying and unhelpful

with zero super powers.

Actually, Mav attempted to help a lot.

Here she is helping my mom.

"I smell your leg. It smells leggy. You're welcome."

Here she is helping my mom. Again.

Yum, tissue paper. Nom, nom, nom.

She was helping her so much that at one point, the hubby intervened.

In Mav's defense, it is difficult to keep a Weim in line

when anything is happening anywhere ever.

That box did at one time have Boy Scout popcorn in it,

so you can't blame her. Can't blame genius.

Or me, for, you know, helping the children.

Only if they sell food, though.

I only help through snacks.

It takes a village.

Come on, I'm no hero, though!

*Takes a bow*

Most of the photos of me from February Christmas are just like this.

Pretties.

Wait, do I have a bald spot?

My part sure seems to go way down the back of my head.

Ho ho ho, Merry February Christmas, World!

In April!

Please excuse me while I go call 800 numbers

that belong to companies that help you regrow your hair.

Lewis Black Date

The hubby enjoys Lewis Black. When we were dating, I gave him some Lewis Black cds for the long weekend car trips he took to see me. When I heard Lewis Black was not only coming here but was playing the Peabody Opera House, I knew I had a stellar Christmas gift on my hands. Not only is my husband impossible to buy for, he is also very difficult to surprise. That's more me, though. I just am unable to not tell him things.

This year, however, he was so busy with work and work-related travel that I was able to keep my big mouth shut. I figured one more thing on his mind would only add to the stress, so I wrote out a Christmas card for him. Work would slow down around Christmas and then he'd have over a month afterwards to know the show was coming. The card said that he had two tickets to see Lewis Black, the date, and the venue. I stuck it under the tree wrapped in a little festive box.

Because I can't just hand him a card.

He seemed happy and surprised with his Christmas gift when he opened it. Good job, Me!

Finally, the Friday night came. We left 2 hours early, grabbed some food at Sonic, and started the drive downtown. Traffic was horrible. There was a stalled truck, and when the hubby flipped on the radio, guess who was playing in town next door at exactly the same time as Lewis Black? The St. Louis Blues hockey team. Yeah.

We could have jogged to downtown faster.

Anyway, we managed to find the opera house, which sits next to Union Station and Scottrade Center. Then, we got to scour the land for parking. Did I mention it was raining?

We found a parking garage. I rooted around fruitlessly by my feet in the car for the umbrella. You  know, where the umbrella is unless my husband has taken it somewhere else. My husband didn't say anything. *IMPORTANT FOR LATER*

Then, we got out of the car and walked like mall walkers in the moderately falling rain. The streets were full of people going to Lewis Black and to the Blues game. The rain was more annoying then anything else. We made it into the opera house 2 minutes before the show was supposed to start.

The Peabody Opera House recently reopened in downtown St. Louis. We'd never been but had been wanting to check it out. It is a beautiful venue with a simple, memorable layout once you're familiar with it. Not entirely unlike the Fox Theater. Lots of good seats and stunning details.

Lewis Black and his opening act were, of course, hilarious. He's as quick and well-spoken as you'd expect. In person, he comes across so much warmer and has a sort of kind, old man quality that I hadn't really recognized before. The audience was encouraging and laughed loudly and often. When, during one of his little rants, he actually broke the microphone stand, his reaction and ours was so funny that I think for a few moments we all just lost our minds in some wonderful, crazy, perfect way.

The show ended after 11, which for us, is like so late we can barely function. When exactly we become "if it's after 3 pm, we can't do it" people is beyond me. If we'd been more awake, and if about a thousand other people weren't thinking the same thing, we might have stayed after the show since Lewis Black comes out and signs autographs afterwards. Since we were just trying to stay awake at that point, the hubby and I headed out.

In the pouring rain.

The torrential rain.

The rainy rainy rain.

The not "frustrating" rain. The "WOW" rain.

It didn't matter how fast we walked. We were soaked by the time we got to the car. Really, by the time we got 4 steps outside the opera house. However many blocks later, yeah, we were soaked. To the bones. I'm pretty sure even my internal organs had gotten good and clean from the rain water.

As romantic as it sounds, walking with your loved one in sheets and sheets of rain IS NOT ROMANTIC. It is cold and uncomfortable and heavy and you can't see through your hair or your glasses and your shoes are all slooshy on the insides and it IS NOT ROMANTIC.

We finally made it to the parking garage. When we got in the car, my husband said, "Even if we'd brought the umbrella, I don't think it would have helped because it was raining so hard."

I'm pretty sure this was meant to be comforting.

To which I said, "I don't know. Probably would have helped. We should have brought that. Next time, for sure."

He then says, "Why didn't you bring it?"

Says the man who has it for work. I said, "Well, I don't know where you put it and it isn't over here."

"Yes, it is," he says. 

I laugh and say, "Um, no. It's not. I looked for it all around on the floor when we got here. Didn't you see me do that before we got out of the car."

He paused. Then said, "You know you're sitting on it, right?"

...

I gave him an icy look and said, "No, I am not." Then I made the mistake of reaching my hand back, and yep. I HAD BEEN SITTING ON THE UMBRELLA THE ENTIRE TIME IN THE CAR. How I did not feel that for the entire drive is beyond me. And possibly lots of drives prior to this. How long had I been sitting on that damn umbrella? Months?

Incredulous, I said, "WHY DID YOU TELL ME THAT? THIS IS ONE OF THOSE THINGS YOU SHOULD HAVE NOT TOLD ME." Because now we're sitting, in the car, soaked. With a lovely dry umbrella padding my ass.

Then, my husband asked, "Did you think the woman next to you was a prostitute? I mean, she was, right?"

And we forgot all about the umbrella and started talking about the couple sitting next to us at the show.

I love this man. I never need worry we'll run out of things to talk about.

Oh Christmas Season, How You #!%* Me Up

That four letter mash up there in the title is for mess, yes? Sure.

There was the pre-Christmas planning, our Christmas at home, our road trip and subsequent visit for holiday time with my family, the recuperation from our family fun time and getting back in gear after we returned home...

No matter how many lists I made, how many things I crossed off on my to-do list daily, I still managed to barely make it through this festive season. I sent maybe half of the Christmas cards I meant to send. My cookie jar, cookie-less 99% off the time (gasp!). The snow storm came and pushed back our timeline for travel and still, I ended up packing for our big trip at 8 pm the night before. About 10 miles into said big trip, the car's cruise control went out on my husband. Then the automatic locks went all wonky. I also forgot during the trip that we were driving on Christmas Day. I was hungry for 400 miles. Because nothing is open on Christmas Day.

All in all, our holiday went well. I didn't take many pictures because I'm a moron. We had a really nice time with my folks and brother. Time in their home and in ours was warm and peaceful. The pets enjoyed the merriment. We only found one or two sparkly hairballs the entire month.

Oh, there was some drama. A regular, run of the mill, average, every day check up doctor's appointment a few days before Christmas for my husband turned into a lot of swearing and hysteria from the wife. A change in travel plans to allow for a specialist appointment. Now we're waiting for test results which will be available "in a week or two"...

And talk myself down from shoving all my glittery garland up the medical community's collective arse. And breathe. And breathe.

Thanks, nursing, for making me sure something is never nothing. For opening my eyes to the fact that anything can happen at any time. I make a conscious decision every morning to wait for the results before reacting to them.

I've thrown myself into different tasks. Super cleaning. Organizing. More super cleaning and organizing. Anything not to dwell. I mean, hell, we finally watched the Hurt Locker. That Netflix DVD has been sitting on top of the television for months. I didn't even cry.

We watched the Sorcerer's Apprentice after that, and I shed a tear there. Stupid Nick Cage. You'd think I'd be cheering during your death-ish scene but no. Sniffle, sniffle. I don't like you so why do I watch anything you're in? I don't know. Maybe because you're in every other movie. Please stop making movies so I can see actors I actually enjoy watching.

The only time I'm glad Nick Cage exists is when Andy Samberg does an impression of him on Saturday Night Live.

Where was I? Oh yeah. The Christmas Season. We survived. Now onto 2011! Time for some hardcore dating!

My Xmas Decorations: Christmas Totally Ralphed All Over My House

Christmas decorations! This is me being subtle. Seriously. This is the most toned down get-up I've had for the holidays. Hark! If a partridge in a pear tree, geese going all Kate and Jon and their eight kids, or any type of cardinal appeared, our kitty elves would make that all stop. Immediately.

Well, maybe not immediately. Right after their under-the-tree naps.

Atlas is covering his little face here.

Yes, those are kitty beds under the tree. They sleep under there anyway, so they might as well be comfortable and on something I can wash often and easily. I do not know why I didn't think of this before this year.

Have you ever seen something in a store that was so ugly and weird that you fell madly and passionately in love with said thing and had to have it. Exhibit A: a set of very large, knitted, sequined owl ornaments.

HAD TO HAVE.

Just like those mugs. Love.

I don't even have a particular affinity for owls. I do, however, have a completely unrelated owl Christmas story. I used to work for a non-profit that paired volunteers with people who needed help learning to read, write, and speak English. I'd say 75% of the people were learning English as a second language but the rest had English as their first and only language. They often had learning disabilities or had to quit school at an early age (usually way back in the day). I would say 99.9% of the time, the story of the other person needing help was dramatic and touching, and his or her life was full of things that would make normal people cry. 

Anywho, one of our volunteers was this bubbly wife of a Notre Dame professor. She was very smart and dedicated, and she'd been volunteering for us for years. She was working at that time with this tiny, shy, elderly woman who spoke almost no English. I want to say she was from a small village no one had ever heard of in Japan or Korea or somewhere like that. Well, the holidays came along, and a lot of the volunteers and the people they helped gave each other holiday gifts.

The elderly woman wore a lot of older clothes but, of course, the volunteer noticed that she also always had a different pin on her shirt or sweater. The volunteer then bought her a sweet little brooch in the shape of an owl as a small Christmas present. The elderly woman was always baking things and such for the volunteer, so she was thrilled to have something to give to her in return.

When the woman opened the brooch, wrapped in pretty little white box with a red bow, well, let's just say it didn't go well. The woman dropped the present on the floor, spoke to the volunteer in a terror in her native language, and ran away from her out of a city library. RAN. Full speed. Olympic qualifying-type of exit.

Turns out, where she is from, the owl is a powerful symbol for death. It took several weeks with other family members and translations to figure out what happened and then to convince the elderly woman that the volunteer she loved and had spent such time with did not indeed wish for her demise.

I always kind of found that funny. Just put it in my "I'm a bad person" file and let's move on. Back to Christmas decor! The dining room and living room! A china cabinet full of things paws are not allowed to touch!

And a heavy table centerpiece so that tablecloth isn't on the floor whenever I walk by. Across from the china cupboard is one of my grandma's paintings. Holiday-i-fied.

I like keeping things so lit up at Christmas that I don't need to turn on lamps. Our main tree. I'm way into the poinsettias this year.

I also have massive garlands hung over the shutters at both ends of the room.

And my grandma's other little painting. BOOM sparkles! Do not ask how long it took for Mav to learn that the gingerbread man in the chair IS NOT A DOG TOY.

In the kitchen, I listen to a lot of Christmas music. Have all white holiday lights other than the little nightlights. Wear a holiday apron. Bake cookies for the BEST COOKIE JAR EVER.

The little Santa box by the cookie jar has extra ornament hangers just in case. How smart am I?

My window is all refined. Flowers and greenery and Hallmark ornaments. Even the new fridge has little cookie magnets.

Then, turn to the other side of the room. See the penguin tree and the display where I let all the crazy in my insides have their day. The sad part is I did not just close my eyes and throw decorations in that direction, letting them fall where they may. It's all on purpose, every bell, every pearl strand.

Kitties favorite place. Even more popular than under the tree.

See the stuffed penguin in the tree behind the happy Isley? That is their favorite thing to remove from my carefully made decorating scheme. Out of all of the house decorations. I never fail to find that thing somewhere else in the house at least twice a day.

Kitchen wall. It's like the wall is bleeding merriment.

Go ahead, try to make sense of it. Yes, Bambi is inside the wreath with a giant pink ball and a white dove. Why? What about that scene doesn't make sense?

I even create a holiday scene under our regular cat entertainment centers. Festive rugs, anyone?

After this photo, Pandora then got on the dining room chair there and hid under the tablecloth, batting at me as I walked by. I picked her up for a naughty kitty photo. Priceless "I Am A Bad Kitty" face.

See my opera house in the back? I surprised my gram's one year with season tickets to the Lyric Opera in Chicago. At the time, it was the most expensive thing I had ever purchased. When I found the light-up opera house at Walmart that year during the holidays, I knew it was meant to be. She was so surprised by the house and all the operas. Although I learned I'm not a live opera lover, I did love every moment that my gram's and I spent during those trips. I even bought the operas beforehand with translations and read them to her before each show. We had the best time dressing up and "going to town".

So that is my holiday scheme this year. Too much? I'd day it's about 50% my usual fare. The hubby sure puts up with a lot. I am his introduction to Christmas. Sure easing him into this new arena, right? Even after how many Chrismases, I know sometimes he's still like, "Wow." And then speechless. I'll leave you with the kitty the camera loves most, Mary Lou, in the kitchen centerpiece. Cute and crazy, all wrapped up in a jolly good time.

The Epipen Is Not For Panic Attacks

Also, the Epipen is not for fancy smancy events.

Am I exaggerating? Sure. Still, here is a picture of my Epipen. In case life decides it wants to try and kill me. All I have to do is come into contact with a Sulfa drug, possibly be stung by a bee, or perhaps ingest a fennel seed.

I think the most frightening part of having my Epipen is how gun-ho my husband seems to be about using it. From the moment my allergist described how to use said injection, the hubby was practically jumping up and down in excitement. He has been ready to stick a needle deep into one of my muscles for years now. He has taken it upon himself to be the declared giver of said medicine. At any time, any place. For some unknown reason, he has appointed himself Epipen extraordinaire. Even though he has certainly never given anyone any type of shot (unlike me, the former nurse). Sigh.

Anyway, I might have been happy to let him cause me great needle-related pain if it meant I could get out of our big date. All week I've been dreading tonight. The hubby's big fancy smancy work dinner is at a type of restaurant we have never frequented. I'm a Steak N Shake kind of girl. We had fancy meals on our honeymoon... But they were in our hotel room. The Bellagio is no Red Roof Inn, but I fear it doesn't count if I don't have to juggle twenty different forks in front of other people.

I know one has nothing to do with the other, but the fact that I've already epically failed at winning over his family keeps coming into my mind. You know, since I'm pretty sure he's still "forbidden" to be married to me. At the same time, the rational part of me knows they never really tried to get to know me, so I don't take it so personally these days. Finally meeting the people he spends his work days with is weighing heavy on me. What if they realize the second I walk  into the room just how much better he could have done? I turn into a tween again, all "They're going to hate me!" and staying in bed, under the covers, surrounded by the cats and dog until noon.

Why did I agree to this? I'm not a social person. I'm a stay at home housewife who likes her little house and her brood of pets and her husband. I've always been quiet, especially around people I don't know. It's amazing I found my husband in the first place and managed to give him a front row seat to the real me. Both amazing and admittedly slightly sad and pathetic, since he then gets to see me on days like this. There's no elaborate other me that can put on my clothes and trick him into thinking I am a confident, lovely lady on his arm. He gets Happy Wife in panic mode.

The wide eyed horrified girl who is sure she's going to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing. The one who is sure that everyone at the table is going to be thinking, "THIS is who he ended up with? This is the girl? Really?"

It doesn't help that we're going to have a meal. I have food allergies that can be rather daunting. Horrifying. Nightmare inducing. It doesn't help that we can't seem to find the source of the allergies other than that they happen when we eat out.

Should I wear a turtleneck to hide any reaction I may have? My neck likes to look all pandemic-like if I have a bad situation happening.

I get to bring a purse full of Benadryl along with said Epipen. I mean, sexy right? Are they going to search me? Do fancy restaurants have their version of the TSA?

I was up for all of 7 minutes when the hubby came home from work. I immediately got back in bed and fussed.

"How many people will be there? A hundred?" I then made cranky noises that did not remotely resemble actual words although I said them with a cadence like they were still part of the conversation. Sort of like Charlie Brown's teacher if she was really upset.

"Twenty, at most," he replied.

"So, a thousand... A million?" I sighed loudly. Twice.

He just laughed at me and said, "Yes, Dear, there are going to be a million people there."

I told him I need to be 20 pounds thinner before going out of the house ever again.

Then, I thought about how the one thing I have kept from my youth is acne. Hooray. *Eye rolls* My 1 am tweezer attack on my eyebrows also did my help my face today. I managed to not say this out loud.

I thought about all the questions. The normal ones.

"So what do you do?"

"When are you two going to start having kids?"

"How did you two meet again?"

Um... Nothing, never, and online. I have no goals or ambition, want to get "the coils" as I call them, and I seduced him on the Internet.

And the chorus will all be crickets. Tumbleweeds will roll past our table. I may hear a sad ghost town western soundtrack in my head.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

What am I supposed to say? I'm technically still a licensed nurse and just leave out that I intend to never go back into the nursing field? That I spend all day eating Cheetos and watching soap operas?

Okay, so I haven't had Cheetos in years and I don't watch soap operas, but sometimes my life is comparable to that. This past Wednesday, I spent a whole day catching up on Glee and drinking equal parts hot chocolate and marshmallows.

I don't think telling everyone that I take care of our TWELVE special needs cats and the world's most insane dog is a viable option. That sounds worse than telling them what I do on the days when I do leave the house. Hi, sometime last week I power shopped at all 4 local Marshalls and TJ Maxx stores and then made a supper where Velveeta was the main ingredient and chicken and broccoli had very small supporting cast member roles.

I am FREAKING OUT. What am I going to wear? What am I going to say? I have issues speaking English, my ONLY language, in front of others all the time and just in general half the time. AND I HAVE A BACHELOR'S DEGREE IN ENGLISH.

My husband keeps telling me it will be fun. That he 100% wants me to go and is sure it will be great.

Know what I'm sure of? That I don't own anything that makes me look thin and that the dog is going to not only break into the kitty room and eat all their food while we're gone, but she's also going to open all the Christmas presents. I better take pictures of all the decorations because they're all going to be down when we get home.

Brian Regan Date

When I think of excitement, when I think of entertainment, when I think of a city that never sleeps...

New York City? Been there. Theater, shopping, sidewalks full of hustle and bustle. Enjoyable. Will someday go there with the hubby.

Vegas? Got married there! It's all lights, chocolate fountains, and strawberries as big as your hands delivered to your hotel room.

Fort Wayne, Indiana. Haven't been. This is the town Brian Regan flew into on Thursday in order to play a show. Was the show actually in Fort Wayne? Of course not.

Wabash, Indiana.

Wabash. Indiana. A mere 6 1/2 hour drive from St. Louis. Just me and the hubby on the open road. Oh, the intense anticipation! The time change! Our first night away from home and from our dog in a very long time. Our first time being out, taking a road trip, and NOT going to a destination where my relatives live since we got married. Our first time in a hotel since our honeymoon! I brought swim suits! I dreamed of continental breakfasts! Had delicious plans to use every towel in the bathroom!

Sigh.

Yeah, of course, our trip wasn't as romantic or lovely as it should have been. And it was entirely my fault.

The story is my brother is a huge Brian Regan fan. And for good reason. The guy is hilarious. When he wanted to see Brian Regan on tour, we all were up for it. My folks and the hubby and me gave the green light. Besides, my brother is awesome, and there is little I wouldn't do for him. And now that I'm worried that he might join the military since he's been job hunting for over a year (he was laid off like so many people have been), well, every time we can do something together, I'm ready!

Brian Regan's tour schedule... New York, Pittsburgh, Ontario, Washington, Washington, Washington, California, California, California, Boston, Georgia, Georgia, Texas, Texas, Tulsa.

And then one town, a strange, random choice, stuck in the middle with no rhyme or reason. Wabash, Indiana.

WHY? I don't know. But we got tickets and decided to make a night of it. Since Mav the dog can't be left alone for a number of reasons (she's on medicines for epilepsy and hypothyroidism, has separation anxiety, and due to age and her pills, needs to pee ALL the time), so we either take her with when we go places or we just don't go. We set up a pet sitter to come and spend the night with her, crossing our fingers it would go okay. We decided months ago to leave Thursday afternoon, see the show Thursday night, then start back home and stay in a hotel when we got tired. We figured then we'd just get home sometime Friday morning.

Well, we didn't know what the lead up to the show would be. We didn't know the husband would be swamped with work, we'd be dealing with a house full of plumbing and electric problems, and we would, in general, be less than the level of amped we had hoped to be.

It didn't help that I had no idea really where Wabash was located, and that my inability to properly combine math, time, and geography would not, as I had expected, give us almost 2 extra hours to get there... I did everything backwards, I guess. So we'd given ourselves no extra time at all. This was totally my fault.

Almost immediately, the car was full of an atmosphere of "we're not going to make it", and if not for the comedy cds I downloaded for the trip, we would possibly be divorced right now. Wasn't a lot of talkin' in the car. I felt pretty crummy for making the hubby stressed and for dragging us across 3 states in order to see a show.

The drive was otherwise uneventful. My father came from 2 hours north of Wabash (my mom had gotten a terrible cold and couldn't come), and my brother came from 3 hours west. My dad beat us by about 10 minutes, and we beat my brother (the holder of the tickets) by another 10. We were parked and walking towards the building with about 10 minutes to spare. As rushed as everything was, it was still great to see my family and to be there with my husband at my side. I had offered to go alone the previous day, but he never even seemed to consider it.

I took pictures while speed walking. Here is the Honeywell Center, which we all agreed had to be the tallest building in Wabash. This is where Brian Regan was performing. Kinda looks like a hospital.

I let out a little squeal when we turned and entered the main courtyard in front of the building. Lights! Christmas-y! I cropped my father out of this photo because I'm pretty sure he doesn't want to be on the internet. You're welcome, Pops! The hubby looks happy, for a second! Can't believe I captured that on camera!

It was pretty cold. There was SNOW in the forecast. We ran in and got our seats quickly. I immediately felt relieved and in my element. The center was large and we had excellent seats. There was a balcony behind us. Everything looked very professional and relatively new. My brother wore a shirt I had gotten him for Christmas a couple years ago, which made me happy.

I did turn to my husband and ask him if he felt okay. Never have I felt more comfortable with such speed. Hi, Rural Indiana, you are my people.

I don't know why I felt that way. I just did. There was a broad range of ages and everyone just seemed super casual and super familiar to me. I was flanked by my brother and dad on one side and the hubby on the other, and every row of people just seemed like people that I've known all my life. It was really strange for me but also made everything easy. Especially since I know we were both pretty tired, and I was fighting a (winning!) battle against feeling sick to my stomach, with a dash of car sickness, and a pinch of the first stages of a migraine that would cause us to stop for the night 10 miles out of Wabash. Don't we just look fantastic?

It is true that a picture is worth a thousand words.

I was tired but happy to be all be together and to be seeing Brian Regan. I think the hubby and I both sat back and enjoyed the show. Joe Bolster was the opening act and he was pretty funny. Of course, Brian Regan didn't let us down. He was hilarious. All 4 of us laughed hard and often. I didn't feel good and worried that I would get so sick to my stomach that I'd have to leave during the show, but I made it through. I knew that the smartest thing I have possibly ever done in my life was only eat lunch at noon and not eat any snacks or get anything at any gas stations to eat.

The show ended and we all went our separate ways. We made a little caravan following each other in our vehicles the first few miles. It felt nice.

Then, we all turned to our separate exits. My husband had to stop the car almost immediately because I was so sick. Not good. Thank God for Best Western.

They had a large Christmas tree up in the lobby, and although no one was around it, it was obvious that it had come out recently. It was decorated haphazardly and only in the middle. I could hardly believe it. It really does go Halloween, then Christmas now.

The tree would have made me a little happy if I hadn't been needing to get horizontal so badly. Thankfully, our room was close, and we got in there, I took my migraine medicine, and we went to sleep. It was all sweats and socks on our feet. There was no sweet second honeymoon for us. I was just terrified that I would wake up with my migraine, but thankfully, I didn't. It was gone at 4 am our time. And yes, we got up, got ready in 10 minutes, and headed to check out. As we walked down the hall and towards the front desk, I realized how out of it I must have been only a handful of hours before.

I was too tired to get the camera out, but I should have. The Best Western we were staying at, in the middle of NOTHING, had a very, very, very specific theme. A theme that I think probably would give a lot of people nightmares.

THERE WAS A CIRCUS THEME.

AN ELABORATE CIRCUS THEME.

I had only seen the Christmas tree. I had not noticed EVERYTHING else in the hotel. Stuffed animals in old style circus cages, paintings of circus scenes, and the clowns. Oh, God, the clowns. There were tiny clown figurines, large glass clown faces, a porcelain train with each car loaded with one clown after another... Everywhere you looked, clowns. Clowns, clowns, clowns.

There were suites with large brass name plates. The suites had circus-themed names, like Ringling Brothers Suite. It was not a subtle decorating scheme. It was a pie in your face, drill sergeant yelling at you nose-to-nose, deep voiced announcer in your ear yelling, "Are you ready for some EXTREME CIRCUS in your life? No? WELL GET READY!" BOOM! All up in your personal space, all attacking you and sh*t. Then I guess they're supposed to end their greeting with "Welcome to Best Western. We hope you have a restful time here." Sure, why not.

I think we were both pretty okay getting out of there. We headed home, this time with me driving the whole way. The motion sickness stayed away and we were back by 10 am to find Mav happy and fine.

The second we walked in the door, the hubby asked, "Where's Atlas?"

I thought he was crazy. We have how many rescued kitties? Did he really expect them all to be lined up on the staircase when we got home? It was the weirdest thing for him to say.

Then he said, "He's in the basement!" and I thought, "You've lost your frickin' mind."

Threw open the basement door, and low and behold, Atlas was up on the counter and bins and was at eye level with me. He immediately rammed his head into my nose and began purring a monster purr. Sigh.

I guess he'd known the sitter was an easy mark and had snuck into the basement an hour before we got home when she went in there to get Mav's food. She was probably completely unaware anything had happened. The 3 rescues down there were hiding under the staircase, and even though the 2 are very affectionate and loving with us, they hissed and were terrified. Those 3 hadn't met the rest of our kitties yet. It had obviously been a rude introduction since Atlas had some battle marks. We let them be and they came around later in the day.

Atlas had one major addition to his person (his cat?) and that was a giant wound in his ear. We got to run him into the vet right away and learned that it went straight through his ear. It was a mess but at least he was looked at and should be fine. Now I get to give him antibiotics and apply hot packs twice a day. Ever tried to hold a hot-as-hell, wet washcloth to a cat's ear and apply pressure for FIVE STRAIGHT MINUTES?

Twice a day.

Of course.

The perfect ending to the perfect trip.

Am I upset? Do I regret this trip? No. Maybe I would have planned a little better if I could do it over again, but I'd still want to go and for the hubby to come, too.

We would have missed a lot of laughter and we wouldn't be able to say, years from now, "Do you remember that time we drove to Wabash to see Brian Regan?"

"Oh my God. And the Circus Best Western?"