Bitter Hag

I never meant to take a 10 month hiatus. Really. At no point did I say “fuck it, I’m taking 10 months off”. But somewhere around 6 months ago, I realized that I wanted to write, but something was kind of holding me back. Not just time constraints, but there was something else.

I am no longer the person I was when I started this journal way back in November of 2000. At that time I was working as a web designer at a dot-com and making pretty decent cashola. I had only owned my house for a little over a year, and my main form of activity was working on that house. Other than that, I did a hell of a lot of sitting on my ass, making sure the couch didn’t stray from its appointed spot.

Many of you have been around since those days long ago, and I appreciate your tenacity. You’ve been witness to my evolution. I’ve gone from a house-remodeling web-designing fool to a bike-riding administrative-assitant fool. (Some things never change - I’m still a fool.)

But I haven’t been sharing all the other good things that have been going on in my life. For instance, some of you may remember a few brief mentions of the Beau Hunk Buck Stud. Even fewer of you may have a brief recollection of a momentary train-wreck that quickly disappeared from the site, followed by nary a further mention of the Beau Hunk.

Well, in spite of everything, the Beau Hunk and I have stuck together. He’s been hanging around for over a year now, and he’s not showing any of the signs of running for the hills (yet?). As a matter of fact, there’s pretty good indication that he may be sticking around a while longer. And this makes me happy. Very, very, happy. So yeah, old Haggie may have snagged herself a man-thing. For certain she’s got yet another really good friend who’s kind, caring, fun, and pretty goddamned easy on the eyes too! What’s to bitch about that??

Between spending time with the Beau Hunk, riding with Da Goils, working, etc etc., writing never happened. When I wanted to write, I didn’t have time. When I had time, I didn’t want to write. 10 months went by as I became procrastination’s bitch.

So what changed? Well, it was sort of a cosmic confluence of events really. Over my hiatus I struggled with whether to quit keeping an online journal altogether. That certainly would be easy, but I didn’t really want to quit. Then again, I didn’t want to keep laboring under the weight of all those past entries either. So I considered taking the archives offline, but then I struggled with how I would structure the site, blah blah blah. I couldn’t decide, so I didn’t decide. Mmmmm…procrastination. Yummy!

Then fate sort of stepped in and gave me a kick in the ass. It all started with my web hosting company suddenly going tits up - without notice, fuck you very much. One day I could update my sites (I have others besides this one), and the next day I couldn’t. The company’s website no longer had an 800 number posted, and there was a notice saying they were no longer accepting new accounts. Uh oh, she’s dead Jim.

Thus ensued much running around and hand-wringing on my part, trying to get the sites that I administer re-hosted. In the midst of all this trauma-drama, I found a host that was economically reasonable, reliable and highly recommended. But they didn’t offer support for ASP. All my previous pages had been written in ASP. It’s my favorite language. But truth be told, the only thing I used ASP for was layout templates and running the guestbook database. Some of you may remember that I took my guestbook down ages ago, so that wasn’t really even a factor anymore. The bonus was that the new host offered WordPress as an auto-install.

So the decision was made. I’ve ditched my archives and I’m starting anew. You’ll notice that this page is pretty much a standard WordPress template. The web designer in me kind of chafes at the idea of a standard template. But here’s the deal: this site isn’t about layout. It never was. It’s about the content – the words. And those are all mine.

My boss says I can’t write on this site anymore because I’m not bitter. Truth be told I never really was. That moniker was always meant to be tongue in cheek. But there is a bit of truth in what he says. I have evolved from the person I was when I started this journal, lo those thousands of years ago. I think this particular evolution is a good one, but it was holding me back in some ways. Now it’s time to throw off the past and move forward.

But I’m still keeping the name.

It’s election day here in the U.S. I’m pretty sure that doesn’t come as much of surprise to anyone out there, even on the other side of the world. Yes, we are embroiled in a genuine flap here in the Home of the Brave. It’s Bush v. Kerry in a battle to the death.

I’m just glad that it’s almost over. The ads are off my TV, my mailbox will stop filling up with propaganda and my phone will quit ringing six (no, I’m not exaggerating) times a day from political parties trying to sway my vote. Just tell me who won and leave me the fuck alone - preferrably before my Thanksgiving leftovers start turning unnatural shades of green.

The really interesting part is how personally some people are taking this. If you voice a dissenting opinion about their candidate, they look at you as if you just told them their baby is ugly. People, relax. One person I know has been genuinely stressed over every little snippet of news against her favored candidate today. Stressed. The kind of stress that one normally reserves for events such as getting laid off and realizing you’ve only got one month’s worth of payments in the bank. Stressed.

I can’t wrap my brain around that. Yes I know that the election of the leader of the Free World is important. But here’s the thing: past the point where I go to my polling place and cast my vote, it’s out of my hands. Anything that is that far out of my hands isn’t worth my worry.

I have friends who love to discuss politics to the point of argument. I am not one of these people. My theory is that I refuse to fight with my friends about shit I cannot possibly control. It’s like arguing about the weather. Exactly what will all this discussion accomplish? Nothing. The leaders in Washington are going to do whatever they fuck they feel like doing, regardless of my feelings. The sun will shine and the rain will fall, no matter what my plans are for the weekend. It’s all pointless, so why bother getting all lathered up about it?

Afterall, this is a government who printed “I have voted – have you?” on my ballot. Yes, on the ballot. The thing you only see when you are in the very act of voting. Does it get any less logical than that?

Lost: all time between September and now. If found, please contact me.

Thanksgiving is a less than a week away. Do you know what that means? That means we are less than a week from it officially being the Holiday season. Christmas is five weeks away. Five. Weeks. Away. Somebody help me, I’m caught in a time warp and I can’t catch up.

I’ve had trouble preparing for the holidays before, but this year is just taking the cake. Everything seems to be going along at the proper place, then WHAM, you realize an entire month (or two or ten) has gotten away from you. I have tons of deadlines looking me straight in the eyeballs and I’m standing here like a deer in headlights.

Let the games begin.

I spent the weekend tidying up the house and doing all that autumn stuff that we Californians don’t have to do until the dead of winter - like raking leaves and cleaning out gutters. Only I cheat because I don’t rake leaves, I mulch them up with my lawn mower. (And the Beau Hunk was actually the one who climbed up on my roof and cleaned out the gutters because my roof terrifies me.)

Last year I hosted Thanksgiving here at my house, and since my giant tree out front decided to dump all its leaves at once, I decided that mulching them with the lawn mower probably wouldn’t work too well. Mom & Dad had come down early to start cooking the prime rib, and Mom was helping me with the leaves by holding the bag while I scooped the leaves in. I was wearing a crappy pair of my old fat sweats so I guess they were drooping a little when I bent over. The next thing I know, my Dad is saying “So. When did you get the tattoo?”
Oops. Busted. I forgot that I was hiding that from them.

(Some of you may remember that I got a bicycle-oriented tattoo on the back of my right hip in celebration of my 35th year of life. I never told my parents because the way I was raised, only sailors and whores have tattoos, so you can understand why I never shared. Besides, I didn’t want to risk a lecture. Hell, I even managed to hide it from Mom through two bike accidents and surgery. You try hiding a tattoo in a hospital gown!)

Mom took it surprisingly well. I thought she’d freak out about a daughter of hers having a tattoo. But Mom played it cool and just said “well can I see it too?” I showed it to her, and she said it was cute. Then she reminded me that I was a grown up and could do what I wanted. Funny, that’s not the way it usually works around here.

From then on my tatt was the news of the day (never mind it was 11 months old at this point). Everyone who showed up for dinner was told by my father about my tattoo. Some people had been clued in already, so it was no big deal. My brother and SIL were the big surprises. Bro was pretty put off by it, but clearly wasn’t surprised that his (crazy nutbucket of a) sister had done such a (horrible / tacky) thing. SIL blew my socks off by saying she was secretly coveting it and wanted one of her own, but didn’t think Bro would understand. (Good thinkin there SIL.)

This year Thanksgiving should be pretty quiet, even though I’m doing it in duplicate. Saturday I’ll be hauling my ass up to my parents’ house to eat steak with them. Thanksgiving proper will be spent with the Beau Hunk and his family. It will be the first meeting, so that should be interesting. Color me terrified, but I think it will work out. That is, unless the festivities include picking up leaves while wearing droopy sweats so everyone finds out that I’ve got *gasp* a tattoo!! But they’re a civilized bunch, so I suspect I won’t have to partake of lawn chores and certainly won’t show up in my dumpy sweats. Yeah, I think I’m safe there.

I suspect my biggest worry is whether or not I’ll spill gravy down my front or fling my turkey slice across the table when trying to cut it. Those are social faux pas for which I am quite famous. I keep telling myself it’s one day and one dinner, that I should be able to pretend to be a socially adjusted, graceful human being for one fucking night. Just one. That’s all I ask.

Wish me luck, history says I’ll need it.

Ok, so Thanksgiving with the Beau Hunk’s family went awesomely well, and all my fears were totally unfounded. Does this strike you as surprising? Probably not. To my knowledge I managed to not totally offend anyone, and (again, to my knowledge) the Beau Hunk has not been dragged aside and asked just what the fuck is he doing bringing that around the family. The hallmarks of success, in my opinion.

As I guess you’ve figured out by now, I don’t tell you all everything. I used to tell you a whole lot more than I do now, but for a myriad of reasons, I’ve been keeping some things private. Well, until now.

For instance, I’ve not disclosed that the Beau Hunk is currently preparing for his final Final in law school. Nope, not a typo, his FINAL final. The last one baby. I disclose this now because I’m totally excited for him, and have been caught up in the concept of what this really means. My Hunk is getting himself a gen-u-ine Juris Doctorate. Which he has jokingly remarked “They’ll give those to anybody!” Not quite sweetie. He does have the one exam to go, so if anyone has spare good thoughts on Wednesday around 7pm PT, send them his way. One can never have enough good-thought Karma.

The reason I bring this up, is that not only is this his last hurdle, but it’s the opening bell for a whole helluva lot of activity in my life as well. You see, after this exam is over, we’re going to make a few changes.

First off, he’s moving in with me. This may permanently endanger my last vestiges of Hagness, but oh well. I told you I was evolving, and now I’m out to prove it. Especially because of this little nugget: he has a son. A four-year old adorable little cuss whom I shall call Woo.

Everybody ok? Anyone get hurt falling to the floor in shock?

Woo is a total sweetheart, but he can be a handful. You see, Woo’s autistic, so he’s had a few extra challenges in his four short years. But he’s been going to a special school for the last year and a little more, and they’ve been working miracles with him. He’s come a long way since I first met him, and I’m looking forward to seeing how much further he can go.

So yeah. I’m hanging around with a four-year old. And liking it. Believe me, nobody’s more shocked at this than I am. I had to dig around a while, but I did manage to find my maternal instinct, dust it off and get it working. It took a little duct tape and bailing wire, and it sputters a lot, but it’s working. Afterall, you can’t expect perfection from a gnarled old veteran of the Single’s Wars.

Now I’ve got a whole new set of challenges staring me smack in the face. Things are about to take the term “interesting” to a whole new level.

It’s not entirely official yet, but it’s pretty much a done deal that the Beau Hunk has graduated law school. Yay!! There was one Final he was worried about, but he got word that he passed it. My biggest bucket of thanks to everyone who sent all the good wishes and vibes for success on his last test. He said he felt really good about that one. It’s kind of mind-blowing to realize I’m having sex with someone who now possesses a Juris Doctorate. And just as soon as he passes the bar, I will officially be having sex with a lawyer. How cool is that?? Pretty damned cool if you ask me.

We’ve got the boy (Beau Hunk) and his boys (son & dog) moved in. Mostly. I still can’t get my car in the garage, and my Office O’Shame hasn’t been tackled yet. I’m hoping to get to that this week. Everything else is coming together nicely. That office is the last big hurdle in the bunch. Once that gets cleaned out and we move out my desk, we’ll be able to shuffle some other things around to a more final configuration. Man, can’t wait to finish that one!

Everyone is still adjusting to life together, but it hasn’t been too terrible. Well, unless you’re the cat. She is in utter hell. She has apparently realized that she and I are an Island of Estrogen in a Testosterone Sea, and has been surprisingly lovey to me. Of course she’s being a complete bitch to everyone else. She may be coming around a little though, because she’s almost oblivious to the dogs, and yesterday she let Woo walk up and pet her. But she gets really pissy when he chases her and corners her. Nobody’s gotten hurt yet, thankfully.

For some reason though, she really doesn’t like the Beau Hunk. She pretty much has no use for him. He keeps trying to be her friend, but she’s having none of it. He’s even tried scratching her favorite places, and she growls and swats at him. Bitch.

But me? She’s fallen in love with me all over again. You must realize this is the cat who has spent the last three years punishing me for bringing that horrible beast (the dog) into the house. Since the Beau Hunk’s moved in, she’s gone from sleeping on the foot of the bed and getting pissy every time I move, to sleeping in a dinner-plate sized area between my belly and legs as I lay on my side. She’s even tolerating me rolling over and getting up without moving. Very strange. I can only guess that she probably thinks if she sucks up to me, I’ll kick out all these big stinky males and get back to the way things should be: just the two of us. Sorry cat, welcome to your new life. It’s called two dogs, a kid and a new human who insists on tormenting you by petting you every time he walks by. It really does suck to be you.

My dog is having the time of his life though. He now has a permanent playmate in Beau Hunk’s dog, who is a big fluffy red Golden Retriever. The Red Dog is a sweetie. Too much so, if you ask me. He lets himself get totally bullied by my Corgi. I guess he doesn’t realize he’s twice the height and weight of my dog, because he’s totally my dog’s bitch. They do get along though, and it’s a lot of fun to watch them play. The Red Dog will even bow down to my dog’s height so they can play. It’s so sweet! But he’s a pussy, so he gets pushed around when my dog decides to be the “big” dog. Sorry Red Dog. Welcome to your new life. It’s not all bad though, because he now has regular access to a human with fingernails who is perfectly content to sit and scratch his ears. That’s the definition of Doggy Heaven.

Woo is settling in nicely. He has his own room, complete with a big-boy bed, more toys than any one child should claim as their own, and a TV/VCR combo to watch videos. He’s also right across the hall from us, so when he cries out in the night, we’re right there to help him out. The poor kid seems to be plagued by nightmares. (Not related to move stress, he’s been doing this for a while.) He cries out 3-4 times a night, and at least once a night he’ll wake all the way up and cry for his Daddy. And oh the humanity if I go in and try to put him back to sleep! He’ll spend a few minutes throwing a sleepy little tizzy fit, and trying to get as far away from me as possible on the bed. But he usually falls asleep in a few minutes, so apparently it’s not life threatening. Sorry kiddo, welcome to your new life. I’m here, Daddy still loves you, and I promise nothing will eat you in your sleep. That’s about the best I can do for you at this point.

As for me and the Beau Hunk, we seem to be settling in ok as well. He’s already picked out a whole list of projects he wants to do around the house. The weather isn’t cooperating just yet, but I’m getting excited about some of the plans he’s making. He’s been really sweet about doing the shopping and making dinner. He’s even been serving me dinner when I get home. I told him that wasn’t necessary, but he likes to cook (and is frankly better at it than I am), and since he’s home while I’m at work, he says it makes the most sense. That’s sweet.

Coming home has gotten somewhat overwhelming. I’m used to coming in the door and being greeted by a cat. Now I’ve got the cat, two dogs - one of whom is beating my shins to death with his tail in an effort to get his ears scratched, the other who is trying to trip me – Woo and Beau Hunk. As I said, it’s a little overwhelming for a girl who is used to living the quiet life. But that’s ok, it’s not such a bad thing to be tackled with love as you come home. I just laugh and say “Welcome to your new life”.

Happy Hearts Day everyone! You will all be happy to know that I did not spend the day sitting in a cubicle filled with dozens and dozens of roses, dripping in gifted diamonds, nor dining by candlelight in some romantic restaurant where a two-bite pork chop with a sprig of parsley costs a month’s salary. I may be evolving, but let’s be serious, shall we? If I made that much change that fast I’d strip a gear or something. (And then I’d go jump off a bridge for being too ridiculous to live.)

The Beau Hunk and decided ahead of time that today is a Hallmark Holiday, and thus does not deserve more than a passing notice. We’ve said that we should show how much we love each other whenever we damned well please and not let that display of affection be dictated by a calendar. Hallmark can keep their holiday, and we will keep our money. So, no gifts at Chez Haggie tonight.

The pseudo-holiday almost went without notice though. After I got out of the shower this morning, I sat down and chatted with Beau Hunk in bed for a while. He left the room and I turned on the news, only to realize it was Valentine’s Day. Oops. I went and found a barely-awake Beau Hunk, planted a kiss on his forehead, and wished him a Happy Hearts Day. He called me at work later and offered up takeout from my favorite Chinese restaurant for dinner. It’s not as lopsided as it sounds, since he usually does all the cooking he gets the night off. Also, logistics dictate that I pick up the food. However, the fact that he suggested Chinese is all about me, since that’s my favorite, not his. So I think we’ve found a nice equitable split for this one.

Woo’s school had a Valentine exchange today too. We received a note on Thursday that we were to send in 20 Valentines with Woo’s name on them, they’d do the rest. Cool! We happened to be at the grocery store on Saturday and thought since they have a greeting card section there, we’d save ourselves an extra trip and buy them there. Uh, not.

The biggest packs they had were packages of eight, and they were $4.99 each. Holy shit, what a rip off! There’s no way in hell we were paying 15 fucking dollars for something that may or may not even make it out of the school. We drove over to the drug store and found something much more suitable to our cause: kid Valentines in boxes of 32 for $1.99. Score! We even bought a spare box to send to the school, in case somebody forgot to send theirs in, or whatever. It seems that a lot of the kids in this school not only have special emotional and physical needs, but come from some pretty unfair home lives as well. It was the least we could do. And hey, it’s not like we were going broke spending money on each other. We both agreed this was a more than worthy cause.

Of course, when I got home from work, dinner in hand, I did discover that Beau Hunk had bought me a lovely bunch of red and white carnations, and a box of chocolates. He’s such a sweetie pie! I felt kinda bad though, since I didn’t get him anything.

So no, I didn’t have some overblown celebration punctuated by the ring of a cash register. And guess what? I love it. I love the Beau Hunk and Woo, and they love me. I have received the best gift anyone could ever get in the name of love: a family. I have a man who cooks for me, changes the oil in my car, takes care of our home, does projects in our yard, tells me I’m beautiful and is willing to share his life and child with me. I have a little boy who gives me snuggly hugs when he wakes up, run-and-fling laughing hugs when I leave the house each morning, and big smiley hugs when I get home.

How does life get any better than that?

Our weather here has been totally schizo lately. One day it’s sunny and warm, the next you’re Googling “How to Build an Ark”. And once again, I’ve been perfecting my Doing It Wrong technique. Two weekends ago I went for a Saturday ride. We only went 20 miles, but I forgave myself since it basically rained the whole fucking time. Well, except for when we were a quarter mile from the finish. Then it stopped. Mother Nature, you’re one sick bitch.

Except for being soaked to my skin, it was a decent ride. We only had one car who acted like a fucknozzle. Some dickweed in a Toyota Sequoia passed us on a blind hill at full speed, and made sure he didn’t give us any room at all. Apparently he had places to go and couldn’t be inconvenienced to slow down to the speed of sound for five seconds and let us crest the hill so he could see if cars were coming and give us an inch or two. Nooooo. That would have been a bother to him, being a certified Penis For Brains. Besides, letting off the accelerator may have made him spill his Mega-Venti Double Dorkachino with Cheese, since his other hand was probably on his cell phone.

Bah. But it was only one car, and there were many who had the chance to kill us, and no others who took it, so I should be grateful. Although, there was a guy out on a deserted country road who drove by going the opposite direction and honked nastily at us. We figured he was just pissed because he was on his big fat ass in his dry warm pickup, instead of out riding his bike in the rain like us. Yeah, that would piss me off too.

Anyway, back to Doing It Wrong. So I rode in the rain two Saturdays ago. This past weekend, when it was nice and sunny? I slept in. Yeah, I’m that dumb. My mother would say I don’t have enough sense to come in out of the rain, but I refuse to admit that she’s right. So for the record, I have that sense, I just don’t use it. What I do lack is the sense to go out and ride my bike in the sunshine. Duh.

Woo has a new bike. Beau Hunk and I spotted a Trek Trikester at a bike shop. Man, this is the coolest kid bike ever! It has big fat tires that have air tubes in them, the seat adjusts forward/back and up/down, and the deck between the back wheels holds 700 pounds, so the adults can stand on it and push if need be. Whoo! It goes off road and Wooster just loves it. He’s been riding around the local parks with Beau Hunk when it’s not too nasty out. Notice I didn’t say “when it’s not raining”. Woo is a boy and is perfectly happy to ride his bike in a sprinkle. Of course we don’t let him ride in full on rain, but he would if we’d let him.

The first day he took out his Trikester, Woo rode for what we estimate to be four miles. He came home, ate a huge pile of Cheerios, drank a whole glass of water, demanded his jammies and then went down the hall and put himself to bed. At 5pm. He slept until 5:30 the next morning. He’s been regularly riding 2-2.5 miles a day since. He’s the Lance Armstrong of the preschool circuit.

He’s a natural born mountain mountain biker too, just like his Daddy. He rides the trike on sidewalks and trails, and purposely goes off the path and aims for tree roots, mud puddles, anything that is more fun than pavement. As he’s running over the stuff, he turns to watch the back wheels and grins like the little imp that he is. He’s in heaven on that thing.

So everyone in our house is awaiting the end of the rainy season. We’ve got place to go and bikes to ride!

About a month ago I received a challenge from the Beau Hunk. He challenged me to ride to the top of Mt. Diablo with him. This is no small feat. Mt. Diablo is the highest point in our county with a summit height of 3,849 feet. The climb by bicycle is about 3,500, done in approximately 11 miles - all climbing on the way up, all downhill on the way down. And just when you think you’ve made it, the mountain smacks you with the final injurious insult - a 100 yard stretch of road that climbs at an 18% grade. Ow.

Since my winter of wallowing turned into my spring of sloth, the Beau Hunk’s challenge was designed as a blatant attempt to incent me back on to the bike. It worked. I went into training. I got back on my diet (ok, only sort of) and started riding when the weather allowed, and riding the trainer when it didn’t. I even joined my pal Ms. New York a couple of times for an after-work jaunt halfway up the mountain to the Ranger’s Station just above the 2,000 feet marker.

We set the date for our little challenge/adventure for May 1st. There was some trepidation over the weather since the weatherheads were calling for rain Sunday morning. We decided we were making our ride, rain or shine. This was a challenge, afterall. The Beau Hunk invited Ms. New York and Ms. Monday to join us on our adventure. Sunday dawned to beautiful clear weather. We were on, no excuses.

We all met at the appointed time and place, nerves ringing. This was the day. The challenge was upon us. Beau Hunk made a few laps around the parking lot saying “if I never stop, this doesn’t happen”. No honey, we have to go. Breathe breathe breathe.

Bikes were mounted, pedals started turning and we were off.

At one point along the way we caught up to a man on a mountain bike puffing his way up the mountain. We had seem him go by when we were taking a scenery break earlier. I whispered to Beau Hunk “Catch up to him. I want to pass him. I’ve never done that before!” It’s true, I’m an asshole. I’ve been passed by a cast of thousands when climbing, but rarely ever get the chance to pass anyone else. Especially on this mountain. So I settled in behind Beau Hunk and drafted him past the man on the mountain bike. When we were sufficiently clear, I whispered to Ms. New York “I wanted to pass someone. I never get to do that.” She replied “Never mind that he’s 90 and on a mountain bike.” Ok, she’s got me there. But what the fuck. I take my victories where I can. Sometimes I feel good just passing road kill. If I don’t make shit up, I never have any fun.

Along the way we were passed by what felt like an unusually large number of cars. Cars heading up the mountain are to be expected, especially on clear and spectatular days like Sunday was, but it really felt like we were being passed a lot. They all left us plenty of room when they went by, but we noticed that too many of them had no qualms about going into the opposite lane on a blind corner. Folks, I appreciate the fact that you are crossing a double yellow to not squeeze me, but could you perhaps try to to it when you can see that you’re not going to hit a car or cyclist coming the other way? Thanks.

We also noticed that a large percentage of these cars were being driven by what appeared to be 12-year olds. I swear, those kids looked like they belonged on a Huggies box, not behind the wheel of a car. It is at times like this when I realize that I have turned into that old woman down the street who is always yelling at the kids to get off her lawn. But I digress…

The car situation got so obvious and happened so often that the Beau Hunk started re-thinking the challenge. Did we really need to go to the top? I was ready, I was willing. But I hate the piece of road that provides the sole ascention to the summit. It’s narrower, rougher, and more traveled than the North Road we were on. Missing it wouldn’t hurt my feelings, not one bit. The decision was made, the ride would be cut short to reduce the potential exposure to idiots, especially those of the “loose nut behind the wheel” variety.

We settled on riding to the Stagecoach group campground instead of the summit. We reached the campground well rested and all feeling great. We parked the bikes, the Beau Hunk took my hand and we walked towards a secluded spot. It was time for my reward.

Yep, that’s what you think it is. (Click here for the whole pic.) The Beau Hunk and I are officially betrothed. Or something like that. We’re gonna do that whole “married” thing. Eventually.

Now if you go back and read the entry again, you may realize that this was not a surprise to anyone involved. We picked out my ring (it’s actually a wedding set) and his wedding ring a while back. But since I am involved with what is basically an evil genius, he decided to use this opportunity to get my ass off the couch and back on the bike. Bastard!!

Not only were we joined by an exuberant Ms. New York, but Ms. Monday (previously of Monday night ride fame) joined us as well. However, Ms. Monday had knee surgery about six weeks ago, so while she is back on the bike, she isn’t allowed to climb yet. Especially the likes of Diablo. So we invited her to join us via car. She played SAG wagon for us and schlepped our excess clothes and our food.

And oh, the food! After Beau Hunk and I had our private moment, we had an absolute feast. Ms. New York and Ms. Monday had gone shopping and had the whole spread laid out in no time flat. We even had “engagement goblets” - little plastic cups with a diamond pattern made to resemble cut glass. We raised a toast of Martinelli’s Apple-Cranberry cider for me and Hornsby’s Hard Cider for the Beau Hunk. There was champagne on hand, but we never opened it. (Too many people riding/driving for any amount of alcohol.)

We had wheat crackers, rykrisp crackers, bread, smoked cheese, Laughing Cow cheese, wine-soaked Brie cheese, Feta cheese, hummus, strawberries, a vegetable platter (with ranch dip), milk chocolate, dark chocolate and chocolate covered biscuits. Did I mention it was a feast? Yeah, no joke. It beat the hell out of the Clif bars I usually eat.

After we ate, we packed up the whole lot into Ms. Monday’s van and headed down the mountain. Oddly enough, we didn’t encounter a single car going our direction on the way down. That’s always a treat.

So we didn’t make it all the way to the summit, but the objective was obtained. We made our way up the mountain and made our future official. For me, it hasn’t really sunk in yet. I have occasional moments of clarity when it hits me that I’m engaged. I’m going to get married. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!!!! And then the moment goes away, and I’m back to my same old self, but with this sparkly thing on my finger.

I called my Mom & Dad Sunday night. Mom was pleased, and when she mentioned “engaged” over the phone, my father overheard and asked if it was my niece on the phone. In explaining his reaction he said “I didn’t think you’d do that. I mean, I didn’t think you would let that happen. I mean, I didn’t think it would ever happen.” At that point I said “Dad? Please, just stop talking. It’s not getting any better.” He was a little affronted by this, but I thought it was funny.

You must remember that this is the man who once walked into his house to find me crying in a fit of frustration, took one look at me and declared that he was going to take a piss. Atta boy dad! My father is a very kind, warm, loving, wondeful man. But he is totally clueless when it comes to mushy girlie stuff. You have to love him anyway. At least I do.

So Mom & Dad are happy, the rest of the family is happy. But most of all, the Beau Hunk and I are happy. A little freaked out, but happy anyway.

So as the word of our pending hitch spreads, I’m seeing a pattern to the questions being asked. I thought I might save some time by taking a shot an an FAQ.

Have you picked a date?
No, we don’t have a date. We don’t have a specific month. We have picked a season though. For now, that’s close enough.

What kind of ceremony are you going to have?
We haven’t decided on specifics yet. (You’ll see this as a recurring theme.) We haven’t decided if we want to do something that is just the two of us. If we do have a party / gathering / ceremony, it will be casual, it will be fun, and it will be low key. And it will be inexpensive.

You will not find me planning an extraaavaaagaaannnzaaa that involves a tiara, a dress that costs more than my car, 14 bridesmaids or 600 invited guests. Which also means I will not be purchasing a bus ticket to Las Vegas anytime soon.

Frankly, I couldn’t invite 600 people if I tried. I swear, if I got down the the level of my dog’s vet’s sister’s pool boy, I couldn’t find 600 people to invite. And 14 bridesmaids? Fuck off. Someone thinks awfully highly of themself, now don’t they?

Are you going to get married on a bike?
We haven’t made any plans yet, so anything is possible. I wouldn’t rule out bikes being involved some way or another. Afterall, we met on a bike ride, our first date was a bike ride, and we got engaged on a bike ride. Anything could happen.

Did you pick the ring, or was it a surprise?
We went together and picked out the ring. Beau Hunk’s theory was that it would be on my finger, so I should get something I like. Works for me!

The pictures on the engagement entry sucked. What does the ring really look like?
You try taking pictures of your own hand when you’re all excited and giddy and totally fucking freaked out by what’s about to happen. Yes, the pictures sucked.

The ring is a princess cut center stone set “on the diagonal”. The side stones are (moving from the center outward) two channel-set round stones. The outer set of stones are channel set baguettes.

I’ve never seen a center stone set like that. How did you find that?
It found us. I like princess cut stones, so that’s what we were looking at. Traditionally, the stone is set in a square, not on it’s point. (Here’s a pic of the whole set from the jewelry store website with the traditionally set stone.) The salesperson had several stones out for us to look at, and was in the process of putting a candidate into the mounting prongs on the ring so we could see what it looked like. She sort of flubbed the placement and it landed sideways - on the diagonal. Beau Hunk and I both commented that we thought that was a cool setting, too bad we couldn’t do that. The saleslady said we could absolutely do that. Cool! Make it so, Mr. Jeweler! I think it adds a special little pizzazz and a uniqueness that makes it “mine”.

Are you used to wearing a ring yet?
I’m having issues getting used to the way the stone sticks up. I’ve already dipped it in a bowl of chili when I mis-calculated where the back of my finger was when crunching up the crackers. Oops. Shoving my hands into my pants pockets doesn’t work so well anymore, and I almost poked the cat in the eye a few times when she got lovey and started rubbing her head on my hand. No injuries yet though.

And so there ya go. Everything you wanted to know but were afraid to ask.

I went missing again…surprise, no? I know I always say that things are nuts around here, but really, they are.

It’s like this folks - there’s major changes afoot, and not just getting married. (No, we haven’t set a date yet.) Beau Hunk and I have decided to sell the house and move away. Far away. About 200 miles north, to be exact. So, we’re doing all those things that need to be done to the house to get maximum return and take advantage of the absolutely insane housing prices here. If I told you what houses in my neighborhood were selling for, you’d call me a liar. Hell, I live here and I don’t believe it!

As if fixing up the house, selling, buying and moving wasn’t enough, I’ve also decided to make a major change in my career. As in totally ditching the one I have now and starting over. I’ve decided to become a paralegal. The community college in our destination area has a paralegal curriculum, so I’m going for it. And again, as if that wasn’t change enough, I’ve also decided to go for a degree while I’m there. I don’t have one, so why not? It’s not required for the job, but hey, I might as well. Got nuthin better ta dooooo. Yeah, right.

So our life has resembled the inside of blender lately. The Beau Hunk has been hard at work around the house. He’s been ripping out landscaping, has put in pea-gravel in the dog run and along the other side yard, and put in a back yard. (Grass! I have grass!!!) Dad’s been doing his part too - he came down and sheetrocked the garage (which I painted) and is working on making us new cabinet doors for the kitchen.

The kitchen will be a massive project in and of itself. We are going to replace the linoleum, paint the existing cabinets and put new doors on, replace all the appliances, and put in new granite tile countertops. The sad part is that once we get all this done, we’re going to sell. I’ve lived with that ugly fucking kitchen (including the avocado green stove hood) for six fucking years. Just when it gets livable, I’m going to leave! Oh well, I’ll be on to bigger and better things and won’t miss it at all, I’m sure.

The Beau Hunk picked up our new closet doors today. (There’s another thing I’ve been cussing since I moved into this place, but could never afford to replace.) So in the very near future I’ll be able to open and close my closet without two hands, screeching metal noises and a lot of luck. You probably don’t realize how happy this makes me.

Last weekend we began the process of tiling the entryway. We ripped up the really ugly linoleum tiles and put down the underlayment for the tile. We bought the tile, but haven’t started installing it yet, because we need to time that with our custody of Woo. These projects were so much easier to plan and execute when there wasn’t a four year old running around! There’s just no way we can do some things (like use thinset and put in tile) with the little guy at home, so we are juggling projects.

Which brings us to a Woo update. And boy, what an update. (Warning to non-parents - you may want to skip the rest of this entry.) We’ve been struggling with stage two of toilet training with him - Poopy Toilet. He’s been pee-trained for close to a year now, but he refused to crap in the toilet. When I say “refused”, I mean re-fucking-fused. Even the mention of Poopy Toilet brought on a screaming fit like you can’t imagine. His little face would cloud up, he’d get a panicked look in his eyes, start crying, vehemently shake his head and loudly declare “No Poopy Toilet!!!!” for the whole neighborhood to hear.

For whatever reason, toilet training autistics is not easy. They don’t want to do it. I’ve read some books on the subject, and the reasons seem to vary from terror from feeling like their insides are falling out, to being comforted by the warmth and weight of a full diaper. But life with a four year old (five in December) in diapers isn’t easy. Have you ever seen what comes out of a four year old kid? We use toilets for a reason ya know.

Everyone had lots of sage advice: sit him on the pot and give him his favorite toy…offer him his favorite food…sing to him and play games. All of which we tried, but none of which got anywhere, because he would go into a screaming thrashing fit everytime the words Poopy Toilet were mentioned.

We had minor success waiting for signs of desperation and holding him on the toilet. But he spent the entire time screaming, crying and fighting with all of his strength to get off. What a joy that was - for all of us. The thought process behind this was that if we could get him to go a few times, have a big party when he did poop, he’d see that it wasn’t anything to be afraid of and be ok with it. Shows what we know… this went on for months, and the screaming, wailing and thrashing never abated in the least. Then he outsmarted us and started holding it - for days. When he got desperate, he’d wait for his nighttime diaper and sneak off for a clandestine crap. When we started limiting his diaper time, he started sneaking off in the back yard and pooping in his pants. So we quit giving him outside play time. Every aspect of this was pure hell - for all of us.

Two weeks ago I saw him in desperate need again. We went through the ritual - he screamed in my face and I refused to let him off the pot. Then I started acting like I was going to tickle him. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry - so he did both. I kept tickling. He quit crying, started laughing and said “I want tittle prease.” He wanted to be tickled. Ok, fine by me, I tickled him. Then he yelled “Stop!”, which I did. He looked at me and smiled, and I caught a whiff.

He pooped. In the toilet. And he wasn’t screaming. Could it be? I got excited and asked him “Did you poopy? Did you Poopy Toilet???” He tilted to one side and I saw an absolutely humongous crap curled up in the bottom of the bowl. Let the party begin, we have poop! And what a party it was. We wah-hooed, hugged and celebrated. We yelled for Daddy, and did more wah-hooing, hugging and celebrating.

The next night I got home from work and saw that he was clutching his butt - a sure sign he had to go. Down the hall we went, he asked for “fast tickle”, and before I knew it he pooped. Cool! Fast, easy and without trauma. It was another Poopy Party.

The next day was Saturday. Beau Hunk went out on an early morning bike ride, so Wooster and I were hanging out. He was lounging around, still in the diaper and jammies from the night. Imagine my surprise when he looked at me and said “I want Poopy Toilet prease”. Well alrighty then!! We hung out in the bathroom playing for about 20-30 minutes. I thought to myself ok, this ain’t gonna happen. He just wants the party, but I’ll give it to him because I’m not going to fight it if he asks for it.

I got up and left the room to get him his clothes for the day. I had been out of the room for about 20 seconds and I heard a noise. I went back to the bathroom and the kid had pooped! The biggest party you ever saw came down after that. This is a kid that just a few days before would have used the still-in-a-night-diaper opportunity to sneak off and poop without use of a toilet. I was so excited I sent Beau Hunk a text message.

It’s been a couple of weeks now, and he’s consistently asking for Poopy Toilet. I’ve even become the kid’s Preferred Poopy Partner and Fecal Friend. I don’t mind, because at least he’s not screaming in my face the entire time. I’m telling you, words cannot express how happy I am about this. Talk about your major milestone - not to mention a serious Quality of Life upgrade for the Beau Hunk and me.

So there ya go. The latest Poop Scoop - on all facets of my life.

And you’re probably sorry you read this far.

I’m not even sure how the conversation started. I do remember that I was basking around in the tub, and the Beau Hunk was keeping me company, hanging out in the bathroom and chatting me up. Somehow or another, the subject of our impending nuptials came up. This is a subject that has heretofore been taboo, causing massive amounts of stress and tension in both of us. But I guess the scent of peppermint oil coming off the tub must have hit us both just right, because suddenly we were talking about making plans. The broad stokes had already been laid down: nothing big, elaborate, nor expensive, and guests optional.

A few general ideas were bandied about - a hot air balloon ride for two (three if you count the pilot/officiant), a mountain bike ride, the side of Mt. Diablo (site of our engagement), a chartered boat on Lake Tahoe. We even had a brief discussion about cutting to the chase and doing “weddings R us” in Reno or Tahoe, or city hall. Beau Hunk ruled out the Reno/Tahoe WeddingHut idea because so many of them are just fucking cheesy. I nixxed the city hall idea, wanting something a little more special than “Congratulations, pay at window B”. Besides, the idea of getting married at the same place where you pay your water bill and renew the dog’s license was a bit off-putting to me. I may be practical, but I’m not that practical.

Then Beau Hunk tossed out the idea of someplace on the North Coast. We have had some brief and vague discussions about taking a honeymoon on the northern California coastline, so I had already done research for that area. It wasn’t long before I was in his face with a URL. “How about this place? It has a little gazebo out on a cliff point. What do you think?” He liked. As a matter of fact, it was a place where his parents had gone to vacation on many occasions.

The next thing you know, we were looking at the various rooms, trying to find one we really liked. We agreed on a gorgeous room - king sized feather bed, sitting room, wet bar, fireplace, sun room and double jetted tub, all with an ocean view. Yes, even the tub has an ocean view window.

The guest list was discussed next. We want to keep this small, especially since we were looking at travelling three hours from home. My parents were the core group. Extending beyond that, even if keeping only to those with whom we share DNA, the list grows exponentially. You open the floor to friends, you quickly get to 50+ guests, and even at that, someone gets their feelings hurt. We want to keep this small and as inexpensive as possible, without it looking like a cheap occasion. Besides the money issue, there’s a whole minefield of familial bullshit that is best avoided, so the decision was quickly reached to only invite my parents. They’re pretty much the only ones that wouldn’t understand, nor get over, not being invited.

I called the establishment and spoke to their wedding coordinator. “We want to get married in September or October, our dates are flexible, and we can do mid-week. We want to stay in X room, and we will be booking a room for my parents. Can you help us?” Of course!

A few minutes of looking, some discussion as to the needs of my parents (quiet, King bed), and two date ranges were in front of me. We chose October 12th. I’m getting married on October 12th. My anniversary will be on October 12th. I like it. Moreover, I think I can remember it.

We are going up on the 11th, and will be checking out the 13th. The ceremony will be the afternoon of the 12th. We booked a “spa package” (got a great break on the room rate), so we are both scheduled to get one-hour massages. I was obsessively looking over the website and saw something about horseback riding in the vicinity. I mentioned it to Beau Hunk, mostly as a joke. “Look honey! We can go horseback riding, on the beach!!” He blew my socks off by telling me to set it up. Wha?? You want to go horseback riding? Sure! He’s never ridden a horse on the beach before. Man, this just gets better (and sappier).

In thinking about the timing of the weekend, we didn’t really want to have to rush up on the 11th. I know we’re going to both be nervous wrecks on the 12th. So what better way to make the clock move than to schedule activities on our wedding day?? I booked the horseback ride for mid-morning, and the massages for early afternoon. That will give us plenty of time in between to not rush, but will keep us occupied and focused on something besides “We’re getting married in ten hours, thirty six minutes and fourteen seconds… we’re getting married in ten hours, thirty six minutes and thirteen seconds…” If we thought the engagement freaked us out, the wedding will most likely turn us inside out. I’m hoping having something else to do will help.

Since we aren’t having the traditional affair, getting ready should be easy too. We aren’t having a cake, there’s no reception, and we’re having dinner in the dining room with my parents. We haven’t even decided if we want a photographer. I have to do more research - most seem to want a two-hour minimum. We’ll be stretching it if we need one for an hour. Afterall, how many pictures can you take of four people?? I need to make some calls and see if one of the local pros will be willing to waive the two hour minimum for some mid-week work. It’s a Wednesday for fuck’s sake, chances are they won’t have anything better to do.

I am going to have a small, simple bouquet. Beau Hunk is going to wear a suit he already owns (and which makes him look every bit a Beau Hunk). I am not wearing a “wedding dress”, but am getting married in a dress. When I called Mom to ask if she and Dad were free October 11-13 and tell her the news, she said “You’ll have to come up and we’ll go dress shopping at Nordstrom.” I kind of hemmed and hawed - I lost my shopping enthusiasm many years ago, and have yet to find it. Left to my own devices I’d probably pick up something at Ross or some sale rack. She sensed my hesitation and quietly said “Oh, you probably want to go shopping with Ms. Monday or BonBon.”

That’s when I realized I was being a selfish twit. My Mom wants to go shopping for the dress her only daughter will wear at her wedding. Who the fuck am I to take that away from her. Duh! So I said yes, I’ll come up, we’ll go shopping and make a day out of it. I really can be dense and selfish at times. I never thought for a minute that going dress shopping would be important to her - it certainly isn’t to me.

Within a few hours of the start of the conversation in the tub, we had a date picked and a wedding planned. It was that simple. There’s only a few details left - like the photographer, booking the officiant (the hotel recommended someone) and getting my dress. We’re done. Except there’s one more project to tackle, and it’s going to be the biggest and toughest of them all. It’s called “Losing 20 Pounds so I Don’t Look Like a Stuffed Sausage in My Wedding Dress”.

Hm. Maybe I should re-think that City Hall option.

Before I begin my self-absorbed tale, I want to send my best thoughts / wishes / prayers to those of affected by hurricanes Katrina and Rita. I hope you all are starting to get things back together there, an that you and yours made it safely through the storms. Looking at the devestation on TV is one thing, but I can’t even begin to imagine having to witness it first hand - especially if the rubble and debris is your own neighborhood. Be safe and be well.

When we last left our heroine (modestly known as me), she had set a date for her wedding and was contemplating a move 200 miles away from her current home. That was more than two months ago. I am now writing this from the comfort of our new home in our new city, 200 miles away from the last entry.

Here’s the unnecessarily long version of this story, with my apologies for it’s ramblings and extreme boredom:

At the end of July, Beau Hunk and I took a trip to the area to which we were moving. Neither one of us had been up there for decades, so it seemed appropriate that we go check it out. We had been doing a lot of research on the web, checking out houses for sale, crime reports, biking info etc. We had also talked to several real estate agents, but had yet to commit to one. We finally found an agent we really liked. She wasn’t pushy, she wasn’t hard core, she had experience with special needs kids (and had some of her own), and knew her business. We made plans to go north and have her squire us around.

The plan was for us to arrive on Friday and check out some things on our own, then meet with her on Saturday and Sunday (if needed). Since our hotel was not so fabulous, we decided to head out and explore neighborhoods. We ended up calling our agent to get us info on houses we had drove by but for which we had no info. It turned out she was available and could come squire us around right then. Cool! It turned out to be a frustrating, disappointing and very long day. One thing we found out was that owning land didn’t mean you could use the land. Many lots had either large easements for greenspace, or just dived off a hill. So houses that had 2 acres on paper would really only have 20 feet of usable backyard before it dropped off into a canyon. We don’t have much of a desire to pay for land we can’t use.

We weren’t scheduled to meet with our agent until noon Saturday, so we headed out to check out some different neighborhoods on our own. We stumbled upon one neighboorhood we really, really liked that had houses for sale. We ended up driving around and calling our agent with messages like “We found another one - the address is blah blah blah. Add that one to the list.”

We met with the agent and spent most of the day running around this neighborhood looking at places. We found one that we considered making an offer on, but we thought the price was out of line. Especially since the place was a total estrogen-fest. There was floral wallpaper everywhere. Especially the bathroom. Beau Hunk and I walked in there, and I swear, I could feel his balls shrinking from across the room. There was no way in hell that bathroom stayed that way, so there was work to be done.

The decision was made to go back to the agent’s office and comp the house, just to see what a reasonable offer would be. In doing that, we found a house across the street that was up for significantly less. We recalled the house - it was what Beau Hunk referred to as “the booger of the block” - it was by far the least kept house on the block, but the price was right, so we decided to give it a look. We were told by the selling agent that we should “look past the piles of stuff”.

That was not an understatement. When we pulled up, the garage door was open, revealing piles and piles and piles of boxes. I spotted a stack of canned goods in cases, including two cases of red beans, and two cases of cream of mushroom soup. I knew instantly this was not a healthy person we were about to meet. The inside of the house was also crammed full of stuff. The living room held two TVs, a very large mechanic’s toolbox and dozens of cardboard boxes. One bedroom was so full of stuff we couldn’t even get in. The carpets (that we could see and weren’t covered by stuff) were dingy gray and really stained.

The lot was huge, but the owner had never done anything with it. The back yard consisted of weeds and a rickety fence. The property extended beyond the fence, where the weeds were just as thick, only they were eyeball-high instead of knee-high. But the property backed up to green space and there were no houses behind. That was something that really appealed to us.

This house was a really nice neighborhood, and the price was at least $100K below the other houses around, so we decided to go for it. We made an offer and drove home, hoping for the best.

Of course, nothing could be quite that simple in my life, could it? Of course not! You see, we asked for a 45 day escrow, not contingent on selling the Bay Area house. Afterall, the Bay Area market is hotter than hell, so selling wouldn’t be a problem. Except that the house wasn’t ready to be put on the market yet. We still had work to do. That my friends, is what programmers and other geeky types call a “sequence error”.

So we hauled ass home and started doing the bare minimum things that had to be done to sell the house: scrub up the kitchen cabinets, paint the exterior, finish touch-up painting, etc. Time was running out, we had work to do!

In the meantime, we started arranging financing, which was somewhat complicated by the fact that I was about to be unemployed. We were up front about this to all the lenders, and they all seemed to accept it since we were making a pretty good down payment. The best rates were through The Company Whose Name Starts With E and Ends With Loan. Everything was cool for four days - until we got past the person who took our app and started talking to our loan consultant, a person we named Attitudinal Asshole. Suddenly there was “no way, no how” this loan would go through, because I was going to be unemployed. We explained that we had that all worked out with the previous person, and the response back was “He works for me, he’s made a serious error in judgement and will be counselled. I am the be-all end-all of this loan, and no how, no way does it fund.” You’re fucking kidding me. Even if that’s the case, what kind of customer representative says those words??

We went back to the original person to whom we had been dealing for the last four days. He verbally rolled his eyes and went to his supervisor, who immediately had the loan re-run with $1/year for income. No problem, the rate even stayed the same. So back to the Attitudinal Asshole, who had to eat his words. I, being an asshole myself, had to rub it in a bit. “So I need some assurance that this process won’t hit anymore roadblocks along the way, because yesterday it was ‘No how, no way’ and today it’s ok.” He copped more attitude and said he couldn’t assure me of anything. Then he wanted a ton of documentation for the loan - we’re talking everything short of a picture of my mother with a fish up her nose. We had had enough.

We once again contacted the original person with whom we had dealt, who once again went to his supervisor. But this time, the supervisor called Beau Hunk directly. They were not amused with the language that Attitudinal Asshole had used, and immediately removed him from the case. They assigned us a new loan coordinator who was totally awesome to work with. Good thing too, because they were about to lose our business. Low rates are one thing, but if you have to get your balls busted to get it, it’s not worth it.

Somehow we managed to get the work done to the house and get the bloody thing on the market, but it took a few weeks. We went into MLS on Thursday, had an open house on Saturday, and had two offers on the table by Monday. Both were for 100% financing with cash back for closing costs. That meant we needed a full 30 day escrow, which would put us past our close date for the new house. Which was a problem, because we needed the payoff from the Bay Area house to put the down on the new house. Yep, another Sequence Error was looming.

Then the real fun began. We made a counter to the terms on the first offer (not money, just closing dates and such) on Monday night. On Tuesday night we got a call from the buying agent saying she didn’t have an answer to the counter yet, but could her clients come by and look again? You see, it turns out that the husband made an offer without the wife’s knowledge and she hadn’t seen the house yet. WTF? But ok, whatever.

When the couple showed up, Beau Hunk recognized the wife as a person who had come up to the door Sunday afternoon and made up some story about how she was supposed to meet her agent there in a few minutes, so golly, could she just come in now? Rule number one of selling a house: never let anyone in your house without an agent. And we knew she was making up the story, because the listing said agents must call ahead before showing up. We have a small child afterall, and some times are not optimal for people to drop by. No call from an agent means she wasn’t meeting her agent there in a few minuts. She was lying. We turned her away, saying when her agent got here, the agent could call ahead for an appointment. She got in her car and left. Amazingly enough, an agent never showed up.

So imagine our surprise when she showed up at the door on Monday. Had she just told the truth on Sunday, we probably would have let her in. We still haven’t figured out why she felt like she needed to lie. It turned out to be a moot point, because they declined our counter offer on Tuesday. We were actually relieved. We didn’t like the idea of doing business with a husband who made offers on houses without his wife’s knowledge and a wife who lies when the truth would have served her much better.

We moved on to the second offer and made the same counters to its terms. The buyer accepted the offer and we entered into escrow. With an accepted offer on the table, we made arrangements to delay the close of the house we were buying by a week so the Bay Area house would close in time for us to use the proceeds for the down payment.

But remember what I said about it not being that easy? No sooner did we get the seller of the house we were buying to agree to the later close date, than the buyers of our house backed out of the contract. Apparently “earnest money” and a signed contract don’t mean shit, and they backed out without consequence. I’m still amazed as to how that works, but whatever.

We now had to start over and find a new buyer. Which in all likelihood meant that we wouldn’t be able to close the Bay Area house before we had to come up with the down for the house we were buying. Panic ensued at the House O’Hag and Hunk, and we started scrambling to find other ways to make the down. We ended up being able to unlock some of the Bay Area house’s equity, but with loan processing times, it was going to be close. In the meantime, we dropped the price of the Bay Area house to get into a lower search bracket in MLS and relisted that sucker on Thursday.

By Monday morning we had three more offers on the table, with two more waffling. Two offers were for the new asking price at 100% financing and cash back for closing costs. But the third offer was for more than our original asking price and with 10% cash down! That meant that the escrow could close in less than 30 days. We could make our closing date! Not being idiots, we accepted this offer.

The only snag to this process was the equity we got out of the house to make the down. As expected, the loan took a while to come through, which meant that the payoff order couldn’t be put through right away. That delayed the sale of the Bay Area house, but we were able to close the house we were buying on time. Luckily, the delay in the Bay Area house wasn’t a problem, although we did come (literally) within minutes of the buyer losing his lock on his loan rate, which would have meant we would have had to pay a penalty for him to keep the rate. But no worry, it happened.

Now, since this entry is approximately four billion pages long, I will quit now. Coming soon - the fascinating tale of moving in to the new house. I know, bated breath and all that… but thanks for reading.

As the rest of the nation sat glued to their TVs tracking Hurricane Rita, Beau Hunk and I were preparing for an evacuation of our own - out of the Bay Area house. We spent a few weeks weeding through our stuff, planning what furniture to donate / give away, packing non-essential items and making 400 mile (round) trips to a storage unit with a rented trailer. The new house closed on the 23rd, and the Bay Area house wasn’t due to close until sometime around the 30th, so we knew we had some wiggle room.

But there were plenty of things on which we had not planned.

First of all, we knew the new house was being lived in by a person of questionable mental health. What we didn’t realize was the magnitude of his sloth. When we toured the house, the carpet was gray and stained. It was also covered by quite a lot of stuff, and all the windows had the drapes drawn and many were permanently covered, so there wasn’t exactly a flood of light coming in to the place.

We saw the house again a few weeks before we moved - we were in town to drop off stuff at our storage unit and went by the house. The owner was outside packing up his stuff and invited us in to see a few things. It was then that we realized the house was dirtier than we had thought and the carpets were not ready to be lived on. There was also still a lot of stuff in the house and the windows were still covered , so it was hard to get a good look at the whole picture.

We had been thinking about the possibility of removing a wall of the kitchen, so we didn’t want to replace the carpets until we had a chance to mull that over and make a decision. So instead we decided to have the carpets professionally cleaned before we moved in, in the hopes we could make them liveable. At least we knew they’d be clean for Woo.

What we didn’t realize was that the person who lived here had a magnitude of pigness that we hadn’t come close to estimating. We got here around 6pm on the 23rd, and were greeted by our wonderful agent who was bearing pizzas. She knew we were coming in late and didn’t know our way around town, so her welcome was dinner. It was a godsend!!

It was at this point we started to really see what we were up against. We walked into the house and the first thing that we noticed was that the carpets weren’t gray, they were pink. Think about that. Pink, not gray. Ew! And in spite of cleaning, they were still in terrible shape. (The cleaners had called us and said there was no way they could get them clean.) An example: You can see a clean rectangle where the couch was. You can see a clean rectangle where the coffee table was. And in between the two you can see which end of the couch the previous owner occupied, because the carpet is black. After being professionally cleaned. Black. No kidding. We put the couch over that spot because it’s just too gross to contemplate.

The previous owner made no effort to clean the place. It was truly disgusting. You know how when you use a bar of soap next to a sink and it leaves soap on the counter? He didn’t even wipe that up. He just packed, closed the door, and walked away. He left us his fridge (we left ours for our buyer - too much of a bitch to move) and there was even food left in it. Not much, but it was there. We’re talking half eaten ice cream containers. Why in the name of all that is good and holy would you think that was ok?

The walls were filthy, the tub was unspeakably gross, the kitchen floor was black in places, and even the walls and switch plates were filthy. We’re talking years of grime. The first night we assembled our new bed from Ikea and fell into it, wondering just what kind of a pig in a poke we had been suckered into buying.

Satuday dawned and we set out to make this sty liveable. I started in the kitchen, which would turn out to be a huge project. I started from the top down, scrubbing the cabinets with Murphy’s oil soap the OrangeGlo, the counter tops with SoftScrub with bleach and a stiff brush, and the floors with barely diluted PineSol. As soon as I started I knew I was in for a lot of work. When I started scrubbing the tile counters, the chocolate brown grout (that was black in places) started turning sandy beige. I didn’t know whether to wretch or cry. But the good news is that I hated the dark brown grout and it looks really good with beige grout. The cabinets had food stuck to them. The bottom rails of the doors (especially on the lower cabinets) had dirt and dust an eighth of an inch thick. The dining room ceiling light fixture had so much dust and gunk on it that light no longer made it through the clear glass on the top of the fixture. It was completely obscured by years of crud.

I finally got to the floor after about eight hours of cabinet and countertop scrubbing. I grabbed my kneeling pad I use for working in the garden and my stiff bristled brush and went to work. I tried the mop, but that was a waste of time. The dirt on the floor just laughed at my mop. It argued with my scrub brush, but I was eventually able to win the battle. At one point I got up and noticed that the tops of my feet were hideously dirty. I realized this was because I had been kneeling on the floor and the tops of my feet had been rubbing on the floor as I was doing so. The floor was that dirty.

Thank the dieties that Woo was with his mom during all this. I can’t imagine having him in this house with all this pigginess. I have come up with many nicknames for the previous owner, including Pig, PigBoy and Piggie Pie (the name of a book I read to Woo). I shared this with Beau Hunk, who laughed and commented that I had built up quite a disdain for the man. I said, yes, a day and a half of wallowing in someone else’s disgusting filth will do that to you.

While I was battling with the kitchen, Beau Hunk painted Woo’s room and put together his new furniture from Ikea. We painted the room a really pretty light sky blue. It looks really great. After that was done, Beau Hunk set in to tackle cleaning the bathrooms, door jambs and light switches. We decided our policy would be that we would not touch anything that the previous owner touched without chemical intervention.

By the time Woo got here on Sunday night, we had the place reasonalby together. We didn’t move in much furniture - first because some was back at the Bay Area house, secondly because we decided to replace the carpet as soon as possible. There’s not much point in moving stuff in just to move it back out in a few weeks.

Having our posessions spread out between the two houses became a real pain in the ass pretty quickly. For starters, we forgot to bring the box that had the computer mouse and our cell phone chargers. That may not sound too bad, but if you take into consideration that we didn’t put in a landline here and were using only our cells, you realize our quandry. To add salt to this wound, both our phones started dying at the same time - just as we got notice that the Bay Area house was about to close - three days early. Uh-oh. We went to a nearby store and bought a car charger to solve the phone problem. However, the real problem was that we still had a significant amount of belongings in that house. Oops.

We planned to leave the new place at 8am on Wednesday to make the 3-4 hour drive to the Bay Area and get the rest of our belongings. But because Fate is such a bitch, that plan was foiled when Woo woke up at 5:45 am asking for a puke bucket. He and I spent the next three hours going through puke cycles every 20 minutes. The poor little guy was in a bad way. He didn’t have a fever, and he wasn’t bringing up anything but liquid, so when he suddenly perked up around 9, we weren’t surprised. By 10am we were on the road, heading off to get our stuff and leave the Bay Area for good. For insurance (and in case Woo needed some tending), we asked my parents to drop everything and meet us at the house.

It was a good thing we did, too, because we ended up loading our truck and a rental trailer, plus their truck to the absolute gills to get everything out. We showed up at the Bay Area house at 2pm and didn’t leave until 9pm. We got back here at 1 in the morning. Talk about a really shitty day. Woo never puked again, but he was a huge handful. He didn’t do well with the stress and chaos, and was a complete butt the whole day. It was one meltdown and defiant act after another. We ended up asking my mom to dedicate her time to watching/entertaining Woo. I think she was ready to jump off a cliff when the day was done.

We sent my parents home with their load around 7pm while we tied up all the loose ends. It was a horrible, long day, but by the time we left, we were able to lock the doors, leave the keys on the counter and walk away. Forever. It was a good feeling. I’ll miss that little house - I (with the help of a lot of other people) put a lot of effort into fixing it up, but it was time to move on.

We are slowly getting settled into the new house. As we continue to pick away at the grime, we have discovered a lovely little jewel sitting below the filth. Carpet is on order, we’ve picked a paint color, and have a plan for the yards. We’ve made some quick hits that have really brightened the place up - cutting down or trimming overgrown bushes and trees, changing out light fixtures, etc. We have started to fall in love with our little house, and think we’re going to like it here just fine.

The neighborhood gossip lives across the street and informed us that Piggie Pie moved into the house after his mother died. The rumor is that she may have even died in the house. I thought about that and briefly wondered if she had any intentions of haunting our cute little abode. Then I decided that, if anything, she’s probably glad that someone is finally living in her house who will take care of it and not wallow around in their own filth. I think she might be happy that there is a family living here who cares about the place and fills it with light, love and laughter. She wouldn’t dare haunt us, we may be her wish come true.

So in the middle of all this mess of selling a house, buying a house, moving 200 miles and quitting my job*, I’ve also been planning a wedding. (And for those of you who have asked, yes, I do have a Wedding Registry at Amazon.) Ok, so ours is not the kind of wedding that requires much planning, but there are things to be done. So far we’ve taken care of the officiant, photographer, venue, guests (all two of them) and accomodations. The only thing left is ordering my bouquet. Oh, and getting me a dress.

That’s right, the wedding is a week away and I don’t have a dress yet. Yeah, I’m a dipshit. But that’s not exactly news, now is it?

*(I’ve kind of glossed that one over, but yeah, I quit my job. I liked my job, but this not working this is kinda cool. But that’s a story for another entry.)

So yesterday I made the trek down to Sacramento to go shopping with my mom. We started out going to a bridal shop, mostly just for curiosity. I found a couple of dresses I liked, but they were $300 - 500. I realize that’s not exactly pricey for bridal attire, but I didn’t really want to spend that much. Besides they were way to floofy for me, and most would make Beau Hunk look underdressed in a suit.

We headed to Nordstrom Rack next, and spent a sum total of a minute in that store because the stock was pure crap. There wasn’t anything even vaguely near what we needed in there. So next we headed across the street to the real Nordstrom.

Where we hit paydirt! Mom and I found a blouse and pants outfit that worked just perfectly. The pants were kulotte type - where they looked a lot like a skirt. The blouse was a drape front, with sheer long sleeves and tuxedo cuffs. They both were in ivory. Elegant, dressy, but not over the top. They would also work well if I wanted to wear them to a cocktail party or a very nice dinner out. Not that I go to a huge number of cocktail parties (like none), but with Beau Hunk going into law, that may change.

But what didn’t work was the size. The pants were size 8 and were tight, but worked because they had an elastic waist. The blouse was a size 6 though, and I couldn’t even get it to zip up. But I did get the concept of the outfit and knew I liked it. The price was right too - well under $200. The wonderful salesperson checked inventory and found the blouse in size 10 and 12 (not sure which I would need), but they were in Santa Ana - southern California. That doesn’t do me much good. But she assured us she could order them and have them shipped overnight and I could return whichever size didn’t work for me. It’s so nice to know that customer service still exists!!

Deciding that having the items shipped would be a good option, but wanting to make sure there was nothing else I was missing in another store, we walked the mall. We hit a half dozen other stores and didn’t find much. We found a few dresses that were really beautiful and would be lovely for this occasion, but they weren’t very flattering. You see, although I had a goal to lose 20 pounds before my wedding, I managed to not lose a single ounce. I think I actually gained weight.

So I’ve become even more lumpy and chubby than I was, which ruled out all sheath-style dresses. They looked ridiculously bad. I’m sure I could have stuffed myself into a full-body girdle and made one work, but I’d rather be a little more confortable than that. Besides, it’s pretty much a given that I’ll be photographed (I am 50% of the main attraction, after all), and I’d hate to look at those pictures and be embarassed to show them to anyone. I’d rather hide everything behind a nice curtain of folds, thankyouverymuch.

We ended up ordering the outfit from Nordstrom. It will be here Friday. Hopefully, when I put on the clothes in my size, it will look as nice as I imagine it will. If not, I do have a plan. It involves panic, wailing, and the imitation of decapitated poultry. You’ll note I never said it was a good or rational plan, but it is a plan.

It was a bad night around here last night. A family member ended up spending the night in jail. I didn’t sleep very well, worried about him, and had to go down this morning and bail him out. But the fine was relatively small and he seemed none too worse for the wear.

The charge? Dog at large. My dog now has “priors”. My failure as a dog parent is now complete.

It all started yesterday morning when Beau Hunk went out the back gate to check for the property line markers. The neighbor told us she had had the line surveyed by the city and an official marker was back there, somewhere. Since we’ve been discussing what we want to do with the lot, it was pretty much critical that we get a handle on what we actually own. I remember seeing my dog run out the gate behind him and went back to making sure Woo wasn’t on the verge of mayhem in the yard.

And that was the last I thought about that. We got Woo ready and took him to school, ran a bunch of errands - including to City Hall where we inquired about our property, and ironically enough, got the paperwork to get licenses for the dogs. Little did I know that at that very moment, my dog was either wandering around the greenbelt canyon behind the house or being hauled off to the pokey.

We picked up Woo from school, and ran some more errands. We didn’t get back home until right before 5pm. It was then that I asked “Where’s my dog?” Yeah, I know, I suck. We called and called, and Beau Hunk went searching through the canyon while I called Animal Control. I have to admit that I did have some really Drama Queen thoughts - having horrible visions of Beau Hunk trudging back up the slope with a dead or severely wounded dog in his hands. It took about 20 minutes on the phone to Animal Control, but they finally confirmed that they had him at the shelter. But the shelter closed at 5pm, so I’d have to wait until the morning to bail him out.

Normally I’m a much more responsible dog owner than this. My dog has a collar with my phone number on it and his is microchipped. But the problem with that is that all that information is for the old house. When we moved up here we decided not to get a landline (at least for now), so we are using our cellphones. And with the wedding plans being attached to those numbers, they are still Bay Area numbers. We are planning to switch them to local numbers in a couple of weeks, so we haven’t gotten new tags for the animals yet. Furthermore, the information associated with his microchip hasn’t been updated. So instead of getting a phone call letting me know my dog was on a walkabout, he ended up in doggy jail.

I went and picked him up first thing this morning. The people at the shelter were a little cold at first, probably thinking I’m a completely irresponsible dog owner. But when I started explaining why his old license was expired (it ran out a month before we moved and I wasn’t going to pay it since it’s more than twice the price of licenses up here), why he wasn’t registered here (just moved here), and why the phone number on the tags was disconnected (switching numbers soon) they eased up. They even went so far as to call my vet in the Bay Area, verify that his rabies vaccination was good until 2007, and sell me a license on the spot.

I asked them if he was behaving for them, and said I hope he hadn’t joined a gang or taken up smoking during his stint in the joint. The staff assured me he was doing well, and said he was “quite the social butterfly”. I think he may have been having fun. Yep, that’s a Corgi for ya - he’s just a walking party! They brought him out to me and he looked happy as hell to be walking around with a total stranger for no reason. He did do me the favor of getting excited when he saw me, and ran over to say hi and get his belly rubbed.

So I’m a bad mother, and my dog now has a record. But he’s back home and safe, and that’s all that really matters.

This is the last entry I will write as Miss Hag. In a few hours, Beau Hunk and will get in the car and drive to the coast, where tomorrow we will be married. From that point on, I will technically be Mrs. Bitter Hunk. Which doesn’t really work for the purposes of this site, so for simplicity I will be keeping my maiden name here.

But in the real world I will be taking Beau Hunk’s name. I realize there is a giant contingent of women who will set up a great hue and cry about this, but I have discovered that I am far more of a traditionalist than most “liberal” women. I don’t think changing my name is a big deal, and I am kind of actually looking forward to it. It is somewhat symbolic of all the changes in my life. I don’t feel like I’m losing any part of me, or giving up anything. A rose is a rose, and all that rot.

At any rate, we’re heading off today. We haven’t yet figured out how long the drive will take. According to Google, it’s 5 hours 15 minutes. Maps on Us shows it at 4 hours 6 minutes. Yahoo maps and Mapquest came in at 4 hours 47 minutes and 4 hours 22 minutes. Amazing, since all show the same route and each site shows the total mileage as being within 2 miles. So apparently it will take between four and five hours to get there. Who the hell knows??

And who the hell cares? Rushing to our vacation / wedding / honeymoon spot is totally contrary to the mood of the entire occasion. We’ve got a lovely day, a fistful of fun CDs, and our whole lives ahead of us. What’s to rush??

“This really sucks.”

I took a sip of my sparkling pear cider and shaded my eyes from the sun. “Yes, it’s horrible that we are forced to live like this. Now please pass me the brie and smoked salmon.”

That was our theme for the entire trip to the coast… Isn’t it terrible that we have to suffer this food / room / view / weather in all of its perfection. It was almost too much to stand, but somehow we endeavered to perservere. The hotel we stayed at is a 38-acre property, scattered with lovely cottages and cabins. The “main house” is a farm house that was built in 1887, and now houses the lobby and five-star restaurant. The movie “Same Time Next Year” was filmed in one of the cottages that sits out on the cliff edge. Our room was at the western-most edge and had an ocean view from the bed, sun room, sitting area and two-person jetted tub. The only place in this room you couldn’t see the ocean was from the bathroom counter and shower. (Even the toilet had an ocean view if you left the door open!) It was wonderfully private and we loved every single thing about it.

We arrived on Tuesday, after a four and half hour drive. We were tired, hungry, and ready to not be in a car. We ran into Mom and Dad in the lobby. They had been there for about an hour and a half and were ready to take us out to dinner in the next town. It was only 12 miles, but our assess weren’t thrilled at the prospect of even one more minute in a car, but away we went. But it had to be done, so we made a flying trip to our room to change clothes, where we found a lovely gift of choclate covered strawberries in our refridgerator, courtesy of my former co-workers. It was only the beginning. We had a lovely dinner on the water’s edge, and enjoyed both the food and the company.

A hastily cobbled together panoramic of the view from our front deck/porch. (Click any photo for the larger version.)

Beau Hunk on his horse.

Posing in front of the surf on our horses.

Riding through the surf.

Posing with our officiant

During the ceremony.

“You may now kiss the bride.”

I like this picture of us, because we are laughing, not posing.

One view from the sun room.

By the light of the fire.

We were glad to get back to the room, and almost too tired to really enjoy it. Almost. Beau Hunk started a fire in the sun room fireplace, and I started enjoying the strawberries. We broke up the activity by running a hot bath in the two-person bathtub, which came with bath salts. When we tired of that, we went back to the fire and enjoyed the moonlight view of the ocean from the couch in front of the fire. When we finally collapsed into the king-sized feather bed, we were completely whooped.

I had a restless night and had hearburn for the first time in recent memory, even though I didn’t have anything remotely spicy for dinner. The nerves had begun. I prayed they wouldn’t get the best of me. The last thing I needed was to be sick on my wedding day. Luckily, we had a full schedule ahead of us. I hoped that would be just the amount of activity and distraction to quell my nerves.

We met my parents for breakfast (provided by the hotel) at 8am. The early start was necessary, since our horseback ride was scheduled for a 9:45am. Breakfast was wonderful, and we all were impressed by the menu. No continental breakfast for this freebie - they offered full meals, including Eggs Benedict, my favorite. But I passed on the Bennie this particular morning, knowing that something that heavy may not be the best move. I opted for the omlette instead. I ended up giving half of it to Beau Hunk because it was huge.

After a lovely breakfast and visit, we headed out for the horse ranch. We signed all our waivers and paperwork, watched an instructional video, then saddled up. My horse was named Sophie, Beau Hunk’s First Prize. We left the ranch, went through a wooded forest and emerged onto a beautiful beach. Our guide was very nice, and we enjoyed her very much. We rode the horses across the sand, through the surf, and even got to canter (run) along the water’s edge. Which is when I realized I have lost all form and function on a horse. I used to ride a lot as a kid, and even owned a horse when I was a young teenager. But that was 20 years ago, and I have exactly zero of the muscles needed to not look like a complete idiot on the back of a running horse. Add to that a camera bouncing around the front pocket of my sweatshirt, and boy was I glad no one could see the jackass on the horse.

The ride was quite lovely, and we both enjoyed it. As we left the ranch, I commented to Beau Hunk that I hadn’t thought of the wedding even once on the ride. Which meant I wasn’t worrying about it or stressing in the least. Huzzah! Mission accomplished.

We had lunch in a nearby tourist town at a pompous and overpriced sandwich shop. I ordered a $12 portabella mushroom sandwich that was so overdosed with balsalmic vinegar that it those brown strips could have been the cook’s sweatsocks and I would have never known. A complete waste of a perfectly good portabella mushroom. (Not to mention $12.) Oddly enough, as we sat there eating, we saw my parents walk by the window. Beau Hunk flagged them down and we chatted for a moment before they left in search of a good bowl of clam chowder.

The next appointment in our schedule was our massages at the hotel. We had 45 minutes or so to spare, so we had planned to just hang out in our room and enjoy the accomodations. That plan was altered when we ran into a lovely couple walking in the area of our room. They were staying elsewhere on the property and were exploring other cabins for future visits. We invited them in to tour our room, and ended up chatting with them for the entire 45 minutes.

It was time for the massages. Beau Hunk had a female therapist, and I had a male. Beau Hunk introduced his person to me as “Mary Jane”. Later he admitted that that was not really her name. When she had introduced herself to him (out of my presence), she had the same name as Beau Hunk’s ex-wife. He said “I think we have a problem. That’s my ex-wife’s name. You can’t be [that name], we have to give you a new name. You’re Mary Jane.” She laughed, went along with it and commented “Of all the names!” But she was a real sweetie, and I really appreciated her willingness to give up her name to keep my experience perfect.

Our massages were incredible. My person turned me into a total mushpie. Not an easy feat, since I was starting to have nerve pangs by this time. When we were done, I joked that I was considering ditching Beau Hunk and marrying him. The poor thing had no idea what to say, and I think I embarassed the hell out of him. Or made him lose his lunch, I’m not exactly sure.

The massages ended around 2:30, and the wedding was scheduled for 4:30. We went to work getting ready. Beau Hunk was the embodyment of cool, calm and collected. Or so I thought at the time. He had misplaced his sunglasses, and was on his way to the main house to see if he had left them at the spa. I asked him to fetch the marriage license while he was out. Which he promptly forgot to do. But he was still in far better shape than I.

I was ok until I tried to wiggle my way into my pantyhose and ran out of material with the crotch at my knees. I have no idea how long it took me to work up enough material to get those fucking baloney stuffers stretched out so I could walk without looking like a penguin, but you better believe I had a few choice words for the manufacturer who claimed those stupid things would work for a 5′8″ woman. Of course, part of it is my fault, because I always manage to forget that even though I am 5′8″ tall, I have the legs of a 6′2″ person. I should know better. Anyway, I made it work, and consider it a minor miracle that I didn’t put a finger through the stupid things trying.

After I crammed myself into those silky white torture devices, I reached into the closet for my outfit, and almost got caught half-naked by my photographer. He was milling around on our front porch. Oops… hope he didn’t hear me wrestling with my undergarments. I finished dressing and Beau Hunk came back to the room. We took a moment to gather ourselves, and then started for the gazebo. Just as I stepped out the door, I spotted a flash from the gazebo. Our photographer was using his zoom lens to take candid photos of us in the room. Unfortunately, I just happened to be adjusting my blouse’s cleavage reveal as the photo was taken. I would soon discover that I was never meant to be a model. It seems like every time I decided to fidget or fuss, someone was taking my picture. Luckily, not all of the professional photos involve me talking, gesticulating or adjusting my clothes or hair.

Beau Hunk gallantly walked me down the stairs towards the gazebo. I had my bouquet in one hand, and was trying to hold the rail with the other. Which left no hand for me to use to keep my hair out of my face, since I was wearing it down and there was a slight breeze. I didn’t fall, but I did manage a completely ungraceful trip, which was witnesses by my entire wedding party. Thank the gods that was only two guests, an officiant and a photographer. Through what I consider to be a small miracle, I made it to the gazebo without killing myself.

We arrived at the gazebo at 4:15. The ceremony was scheduled to start at 4:30, but since everyone was there, we started the proceedings. We finally met our officiant - he came highly recommended by the hotel, and I had only spoken to him on the phone - we loved him. He was a really lovely man, and I’m so glad we were able to have him be part of our day. My mom had asked me earlier if my dad was going to walk me down the aisle. I had to explain to her that 1) there was no aisle, and 2) him walking me into the gazebo would deplete my observation party by exactly half, and leave her standing all alone. After confirming that walking me down a non-existant aisle was not my father’s life goal, we decided to forego that particular bit of pomp.

We started the ceremony, and I had this really surreal “Holy fuck, this is really happening” kind of feeling. Our ceremony was beautiful, and I managed to not cry. Only because I was really nervous. My favorite part was after Beau Hunk and I did the “kiss the bride” thing, he hugged me, and whispered “I love you” in my ear. That may be one of the best I Love You’s he’s ever uttered.

Our officiant did a wonderful job of not reading the words of our ceremony. He spoke them, he meant them, and he put his heart into them. He’s been married for 58 years, and does this for fun. He doesn’t even charge!! (But of course we gave him an “appreciation”.) He said we were his 148th couple. He has a wall of pictures from every ceremony he’s ever performed. I’ll be sending him one of ours too.

After filling out the formal license paperwork and finishing up the photos, we had a few minutes to freshen up and meet Mom and Dad for dinner in the hotel dining room. Dinner was incredible, and we have a lovely long meal. Beau Hunk and I went back to the room and once again enjoyed a fire, the double tub, and the ocean by moonlight from the sun room.

Mom and Dad were checking out the next morning, so we arranged to meet them for a late breakfast (it was our wedding night afterall). Again, breakfast was just lovely, and we enjoyed it very much. Since we had booked our room for an extra day, we said goodbye to Mom and Dad and went about enjoying ourselves. The plan was to go into the nearby tourist town and hit a few specialty food shops for cheeses, smoked meats and bread, then have a picnic on our deck and watch the sun go down. But first, we took a walk around the hotel property.

The hotel has a private beach tucked away in a cove. It was a nice little beach, sheltered, quiet and surrounded by rock cliffs. I tried walking in the water, but between the rocky sand and the freezing water, it just got too painful. Beau Hunk toughed it out and went wading while I put my shoes back on and walked just out of reach of the water. I looked down and saw two abalone shells just lying there on the beach. I called over Beau Hunk, who thought I had to be hallucinating or just plain wrong. But no, clear as day, there were two abalone shells. We turned over one and found that it was occupied - the animal was still at home and alive. Beau Hunk picked it up and tossed it back in the water. He picked up the second shell and found it was empty. It was a perfect shell, so we rinsed it out and hauled it back home, deciding that would be our honeymoon souvenir.

After our property walk about, we headed out for our shopping trip. While we were walking around town visiting the various shops, a young man walking down the sidewalk yelled something as we passed by. As near as we can figure out, it was somthing about how Bush’s dad got him out of military service. Okaaay. I guess we looked like people who needed to be educated by the lunatic blurtings of a total stranger. I guess this is what passes for political debate in this town - nearly incomprehensible shouting in the general direction of the tourists.

With our political minds now fully enlightened, we headed back to the hotel with a whole host of yummy foods. Which is when we discovered that just the presence of yummy foods will make you hungry. So we camped out on the deck/front porch to enjoy some sunshine and our picnic, even though it was only mid-afternoon. It was perfect. By this time we had managed to completely immerse ourselves in our experience and forget about the world of telephones and computers.

By the time 5:00 rolled around, we were hungry again and decided we’d like a salad from the onsite restaurant. The dining room didn’t open until 6, but the lounge served salads, so we headed to the main house looking for food. The poor bartender was completely overwhelmed, so by the time we placed our order, we knew there was no way we’d make the sunset. Beau Hunk explained to the bartender what we were doing, and asked if we could change our order to be eaten in our room. She understood and expedited our order, handing us our meal with 20 minutes of daylight to spare. Can I tell you how awesome a good Caesar is while watching the sun set into the ocean?? After the sun went down, we once again enjoyed the tub, fireplace and ocean view from the sun room.

Friday morning finally showed us the coast we usually see - wet, foggy and chilly. Which worked out fine for us, since another warm sunny morning might have made us want to stay! We woke up fairly early and enjoyed the hotel breakfast for the last time. We had planned to leave at noon, but were packed up by 10:30, so we headed for home, deciding to take a different route home. It was about 100 miles farther, and an hour and a half longer, but brought us through the mountains near our home, which we had been anxious to check out. Man, they are awesome!! We can’t wait to go check them out off the road.

We are now back in the real world, but we will always carry with us our memories of the perfect trip, with our perfect ceremony, and our perfect honeymoon. And just in case we need a reminder, we put the abalone shell next to the front door.

When Beau Hunk was divorced, he got custody of the dog but lost custody of his cats. He and my cat have never bonded… hell, she’s never bonded with anyone who isn’t me, ever. She’s what he calls “a snotty little puddy”. And she is. Furthermore, she absolutely hates Woo with the burning passion of a thousand suns. Everytime he gets within three feet of her she growls and runs away. Of course, he thinks this is hilarious and frequently chases her whilst squealing with joy, a habit we vehemently discourage.

But Beau Hunk has missed having a cat. We agreed that as soon as we made the move, he would get a cat. He was pretty specific about what he wanted: an orange male tabby that he could let grow into a big brute. It turns out that our real estate agent (who has ended up also being our official city guide, Welcome Wagon and all-around local resource - way above and beyond her duty) is involved with a local rescue agency and they just so happen to have a cat that fit the bill.

Meet Bill. Bill the Cat. For those of you who might remember the old Bloom County comic strip, he was named for the Bill the Cat character. But he’s not quite a cat yet, he’s just a kitten. I keep wanting to call him Bill the Kitten - BTK for short. But I have been assured that I am the only one who is politically incorrect enough to find that amusing.

But make no mistake, he is a real killer. So far he’s managed to kill at least three of my plants, and can be frequently seen engaging in mortal combat with shoes, watches, Q-tips, wrappers and ink pens. (I swear, that Bic almost took him!) He’s learned he can get on to the window sill from the kitchen table, and from there, if he’s careful, he can juuuuuust make it to the kitchen counter. And oh my! but there’s a treasure trove of toys on the kitchen counter!! Not to mention food. We’ve learned you don’t dare leave anything in the sink, or you’ll find it on the floor later. We’ve started calling him a “menace to society”, and trust me, that’s pretty damned accurate.

For the most part, Bill is a good cat. But he seems to have two speeds: running around in a frenzied blur, and sleeping like the dead. Ah, life as a kitten. Woo is getting along well with him, but can sometimes be a wee bit rough on him. Bill is taking it like a trouper and puts up with it. Beau Hunk has done a good job making sure that Bill is used to being picked up, turned around and generally mauled. One day he was playing around with him and found that when you push his ears down, he looks a lot like Yoda.

Hmmm. The force is strong with this one.

The dogs have accepted him completely, and Bill and my dog have become fabulous playmates. My dog will take off running and let Bill chase him, then turn on him and poke his nose at him, sometimes pretending to bite at him. You can tell it’s all in fun, and they play nicely. If anything, the dog has gotten hurt a few times when Bill has “attacked” him and catches a tender spot.

Bill is good at attacking. He likes to attack ankles as they walk by. He likes to attack toes as they sit on the couch. He likes to attack anything that moves. Which occasionally gets him a ride on a foot and a gentle toss, because his little teeth are sharp!! We had to trim his claws because they were like little razors, and when he attacked, it really hurt.

My cat doesn’t really want much to do with Bill. I’ve seen them awkwardly playing a few times, but for the most part, she’s a “get outta here kid, ya bother me” kind of cat. If he gets too close to her, she growls, but mostly, they leave each other alone.

Bill has a great personality, and we are really enjoying him. Everytime I watch him attack our feet or play with the dogs, I imagine the line from those old Foghorn Leghorn cartoons “You’re a chicken and I’m a chickenhawk!!” That’s Bill. Even though he’s the smallest animal in this house, he’s got no problem going for the big kill. We found out today that he has no fear of heights. Beau Hunk had to do some work in the attic and the next thing we knew, Bill had scaled the ladder and was King of All He Surveyed.

A few nights ago I was watching TV in the living room and had my feet covered up in our red blanket. The next thing I knew, Bill was on top of my feet attacking. I had the camera handy and documented the experience:

It’s Momma feet - ATTACK!!	Attack. *yawn*	atta…zzz	zzzZZZ	ZZZ *snort* (I flexed my feet and raised his ass in the air.	Huh? Wha? Why’d ya move?

For those of you who are keeping track, that brings the headcount of our house to two dogs, two cats, one kid and two adults. The females are firmly in the minority, being outnumbered two to five. The humans are also outnumbered three to four. Everyday we wake up and hope they don’t figure out how to open the feed bins, or we’re outta here. Beau Hunk and I take a bit of solace in my cat being such a snot and not being friends with the animals - she’s like the swing vote on Survivor. As long as she doesn’t make an alliance with the other cat and dogs, we have a chance of not being voted out.

Yesterday was a monumental day in our household. We finally got our new carpet! As you may remember, the carpets in this place were absolutely hideously gross, and even after having them professionally steam-cleaned there were clear outlines of where the previous occupant’s furniture had been. The area between where his couch and coffee table had been was so disgusting - even after being cleaned - that we put our couch over it so we didn’t have to see it.

Where his couch was. Click any pic for a larger view.

In case that last pic wasn’t detailed enough for you.

We knew right away that we didn’t want to live with this, so the replacement process was started quickly. We went to the Home Teapot back at the end of September. We picked out the color and requested a measuring at that time. It’s taken us this long to get this clusterfuck off the ground and get our stupid carpet installed.

Meanwhile, we have spent the last six and a half weeks living out of boxes and with a minimal amount of furniture. There was no sense in moving all the stuff in just to move it back out for the carpet install. First it took a week to get the measurers out here, then it took another week for them to get the figures back to the Teapot. We placed the order (and paid for it) on October 10, just before we took off for our wedding/honeymoon. We were told it would take a week or two to come in, and that the installation company would contact us when it came in to schedule an install date.

In the meantime, we busied ourselves painting the walls in the carpeted areas. It was kind of cool not having to mask off the floor and just painting right over the carpet. My last house had new carpets when I moved in (which were phenomenally cheap and shitty), so all the remodeling was done over keepable flooring. Not giving a crap whether we spilled or oversprayed on the carpet was a really nice change. Of course the bright, clean new walls just made us want carpet that much more. But the call from the install company never came.

On October 28th, we were in the store and asked about our order. Nobody knew a goddamned thing. “Call back on Monday”. So we did. We called on October 31st (a full three weeks, thank you veryfuckingmuch) and finally got someone who was willing to call the carpet shipper and find out where our carpet had gone. Guess where it was? In the motherfucking Home Teapot store. Since October 13th.

Our carpet had been in their store for nearly three weeks and nobody noticed. It hadn’t been logged in, and the two rolls weren’t even stored next to each other. Profuse apologies were offered, none of which meant a whole lot, and the installer was contacted. When the installer called us, we were told we couldn’t get an appointment until November 10th. WTF?? We had already waited patiently for three weeks, why in the hell did we have to wait another (almost) two?

The person from the installation company wasn’t sympathetic. She wasn’t even polite. She said this was the first they’d heard of it, it wasn’t their fault, and they wouldn’t pull someone else out of queue to accomodate us. Period. If I didn’t like that, that was between me and Home Teapot, and I would need to contact them.

Which of course I did. They did the phone version of the big dumb grin and shrug - golly gosh darn gee, we screwed up, but we can’t make the installation company do anything, so golly gosh darn gee, it sucks to be you. Uh, no. Beau Hunk got a manager on the phone and very calmly explained that this wasn’t our fuck up, it was theirs, by their own admission. So why are we, the ones who are paying the bill, the only ones showing any accomodation here? The manager still didn’t offer any relief for the install date, but did offer some “consideration” for our next big project around the house. We still don’t have any definition of what that “consideration” will be, but at least we feel like we got kissed after we got screwed.

Shortly after we made the appointment for install on November 10th, we heard from Woo’s school that he would not have class that day - it was a “staff development day”. Bummer, because there’s no way Woo could be here for the install, and going to school would be the perfect three hour distraction. But you get what you get in life, so we figured out