To the Victor Go the Spoils

Well, I finally won one. Months of groceries at Albertsons and Yahtzee card after Yahtzee card and my dreams finally came true. My prize: one dollar in cash.

I've probably worked harder for this one dollar than any other dollar I've earned in my life. What finally led to my success was the Yahtzee promotion was ending and a sympathetic clerk (whose identity shall be protected to stop the fatcats at Albertsons from firing him) at Albertson's gave us a stack of about 40 yahtzee cards. I guess it was just a numbers game.

I guess my enthusiasm for stupid promotions like this one started when I was young. I was in fourth grade when my friends and I were convinced that by combining our all of our efforts and monopoly pieces, we were going to win something from the McDonald's Monopoly games. It seemed like you could always collect two out of the three pieces for each monopoly, but there was always that one that eluded you. There were always rumors that someone in our class had one of the fabled rare monopoly cards and we would talk about combining our pieces to win whatever ridiculous prize it was: a big screen t.v., some jetskis, or one million dollars. I never seemed to give up my unfounded optimism.

I guess some part of me is still that naive little fourth grader, waiting for his big break of some sweet awesome McDonald's jetskis.

P.S. this is not a lottery ticket and we didn't pay for it. Furthermore we shop at Albertsons anyway. I'm cheap and I like games and I like free stuff. I'm not stupid.

That's What You Get For Eavesdropping

After being married to Steve for the past 16 months I have realized that we often have some very interesting and sometimes strange conversations. They seem normal to us, but if you were to listen in during certain parts would probably be thinking, "What the?!" So, for those of you who are easily offended/grossed out (you know who you are) this is not the post for you. As for the rest of you, enjoy.

I love to have my back scratched. Every day. And Steve learned that as soon as we got married. However, Steve is not the best back scratcher out there. And he knows because sometimes I have to move his hand for him and it gets uncomfortable after awhile. Really, I shouldn't have to scratch my own back. I told him if my back was a lawn he would be doing the worst job in history. He mows so much in one spot that it burns the grass and doesn't doing anything anywhere else making the other half of my back the part of your lawn where grass grows so long that it turns to seed. And he even agreed with me.

Steve has a unique sense of humor and I often don't know what to do with it. He embarrasses me ALL THE TIME even when we are all by ourselves. He was supposed to be hanging up a whiteboard for me in our kitchen, so of course he needed his leveler and stud finder. He proceeded to use the latter on himself. Once he ran it over his chest he made his own out-of-control beeping noise followed by the claim that it exploded. It did not.

He also likes to do things that embarrass me in public. While on vacation in North Carolina my sister took us to a historic mill. Inside they have a box of clothes pioneer-ish in nature for both kids and adults to dress up in. My nieces got dressed up and I was thinking that they were so cute. Well, then Steve decides he also wants to dress up while making ridiculous faces. If he was trying to flirt it was not working. All I could think about was that he looked like he was either going coon hunting or getting ready to make turtle soup (that is real, people made it on my mission and I bet you can guess where they lived).

Now, I HATE stepping in dog poop. Who doesn't. But the thing that really drives me crazy is that it gets stuck deep into the crevices on the bottom of your shoes and it doesn't matter how much you drag your foot across the grass, that smell follows you EVERYWHERE you go. It seems that you can never really get rid of it. One night in bed I was thinking that having stepped in both dog and horse crap I have decided that dog smells way worse because of its potent odor and lingering-ness. So I asked Steve why that is since he does know why urine and feces are colored the way they are (he waited until after dinner to tell me). He replied, "I don't know. I'm not a poo-ologist." If you know the answer, please feel free to comment.

About a week ago the speaker in church spoke about serving his mission in South Carolina. He proceeded to say that the missionaries called it the Butthole of the Bible Belt. I was shocked when I did not hear offended gasps and muffled laughs. Not even from Steve (that's where he served his mission-he would have laughed not gasped). So I leaned over to Steve and asked, "Didn't he just say that South Carolina was the Butthole of the Bible Belt?" Steve smiled and leaned over to say, "No, he said buckle." Wow. I am so glad that I did not laugh out loud.

And our last conversation piece is my personal favorite, but may not be appropriate for a young audience. When Steve and I first got married I noticed that he did not use much toilet paper. I got concerned that Steve might not be using enough, so I confronted him about the issue. He told me that guys don't usually use toilet paper when they pee. Let me tell you, this was news to me. I had five sisters growing up and there always seemed to be a shortage (someone always left an empty roll, which was only sometimes me). At first I thought this was so great to have all this toilet paper pretty much to myself. But then I thought Steve should use it anyway because it would be more clean. My argument did not sway him then and does not now. Even when I told him he would have a lot more cooties down there than he would otherwise. His response: "You mean lewd-ies."

Pics from Utah-lina (see Megan's stories below)

Megan and her nieces Mary and Emma, and her sister Kristin

Carolina Beach

First time for Megan fishing at Strawberry Reservoir, UT

Wakeboarding at Utah Lake

Megan in the "Green Mistress"

Triple Boarding : Steve on wakestate, Tyler and Tom on wakeboards

Megan training to be a sniper with her scoped .22: 25 round Banana clip included.

Me shooting the .45, or "Cowboy gun" as Megan calls it

Trying to brush up on our Texas heritage

It's more green in UT than TX right now, we miss the mountains

Megan in the Rhino

Wildflowers at Strawberry Reservoir

Goin' to Utah-lina in My Mind

We recently returned from our 3 week escapade across the United States, but really just North Carolina and Utah. We enjoyed a week long vacation at Carolina Beach where there was warm water, unlike those of you loyal to your California beaches. Vacation does not constitute freezing my butt off. If it requires a wet suit, forget it. Steve attempted to teach me to boogie board and his first attempt was quite unsuccessful. It ended with me not having ridden a single wave and believing that I was going to drown. At one point I may have believed that he was doing it on purpose. The trick seemed to be me wearing some ridiculous looking goggles to cover my eyes and nose. Keep in mind the water went barely above my belly button. I will not be posting a picture as I look ridiculous. I'd rather not have that circulating on the internet forever. Unlike Steve, I still have a little bit of shame left.

We also discovered that hard wood floors are not a good idea as we listened to Alyssa fall down an entire flight of stairs while terrified children awaited their death on the landing below. We also learned that if a kid sits on the beach for too long, their swimsuit will fill up with sand and look like they pooped. I guess Steve learned his lesson. I also let my family bury me in the sand and shape me into a mermaid. For some reason, my niece thought it was a go

od idea to put sand down the back of my swimsuit. Seeing as how I was stuck there was nothing I could do to get her back. However, when Alyssa did the same thing to her she did not laugh. Thankfully, they finished shaping me before the tide came in and my legs lost all feeling.

On our trip to Utah, Steve's dad took us fishing for the first time in my life. He said that I would know if I caught a fish because I would feel a very distinct jerk on the fishing pole. Well I did. So I reeled it in and what did I catch? About a foot and a half of moss. What a rip off. We also went on a four wheeler ride while we laughed at some boy scouts pedaling their guts out up a hill. I hope they heard us. Suckas! I screamed twice during the excursion when Steve almost took the life of a chipmunk and a baby dear. Thankfully their lives were spared and I'll take credit for it. Here's a picture of some of the wildflowers in Utah around strawberry reservoir.

We also attended my friend Elizabeth's wedding. And while waiting for the sealing to start, Steve leaned over and said, "I really miss Charlie." I am unsure as to why he decided to tell me that then. Maybe he just needed to be validated by our kitty's love.

Oh the pain...the pain!

THE FOLLOWING STORY IS NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART. The past couple of weeks I have been working in a pediatric clinic. A common problem in pediatrics is that as infants genitals develop, the skin sometimes adheres and starts to fuse a little bit. If you don't want to hear a story about genital adhesions, stop reading now. This happens in both boys and girls, though I think it's more common in girls. This last Wednesday there was a lady that came in with her son that was maybe 3 years old. The doctor told the patient's mom he would need to separate the adhesion. "It's okay, it doesn't hurt them near as much as it would me or him (as he points to me, the only other male in the room)" the doctor reassured her. Well, as the doctor started to pull the adhesion apart, the 3 year old began to scream and kick. The doctor motioned for help holding down the kid and before I could help, the other 2 medical students (both female) grabbed the kids legs. So if you can imagine the scene: the is a mom holding a thrashing and screaming three year old, the doctor inflicting the pain, two female medical students holding the kids legs, and me sitting back watching in shear terror. The ordeal lasted about a minute before the doctor was done, looked up, and burst into laughter as he saw me backed up, almost in the corner of the room, with my lower body turned away towards the wall, perhaps in a subconscious protective reflex. Later, the doctor dictated his note in a pseudo-serious scientific tone, "The procedure caused quite a bit of pain and discomfort to both the patient and our male medical student."

Since I would not want to add any pictures to this story (it is graphic enough as it is), here is a picture of us in downtown Houston a couple weeks ago at the Ballet to see Taming of the Shrew. Yes, I am soooo cultured. And to further establish just how cultured I am, here is a video of me using a laser to try and teach the cat to turn the lights off for us. There are different kinds of cultured.

The Star Wars Kid

I am not "the" Stars Wars kid, he is: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HPPj6viIBmU. However, I was A Star Wars kid. I could have been the Stars Wars kid if I had been provided with access to a camcorder. You might think I'm joking, but I probably would have made one and enlisted my friend Cari. And probably some stuffed animals to serve as Ewoks and Wookies. Anyway, I always thought that I would marry someone who knew at least as many Star Wars quotes as I did. One day I mentioned midi-chlorians and Steve had no idea what I was talking about. I felt like one of the geeks from The Big Bang Theory that has no idea how nerdy they are...until now. What a crushing day.

Well, this post was prompted by nursery a week ago. We have boy who likes to tell us his new name every week. Yesterday was he was No Name and he has been the White Hulk, Monster and Mikey (none of these are even remotely close to his real name). Two Sundays ago he decided that he was Yoda, which I was fine with until he was being moody and having a temper tantrum. That was when I called him Yoda from the Dark Side and he shouted, "No! I'm not Yoda from the Dark Side." One, yes he was and two, how did he even know what the Dark Side was? After that I decided that he was Darth Vader because he was shaming Yoda's good name and he really did behave like Anakin in his early, whiny years. Actually, I take that back: he is more like the Emperor.

So why should I care about Yoda? Because I am a Star Wars geek. Few of you may know (or even remember) that for about a year when I was in elementary school I would watch all three original movies in ONE night almost every Friday. I always did it at sleepovers with Cari and, as you probably all guessed, I was the only one that stayed awake for all three. Go ahead and lose respect for me, but I don't care. Heck, I watched all three the week before I moved here. I even believed in the force until I was at least 8. I used to try to switch off the bedroom light at night, so that I wouldn't have to get out of bed. Sadly, I never mastered it, but now I have Steve and he can do that for me (BAHAHAHAHAHA!).

Now, I will admit that I occasionally talk like Yoda. In fact, I did it the other night after Steve had turned off the lights to see if I could make him laugh (I was successful). Cari, Lys and Steve may be the only ones to have ever heard it. Probably because it is both embarrassing and only bears a decent resemblance to Yoda's voice. Truthfully, I think the only person I have ever heard imitate a Star Wars character well is my sister Emily. Honestly, you would think it was the real Chewbacca in the room.

I also regularly insert Star Wars quotes into conversations with Steve. Now if I said the same thing at my parents' house with my siblings they would at least know what I was talking about even if my joke wasn't funny. I often use "Now I am the master", "There's no escape" and "NO! That's impossible!" (complete with Luke's ugly facial expression). SERIOUSLY, without fail Steve asks, "Wait! Where is that from?" E-V-E-R-Y-T-I-M-E!

So, now you all know that Steve's wife has out-geeked him. Enjoy this great Yoda clip: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BtfejKs_mI4

Get Your Stakes and Silver Bullets

I often have conversations with Steve before we go to bed and depending on how tired we are, it will influence the topic to be more or less strange. One tired night I was thinking about how I am the WORST person to watch thrillers or other such scary movies with. One particular incident was a few years ago in my parents' basement. Lys (my youngest sister) had borrowed the movie "Skeleton Key" from her friend. She had already seen the movie in the theater and said it wasn't scary. Within the first ten minutes of her watching it with me I had scared us both so bad that she said if I didn't stop she would leave down there by myself. I promised to be good, but not just because the movie was freaky. It was mostly because when I was little I believed that Darth Vader would come out of the shadows if I didn't get out of the basement in time. I would turn off the lights super quick and then bolt up the stairs, occasionally trampling innocent bystanders. This stems from the scene when Luke is training with Yoda and he goes into the cave, but Yoda tells him that there will only be what he takes with him. And then Darth Vader comes out (that part still freaks me out even though I know it's coming) and Luke chops off his head only to find that he chopped off his own head. Well, if Darth Vader wanted to hide in my parents' basement he could and I would not see him until it was too late. Who wouldn't be freaked out?!

Anyway, this story made Steve remember that he used to think the Skeksis (from Jim Henson's "The Dark Crystal") lived in his basement. If you have not seen that movie, don't. It is a waste of 93 min that you will never get back. Plus, a lot of those muppets look like somebody was designing them on LSD. This then led to me asking what he thought the boogeyman looked like. A couple months back I was looking up what the boogeyman supposedly looked like in other cultures. So here's the thing: nobody knows. I think that's why he's so scary and works as a great motivator for children to be good. I personally thought that he was made out of pond scum, twigs and other decaying crap from a swamp. I figured he wouldn't be furry because Wolfman is and that would be copyright infringement. So of course once I got older I realized that he didn't exist (based on my previous concept of the boogeyman)....UNTIL Steve decided to tell me that he thought the boogeyman was some guy wearing a black trench coat and hat. So, ANYONE!!! For the first time since my childhood I was scared of the boogeyman because he could be REAL!!! I practically pushed Steve off the bed that night in an attempt to get closer to him and further from the edge. I didn't want the boogeyman to grab me from under the bed. At least if he reached over on Steve's side he would get Steve first and then I could make a quick break.

Well, this past week I was tossing and turning one night and for whatever reason Steve sat up in the bed to where his head was hovering over mine. Some sort of gargled scream came out of me and scared both of us to death (but more especially Steve). I really did feel bad, but I couldn't stop laughing at how I thought he was the boogeyman and I ended up scaring him more than he scared me.