Alright, I guess. It is time. I can't go this long without e-narcissism (i.e. blogging).
So I moved. I'm guessing you gathered that, given my squawking about it in the last couple of posts. Since I did not find The Perfect House to enslave my paychecks to, and my lease was up on the rental, that left me in limbo.
And we all know how that always means packing your crap and moving in with three truck drivers, in their spare Bratty Princess Girl Room, on Her Own Floor.
This move was the kind of thing that Catholics should scare their schoolchildren with. There was no end. I swear someone kept dumping belongings in every closet and corner and drawer and shelf, behind me as I walked around. The whole ordeal left me bruised like a crack whore up and down both legs, with one insulting understatement of a bruise on one part of my knee that is now surely missing part of its kneecap, lodged somewhere in my thigh. A glimpse of just a few of many bruises:
The scary thing about this move was how much it would have required if I didn't have a man to do half of it. ReBF and I make zero sense on paper. He's a little bit drill-baby-drill; I find End Of Suburbia to be akin to Gospel doctrine. He's meat-and-potatoes; I roll sushi at home. He pays to attend cage fights; I have season tickets to the ballet. Him: Apple Juice. Me: Fivebucks triple-grande chai latte. Me: Have an appointment with Starter Husband to tour and rigidly interview local dog daycares for Moses' proper supervision and overarching personal development; want to stop rodeos. Him: Pretty sure I heard him say he once clubbed bunnies as a child.
And next to my black Infiniti SUV, he parks his two diesel farm trucks (this does not include semi-trucks, which are parked at the truck yard).
And while we don't see eye to eye on Sarah Palin, boy am I glad I'm dating a big-truck-kind-of-guy. I came home from dinner at Tin Angel with my quilt girls to find this in my driveway:
God bless Idaho farmboys.
4 comments:
I think you guys work perfectly on and off paper. His diesel manliness heightens your girly appeal. His meat & potato meals make your sushi all the more refreshing. His boys with (freaking giant) toys side highlights your creative, decorating side. And his hotness only adds to yours. You are one good looking couple. Who would have really, really, ridiculously, good looking babies. Just saying.
I love that he loves you despite your anti-rodeo-whipping knees. They accessorize your blue cowgirl boots.
I love the way you describe you vs. him. Couldn't agree more. I think I might that kind of guy too.
I thought the title of this post meant "Oh my gosh, I haven't posted in ages! I'm so sorry, and I promise to be better from now on!" Did I read into it too much?
xoxo
p.s. I MISS YOU!
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