What are you doing New Year's Eve?

We're super boring on New Years. I tried to convince the husband to get married on New Years Eve. He wanted none of it. 12/12 is our day, and it works for us. I'll never forget our anniversary.

Anyways, it's almost 10 here. My apartment smells amazing. I have a pot of black-eyed peas on the stove. Around 10:30 I'll start the cabbage. It's a southern tradition to have both of those things on New Years Day. We'll toast and kiss at midnight. Have a tiny taste of each, and then eat the rest for dinner tomorrow night for good measure. We could use some luck this year.

I'll update tomorrow with my expectations, goals, and wishes for 2011. For now, I'll just say, be careful. No one wants to start their new year with that terrible phone call, a ticket, and/or a bajillion dollars in fines.

Mama said

Well, she said a lot of things. Mostly pertaining to safe sex and STD's. She worked for a non-profit company that did research on teens and safe sex during my high school days. I got "the talk" almost daily. With pictures. Not enough brain bleach in the world, my friends. (Although, it did the job. Let's leave it at that for now.)

Anyways, she also said there would be days like this. Actually, The Shirelles, said that. BUT my mom would sing it off key and very loudly to me on my bad days. And today? I wanted to call her and tell her to sing it to me, because boy howdy could I have used it.

It's been a rough couple of days. I couldn't even begin to say why. Although, I think it stems from being totally and completely broke. No money=stress. Stress=crazy emotions.

I think we've made our way over the bump. I certainly hope so, because if I cry anymore I think my eyes will fall out of my head.

Bandwagon? I'll jump on it.

So, it's a little after 1:00 a.m. here in Texas. The husband and I just spent a little quality time together. By quality time, I mean watching crazy reality shows on TLC. Technically, I was watching, but he got sucked in.

What were we watching, you ask? Extreme Couponing.

Guess what I want to do now? That's right, fools. (Think of it as an I love you.) I want to clip some coupons, go to the store, rack up a bajillion dollars in groceries, and then knock it all down with my coupons.

Reasons why this is a bad idea:

1. We live in the smallest apartment known to mankind. We can barely fit the groceries we have now. Throw in 1,000 boxes of Total cereal and we will live in a food maze. (BUT IT'S PRACTICALLY FREE!)

2. I don't really cut well. Also, when I'm cutting I need to open and close my mouth as the scissors move. I can't stop it. Cutting all those coupons= a sore mouth. I'm sure. (But there are services that clip the coupons for you for a nominal fee!)

3. I don't really like going to the grocery store. I actually kind of hate it. I'd be a freakin' nightmare with my giant coupon binder and my 14 baskets of shit.

4. I hate pre-packaged microwavable noodles. That's pretty much the majority of what these people got. Lots of noodles. (I could make myself like them if they were free. Maybe.)

Do any of these reasons matter to me? NO! Watch out guy in California who bought 14 billions boxes of cereal for $1.50. I'm gonna take you down!

(Just kidding. Although, I do find this coupon thing very interesting. I lack the patience, energy, and time.)

No fairytale here, fool.

Before I start this I think you all should know that my brain classifies "fool" as a term of endearment. Don't be offended. It means you are loved.

Right now, as I sit at the table with my laptop, today is getting the side-eye and is dangerously close to being flipped the bird. Today has been a struggle. A struggle for me. A struggle for my husband. Maybe the cat has struggled too. It's hard to tell. She sleeps a lot. Anyways, the husband works evenings. So, I make dinner and then bring it to him at work. I hang with him while he eats and then I head home. Usually, it's awesome. Today? Not so much.

I came home feeling down and discouraged. He was having a bad night and his mood totally overpowered my mood. Maybe it's just me. It probably is. You see, I'm a fixer. I like to fix things, and when I can't fix them it ain't pretty. It's hard to fix my husband because he lets one bad thing screw up his whole day. He can't brush it off. That one bad thing envelopes his whole being until you are just like, "Oh my Lord! I can't be near you because it just makes me want to be angry!"

A friend of mine says that you make your mood. No one can hurt your feelings unless you let them. It's so true, but sometimes it's really hard not to let my mood be effected. I live with him. I love him. When he hurts, I hurt. It's what this marriage thing is. I don't like to hurt. I don't like for him to hurt. So when we are both hurting, it sucks. It hurts even more that I can't fix it. That there is nothing I can do or say that will make it better.

Here is the thing though. This marriage deal? It ain't easy.

That's right. I'm spillin' the beans here. It's not easy. It's hard. Really hard.

I was the last of my circle of friends to get married. Several of them got married pretty early. They've been married for four or five years now. I've watched them hit their bumps in the road and I drew the conclusion that this marriage thing isn't for the faint of heart.

They said things like:

"It's so hard."

"He does ____ _____ and _____ and he won't change."

and my personal favorite:

"This isn't the fairytale I was promised."

Now, that last one is a real doozie. I mean, I want to know who made that promise, because I didn't get those promises.

During bridal showers, and late night talks over wedding details with family and friends, I heard repeatedly how tough this would be.

I was never promised a fairytale. I was never promised perfection. I was never ever promised easy.

I was promised difficult.

I was promised hard work.

I was promised struggles.

It's reality. It's ugly sometimes. But sometimes? Sometimes it's the most beautiful thing I have ever known.

It's loud and angry sometimes. But sometimes? It's soft and sweet.

It's hard. But sometimes? Sometimes it's so easy and simple. Sometimes it is flawless.

But the good times? The times where I look over at him, and his hair is crazy and he is laughing that weird laugh of his, and my heart screams love so loud that I'm amazed the whole world doesn't hear it. Those are the times that make tonight livable.

I'll hurt with him tonight. And when he gets home? I'll hug him and tell him how much I love him. And I'll hope. I'll hope that tomorrow is better. I'll hope that if tomorrow is a struggle, that God grants us the strength and the patience to love through it. And God will. Because that's just the kinda person God is.

What's in a poorly thought out name?

I'm beginning to think I went the wrong direction with the blog title. I mean, look at my first post. It's about expired crescent rolls. Gag me.

Sometimes my domesticity astounds me. I mean, it rises to levels that would shock the hell out of 98% of my friends and family. Then, there are days (or weeks) like this one, when the house is a mess and the act of cooking a meal is likened to bamboo under fingernails.

Am I dangerous? Probably. While cooking bacon this morning I thought to myself, "You know what, Self? We probably shouldn't be allowed to cook bacon after that incident in 7th grade." My cooking card should have totally been yanked after the bacon-splosion. Actually, it probably should have been yanked after the frozen pizza turned deadly weapon earlier that year. Basically, my husband is lucky that somewhere between 7th grade and now I have sort of learned how to operate an oven without setting things on fire.

There are four piles of dirty laundry sorted and sitting in my hallway. Danger danger danger.

Maybe I wasn't so wrong. I'm hardcore dangerous in just about all domestic areas. I'm pretty sure my washing machine is about to explode based on the loud noise it is making. I'm ignoring it. It's not so much that my level of domesticity is dangerous. It's more that my attempt at domesticity is dangerous.

Morning thought.

I'm sitting on my couch wondering if crescent rolls in a can expire. Actually, I know they expire, I'm more so wondering how long it takes for them to reach their expiration date.

Domestic goddess that I am, I have had crescent rolls in my fridge for close to a year. They are probably expired, but my brain likes the idea of crescent rolls with eggs and bacon this morning. My brain is very stuck on this idea. Therefore, my brain would like to not think about them being expired.

Odds are I'll sit here debating crescent roll expiration with myself until 11 when my brain will decide that it is time for lunch. Lunch (to my brain) means no more eggs. I am a freak of nature.