Sportishly Frustrated

Fall is here, and that means Football.
No, not the cool kind of football they play in EVERY OTHER COUNTRY with the little black and white ball, goalies and the like. That I could get into.
No, the American kind.

The kind we Americans, apparently, are supposed to bleed.
Fall is our favorite season, apparently, because strong, speedy men in tight pants and plastic body armor are going to chase an oblong ball made of pigskin.

source

I like to tell my husband that, while I love my country, I'm not really an American . . . somehow . . . I prefer tea to coffee, dislike barbeque sauce and barbeque sauce-covered foods, and I like soccer . . . REAL football. No, I'm not as avid as follower as I should be, but soccer just makes sense.
You kick the ball between two goals, goalies try to keep you from doing just that, and each goal is worth one point. Simple, to the point, and let's be honest: soccer is awesome.
Can I just say I hate calling it soccer? I really, really do. It SHOULD be called "football" because that makes sense.
But not here, not in the US of A. -_-

American football . . . Well . . . Let me give you this conversation to demonstrate:

Chris and I are eating brunch at our favorite little breakfast spot in town, and he tosses a piece of paper into my empty tea cup. "Touchdown!" I exclaim. "Or . . . goal . . . Or something . . . How do you actually make a touchdown?"
Chris pauses and gives me that bright-eyed smirking look that tells me he is, momentarily, going to be tremendously entertained. "How do YOU think you make a touchdown?"

"Well . . . it's something about . . . Well, there's the end of the field . . . and the dude runs towards it with the ball, and then he throws it on the ground and jumps around all excited. Or, do they kick it sometimes? I feel like they kick it towards the fork sometimes--"
"THE FORK?!"
"I can't remember what it's called!"
"THE FORK?!?"
"I know that's not it's name--"
"Shhh! Stop talking. I don't like sports, and even I'm embarrassed for you right now. The fork . . . bahahahaha!"

And I know it's called the goalpost, people. I do. I just couldn't remember right then and I was holding a fork, okay?
Cool. We got that cleared up.

source

Then there's the whole team rivalry thing.
Technically, Chris and I should be a house divided. No, really. His parents and sisters BLEED blue and orange (Florida Gators) while mine were pretty committed FSU fans. Rival schools.
I mean, really, it's the Montagues and Capulets, people.
Sometimes.
On occasion.
In some small extremist circles.
For Chris's father, it's pretty DANG serious so it could have been. We've just made a solemn vow NEVER to bring up football with both sets of parents in the room. Steve's opinion of my upbringing could be forever marred.
Maybe I'm being dramatic, but what else is new?

As it turns out, neither Chris nor I are into the sport . . . Sometimes, I try, but, yeah just not into it. Chris doesn't even care to try. He gave up on the enjoyment of athletics a loooong time ago. He doesn't even care for the Olympics, and that is one thing we will never agree upon. I love the Olympics. :] WHOO-HOO!!!

And yet, somehow, we managed to plan our wedding in a manner that hinted that we cared IMMENSELY about football and its fans.
Apparently, there was some HUGE Gator game going on either the weekend before or after our wedding, and his father and sister were singing our praises because, unlike Chris's other sister, we revered the game day and left it sacred, unmarred by nuptials. There was none of this sneaking text updates or streaming or radio listening during our wedding and reception. No suspense for game lovers. Because there was no game. There were several people who congratulated us not just on our blessed union but "Oh my gosh! Thank you SO MUCH for planning on a non-game day! THANK YOU!!! You're awesome!"
I'm not even kidding.

Honestly, my parents had a vacation planned the next weekend, and we were working around that so . . . Yeah, no one needs to REALLY know that, do they? I'll take being a family football hero just this once. Thank you.

Because, I'll be honest: I'm in it for the parties.
Football party food is AWESOME.
I don't care who plays in the Superbowl. I'll watch the game just for a few minutes just to LOOK like I belong, but, really, I'm in it for the chips and dip. I'm like an undercover cop or something, infiltrating the enemy to access the goods. "Oh, yeah, sure I'm cheering for ____! They're the best! Booo other team, you jerks! Now where are the chips? MISSION ACCOMPLISHED. Oh, thank God. SO GOOD."
They're totally worth being bored and confused for hours while the room around me rages with tension and testosterone. Yep, totally worth it.

source
And we're not just talking chips and salsa people.
These are culinary creations that ONLY appear during football season. ONLY
It's like some rare migratory bird that takes your breath away the moment it soars overhead.
That is the glory of the football season chip dip.
SO GOOD.

I like big chips, and I cannot lie.

Though, I suppose, if I'm going to call soccer "football," I should call chips "crisps," right?
In that case: I like big crisps, and I cannot lie.
There, better.

Dear Facebook: Blogtember Prompt

Okay, so, you'll notice I'm not a faithful Blogtember follower.
Maybe I should have been, but at this point, we're just picking and choosing, peeps.
And this prompt, this "Write an antonymous letter to your FB pals," THIS I like.

Because, let's be honest, we all have a little Facebook angst now and again, am I right?
But, of course, we're such good facebookers, we're not honest about it . . . RIGHT? Or is that just me? Biting my tongue on the internet the same way I bite it in person because it's not any of my bloody business?

Maybe.

source

Dear old buddies, old pals of mine: 

• I LOVE it when you post pictures.
  I really do. I like seeing your lives and your joys and all of that. I like staying connected. Most of you are REALLY AWESOME photographers. You have adorable kids, cute animals, great fashion sense. Some of you are into fitness and post pictures of your progress and WOW! You're awesome. I love witnessing this from afar and cheering you on.
  But, let's face it, when you post a bazillion selfies, tagging things like #glutesalute. #sohot, and #ducklips, am I not supposed to be a little puzzled?
  What the crap is a glute salute anyways?

•  Be real.
  If you're having a rough day, let Facebook know. If you're going through something hard or you're sick or just really down in the dumps, tell us. We'll encourage you and pray for you and everything. Be real.  Still, there's this balance between posting perfection and nothing but complaints. No one likes a Debbie Downer or a Perfect,Perky  Petunia (is that a thing or did I just make that up? Can it be a thing?)

source

• Be careful about your kids
  I love seeing pics of your kiddos. They're adorable, and it's fun.
  Sometimes, a picture of your bundles of joy every two hours is a little much, but, hey, I get it, they're adorable, and who wouldn't want to see all of that cuteness all over their wall?
  But please be careful.
  Those rampant complaints about your child? Not cool. Sure, EVERYONE has a bad day or even a really rough streak (Terribly Twos, anyone?), but, one day, your child may find that post. Okay, Maybe not your toddler, but your pubescent preteen might.Sure, we all have a right to complain now and again, but, if that person finds that post, how will you feel? Embarrassed? Justified? How? Always think twice before you post.
  I can preach this from experience: imagine eighteen-year-old me, leaving home for college, complaining about my parents, and then my mom finding those blog posts.
  Um, most awkward Thanksgiving EVER.
  Ever, people. EVER.
  

•  Teens, I'm sorry he doesn't love you, but you'll have a new crush next week.
  Seriously honeys, it's not the end of the world. Been there, done that, and in my old age all I can do is roll my eyes.
  You're twelve. Those butterflies and giggles you get when he walks in a room? Not soul-matching, universe-singing true love. That's crush, sweetheart, and sorry, but there will be lots of those over the next few years.
  And don't rush it.
  I reiterate: YOU'RE TWELVE. Okay, maybe some of you are sixteen. That's just more drama than you already have or need.
  Hormones. Gah. Boo. Yuck.
  

• Oh my gosh with the politics already! Or campaigns for organic or the evils of vaccinations or whatever platform you claim . . .
  I believe in being informed and having an opinion. I believe in doing research and finding a cause and a passion. I do. I have causes and beliefs and research I believe in--causes, opinions, and research I will, on occasion, share on my wall. I think it's awesome that we can do that and that it allows us to educate each other. It's fabulous.
  But there comes a line, people. A line where it suddenly becomes too much; where it goes from proclamation to screaming, from information to a sermon, and it doesn't soften my heart towards your position. It fact, it hardens it. I stop reading and thinking and instead just roll my eyes. Here they go again, for the twelfth time today, another post on ____. BLAH.
  Why? Because sometimes it's too much or it's too mean (has anyone else noticed how BRUTAL people become when you post politics??? Oh, laaaaawdy). 
  I love that social media like Facebook allows us to share things we find important, but doing the same, harsh, belittling, or fearful ranting over and over and over again only makes me more indifferent to your cause. Instead, post a few strong, well-presented articles or videos.  Having one wonderful post/link proclaiming your cause is better than beating my wall to death with dozens of lousy posts. 

Just a thought.

Do I sound like a dreadful person?

I probably do.
 
I'm very nice, usually, I promise . . .

source

Pinnacles Round 2 (aka Photography Attempts Post Due to Brain Fart)

Good grief . . . It's been almost a week since I posted. AND visited your lovely blogs!
GASP!!!
Shame on me.
Seriously.

Sometimes, time just runs away from you. Honestly, I can't remember what I did this week. I really can't.
I was sick, and then . . . then what? I have no idea. Does that make me sound like I was black-out drunk or lost time in an opium den? Because, I swear to you on my honor and Pipkin's dinner that was so NOT the case. Nope. Not even a little.
I'm not nearly that exhilaratingly scandalous.
Seriously, for me, scandalous is wearing high heels and sneaking my dog bits of corn chips.
We're not high on excitement over here . . .
Though it is Brewfest on World of Warcraft--that's exciting, right? RIGHT?!?!
Oh, god, I need a life.


In other news, because I'd like to . . . Here are some pictures from our most recent Pinnacles hike (yeah, it's going to totally become a thing--we just love it).

Now, I'm going to enjoy the first batch of rain I've seen here since April. I'm not used to not having rain . . . or not having rain that's attached to a mighty thunderstorm. This could take some getting used to . . .

See that cliff? That sheer drop off in three directions?
Chris tried to get me to climb out there. I got about ten feet form the edge, and went NO. Hell could freeze over faster than I would scuttle out there with certain death on either side.
To my left: a slanted rise, no real grips. To my right: rounded stone, very smooth. CERTAIN DEATH, PEOPLE.
So he walked me back to solid ground and then hiked out to the edge alone per my mother's request for a cool picture.
He later admitted it was a bad idea because the openness, the "If I tilt to far to the left/right/forward, lose my footing even a little, I WILL fall" made him dizzy.
So there will be no more of that, please and thank you.

 

So, yeah, you should totally visit Pinnacles.
I can't wait until it's springtime and things start blooming. It will be GORGEOUS.

Have an awesome weekend, loves!

TMI or "Why My Uterus Hates Me"

"I'm not feeling very well - I need a doctor immediately. Ring the nearest golf course."
--Groucho Marx

I'm just going to warn you up front: if you don't have ovaries, you probably don't want to read this.
Actually, even if you have ovaries, you might not want to read this.
Because I'm going to be be honest here, folks.
REALLY HONEST.
Also, I'm going to whine. I hate whining, but I love ranting. So maybe this is more of that. Strap yourselves in.
Or flee in terror.
Either one works.

Because, sometimes, being female just stinks. Not only are there all of our insecurity issues, our weird methods of communication, our reading into everything, our penchant for drama, and the presence of high heels, there's this bloody little hormone called estrogen, and, my golly, is it a party pooper or WHAT?!

I'm also warning you because I think medical stuff is fascinating. I mean, I was that student who went out and researched the Bubonic Plague because I wanted to know EXACTLY what it did to you that made it so terrible.
Besides, you know, KILL you.
FYI I still remember the major symptoms and all that jazz, so if you're worried you've contracted the black death, give me a ring. I'll help you out. ;]
So, medical weirdness, bizarre science, I LOVE IT. 
In fact, Chris and I have pretty much decided that, when I'm old and senile, I'm going to be a female version of Fringe's Walter Bishop--random amazement, too many wacky facts, love of the bizarre, and random food fixations. I'm going to be a ball in the nursing home, folks.

source
And, um, for just a second can we talk about how AMAZING Fringe was??? I mean, REALLY. SO. GOOD.
If you haven't watched it, go to Netflix, and watch it ALL.
I think I need a rewatch because I need more Walter Bishop in my life.
Rant over.
For now.

Anyways, back to the point.
The problems all started with our miscarriage back in June. I try not to think about it, but the truth is, it has left a PHYSICAL mark, not just an emotional scar. The emotional wounds continue to slowly heal. The physical ones . . . The just keep coming.
I mean, really, my uterus is not giving me a break.
Thank you SO MUCH uterus. You're a pal.

If I were . . .

 Cara over at The Marvelous Flight of Cara posted this adorable little survey Friday, and it seemed like such fun, I received permission to do the same. Whoot!
I'd love to see your answers if you decide to do the same--just post the link in the comments! Have fun and a spectacular weekend! 

If I were a month, I’d be October
If I were a day of the week, I’d be Tuesday
If I were a time of day, I’d be 1:30 in the afternoon.
If I were a planet, I’d be Pluto.
If I were a sea animal, I’d be a flapjack octopus.
If I were a direction, I’d be West.
If I were a piece of furniture, I’d be a bookshelf with too many books and a secret passage.
If I were a liquid, I’d be raindrops at sea.
If I were a gemstone, I’d be a sapphire.
If I were a tree, I’d be a weeping willow.
If I were a tool, I’d be a corkscrew (that counts, right?)
If I were a flower, I’d be a bright, pom-pom dahlia.
If I were a kind of weather, I’d be a sunshower.
If I were a musical instrument, I’d be a penny whistle.
If I were a color, I’d be cerulean blue.
If I were an emotion, I’d be childlike joy.
If I were a fruit, I’d be a cutie orange.
If I were a sound, I’d be a duck's quack.
If I were an element, I’d be water.
If I were a car, I’d be a classic Volkswagen van.
If I were a food, I’d be sushi with spicy mayo sauce on top.
If I were a place, I’d be a the seaside.
If I were a material, I’d be new clay.
If I were a taste, I’d taste like lemon.
If I were a scent, I’d be citrus.
If I were an animal, I’d be a puffin.
If I were an object, I’d be a quirky, random nick knack from a favorite vacation.
If I were a body part, I’d be fingers.
If I were a song, I’d be "Dear Prudence" by the Beatles.
If I were a pair of shoes, I’d be classic black Converse All-Star high stops.
If I were an item of clothing, I'd be a sweater vest. 
If I were a facial expression, I’d be Curiosity. 
(You know, the bright eyes, slightly furrowed brow, curling lip corners or maybe a lips pursed in deep concentration . . . that expression you wear when you've found something too fascinating to turn away--you just HAVE to keep looking!)

What about you? What would you be? 

Link your answers back in comments :]

A Day in Monterey

I think, in instagram, they call these "latergrams" or something . . . Gosh, I'm starting to feel old.
ANYWAYS.
This, I guess, is what you could call a "laterblog" . . . Maybe a "blater"? or a "latog"? I should probably give up while I'm ahead.

Anyways, I have a guest post today over with the lovely Megan of Semi-Charmed Kind of Life--whoo-hoo!!! I'm chatting a bit about how to spend a day in Monterey Bay like a local. Mostly, it's about food. Because food is awesome.

So, here, I thought I'd just share a few of my pics from that day visiting the aquarium and Lovers Point.

Have a fabulous Friday, guys!

The Kelp Forest Aquarium exhibit is three stories tall and absolutely gorgeous! It's filled with sharks and all kinds of fish.

   

Upside-Down Jellyfish. Don't they look like ruffled cupcakes or something out of Alice in Wonderland or something? I love them!

 

Yes, I also have a thing for jellies.
But don't they just photograph beautifully???

 

The sea otters were out to play!
We arrived at the aquarium JUST after their feeding time, so they were playing and cleaning themselves up.
Cuteness overload?? Completely.
If you want just a teasing taste of it, pop on over to my instagram feed (link in sidebar) and there's a short video of it! Plus a video of cuttlefish hunting! (seriously, the coolest thing EVER)

As I've said MANY times before, I have a mild obsession with cephalopods (aka squid, octopi, and cuttlefish).
These baby squid just made my day!

  

The view of Monterey Bay from the aquarium's outer deck

 

Lovers Point, a small beach where you can relax in the sand, wade or swim in the freezing Pacific, go kayaking through the kelp beds, or climb out onto the rocks overlooking the sea. BEAUTIFUL spot.

Chris tried to convince me to go ON THE EDGE of the cliff with him, but I didn't for two reasons:
1. I'm terrified of heights
2. I have the coordination of a drunk flamingo
With these powers combined, death or serious injury was certain.
Also, there was this seagull perched right next to us that kept laughing at me. -_-

Meh, not so much . . .

When my mom came to visit, we took her to the Monterey Bay Aquarium for three reasons:

1. It's awesome.
   It's kind of one of those places you're REQUIRED to visit if you're ever in the Bay area. You just do.
2. My mom loves nature
   So this seemed like a good venture choice. 
3. I will take any excuse--ANY EXCUSE--to go back there.

While we're there, bouncing from exhibit to exhibit, after I've raved over the glories of sharks, the awesomness of squid, the adorableness of the stingrays, my mom finally asks, "Sarah, what DON'T you love?"
And I honestly couldn't tell her.


I may love comics, superheroes, wizards, Cephalopods, bats, snakes, frogs, felines, canines, spiders, butterflies, dragonflies, outdoors, trees, flowers, a hot cup of tea, a sunny day, a sunshower, mythology, hiking, a thunderstorm, the ocean, the hills, a good book, Epsom salt baths, kayaking, birds, new foods, new places, clean sheets, a good pair of chucks, a witty nerd shirt, cheesecake, cardigans, a new tune, trivia, new workouts, and all that jazz, I do have things I DISlike. At least, I'm pretty sure I do . . . Oh, yes, yes, I'm sure. 


It's just taken me a while to come up with an actual list . . .
But I suppose this is a good start to one.
 

another one of my favorites--jellyfish!

So far, I dislike:

• Cockroaches (demons spawned out of hell, I swear!)
• hair on the bathroom floor
• the terrifying thought that, no matter how much I wash the linens or clean the house, it just might smell weird to guests (and, after all that, there's nothing I can do about it)
• beginning a cleaning chore (once I start, it's awesome, but starting? YUCK)
• Twilight or anything related to it
• Fifty Shades of Grey and anything related to it . . . which I suppose goes with the previous item, as it is a fanfic . . . yep . . . 
• Okay, uber romantic novels in general are a no
• Dark chocolate
• High heels
• When a black shirt is actually navy blue
• Poor film adaptions of literature
• Adult acne (wasn't I suppose to grow out of this like ten years ago???)
• My toes
• Sweet tea
• Coffee
• When a cake doesn't have enough frosting
• Liking your own Facebook post
• Parking right in front of a store (I like parking at the far end of a lot)
• Gaining five pounds just by LUSTING after a cheeseburger
• When my GPS gets more lost than I am
• Being too warm to sleep under even just the sheets
• Being flanked by semis on the highway
• Not being able to pop my neck or my back
• Someone showing up WAY earlier than you anticipated (probably because I'm usually running late ;])

See, mumsie? There are TOTALLY things I don't love. Lots, actually. 

How about you?
Are you generally someone who loves EVERYTHING or someone who has a bigger DISlike list?
What are some items on your list??

Personality Types and all that jazz

I don't know about you, when I LOVE personality quizzes.
Yes, even the really stupid ones like "What kind of shoe are you."
Actually . . . I'm not sure I actually took that one, but, in high school, you never can tell. I'm sure at age seventeen I had some DESPERATE need to figure out if I was flip flops or stilettos or something. Self-discovering, identity, and hormones--all those things teenagers worry about, and a shoe quiz could pretty much settle that for you in three minutes time . . . or five, if you thought too hard about your answers.

ANYWAYS.

I noticed several peeps here in the blogsphere posting their results to the Myers-Briggs Type Indicator Test. You know, people who identify as a mix of four letters? INSJ? ENFP? etc. That thing. It's pretty cool.
Plenty of peeps are linking of for Story of My Life's Blogtember Challenge, and this was just one of the many prompts. Pretty cool, right?

Well, as it turns out, Meyers-Briggs was one of those quizzes I took forever ago, and it seems my inner self hasn't changed much.

 Yeah, we're pretty much INFJ for life over here.
Well, I am. Chris, on the other hand, is Mr.INFP.
(not that you asked about him, but I thought I'd mention it, anyways).

Photo by Cory Callahan

Being an INFJ pretty much means I'm full of contradictions.

The Un-Peoplie People Person

Part of the definition of an INFJ is that we may APPEAR extroverted, but we're actually very introverted.

I'm naturally very shy, but, if you put me in a position where I'm expected to talk--leadership, performance, presentation--I will YACK YOUR EAR OFF. And I'll do it with ease. I don't like being the center of attention (in fact I kind of hate it), but I do well in the spotlight. I was so good at this that my former students cried foul when I confessed that I'm actually terrified of people.
I love being with a close group of friends (because close relationships like that are HUGE), but I recharge best on my own. I need my quiet me-time--whether it's hiking, long walks, Netflix marathons, or blogging. Sometimes, it's even cleaning while dancing around the kitchen like a madwoman to my favorite playlist. I mean, um, just cleaning. Like a mature, civilized person.Those kinds don't dance, do they?

The Structured Mess 

I like things orderly, but my own form of order, which might look like a mess.

But it's my mess. If I can find what I'm looking for in under five minutes, I'm organized, right?
Doing super-detailed, perfectionist projects CAN be right up my alley if I'm the person in charge. Doing something super detailed to someone else's standards? Oh my word. I dissolve into an insecure mess.I can't handle it. I either focus on all the teeny TINY details that it takes forever or I put it off until I'm panicked because the deadline's here and I've barely started.
I can paint minute details on a tea cup for fun for hours, but ask me to fold towels to my mother's standards? Nope.
I'm a creative--my imagination runs like its on crack, I'm enthralled by art, and I'm most at home playing with words and colors. It gets messy, but it's MY kind of messy. I can handle that.

The Clueless Mind-Reader 

INFJs are supposed to be borderline psychics. That makes me laugh. Really, it does.

But there's some teeny tiny grain of truth to it. Not because we're even REMOTELY psychic, but because we just read people well.
Sometimes, we "over-read" them . . . or at least I do. You see, I love studying people--psychology, all that jazz--I love discovering motive, history, and how that affects actions. I think it's the English major in me, where we analyzed so many fictional characters. You just learn to pick human beings apart. It's fun. But then I overpick.  I find myself in a mildly unpleasant situation with the person, and, oh my god, I've suddenly written the most tragic, dramatic, woe-is-me story you've ever imagined.
I make martyrs and villains in a second, mapping out this dismal future, that, really, is just plain ridiculous.

But sometimes, dagnabbit, I'm RIGHT. Sometimes, I'm very very wrong. Mostly, I'm ridiculous.

How is this? As an INFJ, I naturally rely more on feeling and emotion than logic. I can BE logical, but sometimes logic doesn't feel right.
See? There I go feeling again. Gosh, feelings. Pfft.

They attach all other kinds of phrases to INFJs like "Protectors" and "Nurturers," which aren't too far off.  I've always liked taking care of things--animals, people, nick-knacks that need extra love. The only thing I can't seem to handle are plants, and we're working on that. One of these days, I'll keep something in a pot alive. I swear  I will.

I also tend to internalize my own personal conflicts, and, when I can't avoid conflict with others and it gets WAY too intense and I just can't take it anymore, I DO explode, usually in tears, which is very unlike normal "happy" me, but VERY INFJ. If I'm under too much stress, I grow physically ill, which, again, matches up with the INFJ profile.

What about you?? What do you test as? Was your profile accurate or way off?

To read other blogs on this topic, check out the link-up here.

Want to learn more about yourself? Try things links: 

• The Myers-Briggs test
• Personality Test Based on Myers, Briggs, and Jung
   A quick, unique, and almost more personable test style to discover your personality profile. They pose 28 situations and ask you which of the two reactions you're more likely to have. It's quick, interesting, and fun. Give it a look!
• Which Harry Potter Character Are You?
  Based on Myers-Briggs.  LOVE THIS.
  Technically, I'm Lupin, but I act more like Luna ;]
  Chris, on the other hand, is categorized as a Luna but acts like Lupin. Weird, right?
• Famous Literature as Myer's-Briggs Personalities
  The Huffington Post tells you which famous book are you and why. Pretty intriguing. 
• Famous Personality Types
  This is such a cool list! Unfortunately, it had me fuming for days (still can't get over it) because the list does includes the heroes and villains of history.
  So Chris finds out that he's ALL OF MY CREATIVE HEROES (seriously, the INFP list is awesome), and I find out that I'm Hitler . . . and Osama Bin Laden . . . I had a COW, people. An unreasonable, illogical, very feeling cow. But I feel I had a good reason: I'm freakn Hitler.

So much and nothing at all

I have absolutely nothing to say.

No, really, just nadda.

Well, I guess I have SOMETHING to say. In the last twenty-four hours, I have written THREE full blog posts, and, in the end, decided they just weren't worthy to post.

I wrote about a minor medical abnormality my doctor discovered.
I thought it was fascinating, but then I was all, "Wait a second . . . you're not supposed to write crap like this for the entire flippin internet, are you?"
So I saved it as a draft and I left it alone.
YOU WILL NEVER KNOW THE HARMLESS ODDITY INSIDE ME. NEVER!!!
Now I'll just let the curiosity of THAT stew for a little while . . . if you beg me, I might tell you. Maybe.
But it's probably underwhelming, anyways . . . . Meh.

[source]

 I tried to come up with a list of random facts about myself--those lists that are so popular--but, doggone it, the only thing I could come up with was the fact that my husband and I resemble our cats and this meme--also cat related.

[source]

Then I wrote an ENTIRE post on why I think I like cats.

Think about it, people.
WHY I LIKE CATS.

NO ONE CARES IF I LIKE CATS OR WHY THE CRAP I DO.

 I don't even know if I care. I like cats. I think it's weird if you don't.

[source]

^^^^THIS.
This is my reaction when people just plain hate cats.
And desserts.
HOW DO YOU NOT LOVE DESSERTS?!
Even if they're like the super healthy, green, "it's just a pretty spinach leaf" dessert. Desserts are awesome. That's why they're saved for last.
Because you want to end your meal on the best note possible and what note could possibly be better than cake?! Cookies?? Pie??? Ice cream?!? What could be better?
NOTHING.

ABSOLUTELY NOTHING.

Anyone who tells you differently is lying to you.

[source]

And those are all the memes and gifs I can muster for today . . . I just realized this is my first meme-heavy post. I don't know whether to feel proud or ashamed of myself . . . Hm.

Oh, and this one, because it so describes my life at the moment . . .

[source]

P.S. If you know who he is, we are automatically friends.  Not even kidding.

And we're back again . . . and a little peek into the Old Mission San Juan Bautista

You know, you fall out of the habit of blogging, even for just a couple of days, and it's like pulling teeth to get back into it. Your brain just goes kind of dead and you have no idea what to say and you're digging through pictures wondering what on earth you post

At least I have a good excuse for this two week furlough: MY MOM CAME TO VISIT!!! :]

Chilling at the best burger place in town--J.J.'s Burgers

  For her birthday, my mom asked to fly out here to Cali to spend five days with Chris and me. So my Dad made it happen, she jumped on a jet plane, and I tried to fluff up the guestroom futon . . . we're high class like that.
 We spent her first day touring our little town, the next in Monterey, then Pinnacles, and then Carmel. We did a lot of sightseeing, ate great food, and lovely conversation.
You never realize how much you miss someone until you see them again and then they're gone again. Just can't wait to see her and the fam again!

For now, here are some pics from our little jaunt around San Juan Bautista and the Mission. 

A cross in the Mission graveyard

I LOVED the restored books--hymnals and Bibles  . . . I guess those are the only books you'd find in a monastery--on display in the Mission.

And then the roses in the Mission garden? To DIE for. I have never seen more perfect roses.
Absolutely stunning.

They had an arbor covered in passion vines, and, for some reason, all the honeybees wanted THIS blossom. Seriously, there was like a waiting line to snuggle up to this beauty.
It made me smile.