Spoooooooky Friday Wrapup

Ok, not really. This will likely not be spooky at all. But let's get to it!

***

First thing's first: you guys are THE BEST. This little blog has been chugging along for a few years now and the steady increase in readership has been so fun to see - and super humbling. But just in the last month the numbers have gone up by nearly 10,000 hits and that's INSANE, you guys. Thank you. Thank you for sharing this with family and friends, thanks for finding any of what I write even mildly amusing or entertaining, and thanks for all of your emails and sticking with me in the months when I was a terrible blogger because of love and tiredness. Also, CB was totally assuming that nobody was reading anymore:

CB: "That's great that the numbers have grown so much! I assumed they were slipping because you don't get as many comments as you have in the past."
Me: "I still get comments."
CB: "Yeah but not as much. And I figured it was because you have said you'd blog and then you didn't and so people stopped reading."
Me: "Um, apparently my lack of blogging has impacted you quite a bit!"
CB: "I'm just saying - you say you'll post on Tuesday, I check on Tuesday! Your public demands it!"

And then I went into the other room because, obviously.

Anyway, THANK YOU for not being annoyed by me like my husband currently is and sticking with my underpants and me!

***

So we don't have a new book blog post this week BUT! Do not despair. A friend of mine sent me this link earlier in the week with the subject line "Good book." And then she suggested that it be the book of the week.

I couldn't agree more! (FYI: if you have delicate lady ears that don't like the F word, skip this week's special video book.)

Reading Rainbow lives!

***

So while CB and I basically killed it in the pumpkin carving department this year, we aren't doing any costumes. Mainly because our Halloween will consist of eating leftover candy since I bought too much on purpose  by accident, handing some of it out to the kids in our building, and watching last night's Scandal.

But we haven't always been incredibly lame.

Nailed it.

Ok, this wasn't from Halloween. But again: nailed it.

Obviously.

Not Halloween...

Also not Halloween....

Just a random weekday....

Probably Halloween?....

Likely a Tuesday...

Heading off to college.....

CB's version of courtship.

Are you guys dressing up this year?

***

And now, the Video of the Week. Best. Movie. Ever.

Also, GOD the 80s were the best. 

Happy Friday, see you Monday!

Carving Pumpkins: An Exercise in Compromise

All I’ve really got to say is that if we end up making kids half as well as we make pumpkins, this world is in for a treat - there was a lot of high-fiving last night over our teamwork. Though it should be noted that I was never in charge of the carving or cleaning out of the pumpkin guts. The non-carving is just good safety and the pumpkin guts thing is less because it feels like you’re ripping out the insides of your own stomach and more because both of our hands wouldn’t fit into the pumpkin and so I didn’t want to slow down the process...is what I told CB.

Also, I was busy monitoring the status of the pumpkin guts bowl balancing on the edge of the table and not saying anything because I didn’t want to be bossy since CB’s hands were elbow-deep in vegetable goo. But all I kept thinking was “the bowl’s gonna fall, the bowl’s gonna fall.” And so then, when the bowl fell, I felt less concerned for our rug and more content that I was right. Which is something I’m working on, I get it.

However, I believe we’ve narrowed in on why, exactly, the bowl fell in the first place. Someone was distracted by a show that he doesn’t care at all about and thinks is too soap oper-y.

Exhibit A.

I will acknowledge, though, the lack of Beyonce anywhere in our apartment for the holiday season and it’s a damn shame. One of you faithful blog readers pointed out via Facebook that, while the pumpkin is delightful, it does not at all resemble Mrs. Carter. But when I broached the subject to CB, he didn’t even let me finish the sentence:

CB: “No.”
Me: “But-“
CB: “Not happening. We’re not carving a Beyonce pumpkin.”
Me: “Well what if next year we get two?”
CB: “That’s fine, but you’re going to have to do all of the carving for your special pumpkin.”

Me, thinking about it.

Me: “Yeah…just one pumpkin is fine. It might be overkill to have her face lit up every night anyway.”

And then a little bit of my soul died for lying straight to my husband’s face. Because Beyonce’s carved image lit up in our apartment every night is basically my dream come true. So I guess this is what they mean when they say marriage is hard work.

Happy Wednesday, everyone! Did you carve your pumpkins yet??

Conversations from Cohabitation

The other morning as we were both waking up, I commented to CB on how sweet he’d been in the middle of the night.

Me: “You were feeling all lovey randomly in the middle of the night, eh?”
CB: “You know me!”
Me: “It was great! I told you to stop snoring and you responded by telling me that you love me. It was such a nice surprise!
CB: “Wait, what?”
Me, laughing: “You don’t remember saying that last night?”
CB: “No, I remember….but I thought you said ‘I love you.’ So I was surprised and happy that you were randomly being loving in the middle of the night, since you’re usually just telling me to stop snoring and roll over.”
Me: “Which is what I was doing.”
CB: “Oh man! I thought you said ‘I love you!’”
Me: “Nope, I said ‘Stop snoring!’ and then you said ‘I love you’ and I said ‘I love you too’.”
CB, laughing: “Yeah, I thought it was strange that you responded like that, but figured you just wanted to double it up.”
Me, laughing: “Well, you stopped snoring and we said ‘I love you.’ Could’ve been worse.”
CB: “Or it could’ve been better! You could’ve actually said ‘I love you’ and let me be with the snoring.”
Me: “Well we both know that that’s not happening, so let’s take it where we can get it.”

***

While telling CB about the cute waiter at dinner the other night, I attempted to pay him a compliment. And failed.

Me: “He actually sort of looked like you! Dark hair, tall….except he was skinny.”
CB, mouth open: “Did you just call me fat?”
Me, laughing: “No! No! I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant that he’s got that, like, skinny build.”
CB: “As opposed to my fat build?”
Me: “Oh my God, it’s like talking to me. No! If anything, he was too skinny and you’re just right!”
CB: “That’s what you say to fat people.”
Me: “No, that’s what you say to people who are built just right. Like you. Oh my God, I swear I meant it as a compliment!”
CB, laughing: “So basically the waiter was younger and thinner than me. That’s the moral of this story.”
Me: “Well, yes…….but I didn’t say that those things made him better than you. You just assumed.”
CB: “Right, because older and fatter is what every girl wants.”
Me: “Oh my God, not fatter. You’re fit and trim!”
CB, laughing and mocking me now: “No, no, that’s fine. Your fat, old husband will just be over here folding your laundry while you go drink fancy wine with younger and thinner me.”
Me: “Wow, this marriage is really working out to my advantage!”
CB: “We didn’t even make it to the end of the year.”
Me: “But we gave it a valiant effort.”

Happy Monday!

Friday Wrapup

Let's get to it!

***
The other day, I sent CB an email with the subject line: BREAKING NEWS. And then I wrote this:

Um, the breaking news is three or four-fold: 

1. There is a Beyonce pumpkin. Have we come up with our idea for this year? OMG. 

2. While googling said Beyonce pumpkin images, I came across a cute cat pumpkin. Perhaps that's our idea for the year? (see attached)

3. I read an article and didn't know most of who anyone was, nor could I identify them in the photo. I felt old and didn't even care. The people were: Iggy Azalea, Wiz Khalifa, and Calum Hood. I mean, I know who two of the three of those people are, but couldn't pick them out of a lineup or know if they were sitting in the cubicle next to me. Also, why does everyone have a made up name, now? Were there just too many John and Jane's in the world and not enough Iggy's and Wiz's? These are the things I think about when reading about pop culture these days. 

4. You married a one hundred year old. 

And then I included this picture as an attachment. 

His response?

We can make what ever kind of pumpkin you want... except Beyonce. 

His brievity and willingness to deal with me are just two of the many reasons why I married him. 

***

Ok, so speaking of Halloween, it's only one week away, you guys. And while typically animals dressed as humans is one of my lesser favorite things, this made me endlessly laugh. We all have a lot of time on our hands.

***

Finally, a review for "Gone Girl." OHMYGOD. Click here.

***

And now, the Video of the Week.

This makes me a mean wife, but this morning I was asking CB what the video should be this week, and while he made the "hmm, let me think about that" face, he never gave me a response. Then, 10 minutes later, we saw something about the new "Between Two Ferns" video (click here to watch) and he was like "Oh, you could make that the video of the week."

Me: "The video of the week is always music."
CB: "Right, but you put other videos on there all the time."
Me: "Yeah, but that's just because it's the Friday Wrapup. The Video of the Week has to be music."
CB: "It's your blog, you can make it anything you want."

Not helpful. So, the part of this that makes me a mean wife is that I'm picking a video for a song that drives CB crazy. That'll teach him not to come up with something better! (seriously, why am I mean?) Also, it's SO catchy. I hate myself. And now, so does CB.

Happy Friday!

In Which I Get Flirted With and Drink Really Old Wine: You tell me which is cooler.

So, I totally got hit on this weekend, you guys, and immediately told CB about it upon getting home. Which I think is a normal story to tell your husband, right? And he was like “look at you! Still got it!” Which I’m pretty sure is what you say to old people, so, you know, moment over.

But whatever, it was a moment in time and I was so thrilled that I’d actually noticed it before it was over that it totally made my night. Well, that, and the fact that by the end of the evening I had a 65 year old distinguished physician asking our 30 year old waiter to bring tequila shots over to our table.

Anyway, so over the weekend I was invited to an incredibly upscale dinner while on my business trip, and so I put on the only dress and heels I brought with me and suited up with my Professional Becky face. Which included applying a lipstick roughly the same shade as my lips and stabbing myself accidentally in the eyeball twice while applying mascara, which  I got nervous would made me late because I couldn’t open my eye for a few minutes because it burned from the stabbing, and then I was rubbing my eye so much that I had to re-apply everything.

I know, I know.

So I walked into the dimly lit dining room, illuminated only by candles and the city lights from outside, and immediately started to panic-sweat. Everyone was fancy and distinguished and holding a glass of champagne while talking about Proust and the economy.

Ok, I made that last part up. I have no idea what they were talking about because I was too focused on the fact that a handsome young waiter was handing me pink champagne that tasted like alcoholic candy and I got distracted by continually pretending to be dainty and restrained when being offered hors d'oeuvres.

Anyway, I made it through the first hour without revealing too much of my personality, so things were going swimmingly. But then we were asked to take our seats and I noticed that each place setting had five different wine glasses set up in a row and I was like “Wait….are we playing a fancier version of beer pong tonight? What is happening?” Thankfully, that thought stayed inside my head. However, the woman who sat down beside me said “Are all of these glasses for us? I’m a light-weight, I may not make it.” And so I immediately exhaled that my kindred spirit had found her place next to me and relaxed into my chair.  

Cut to: 15 minutes later when the waiter was asking if there were any specific allergies of which he should be aware.

Me: “Um, I’m allergic to red wine, unfortunately.”
Tablemates: “Oh no! What happens?”
Me: “Well, first I get kind of red. Then my joints get all sore and my hands start to swell up. And then, if I plow right through those signs, I’ll get sick.”
TMs: “That’s awful!”
Me: “It really is because red wine is delicious.”
Waiter: “Well I’ll be sure to substitute a nice white wine for each course where we’re serving red to the rest of the table.”
Me: “Ok, so two things: one, all of these glasses are for me right here?”

He nodded.

Me, continuing: “Ok, so the second thing is that I know nothing about wine, so honestly? Don’t worry about me. You could bring me the exact same wine for each course, tell me it was something different than what I just tasted, and I’d be like ‘oh, this is good!’ and keep eating my tiny meal. I promise, so don’t worry about me.”
Waiter, laughing: “No, no, it’ll be my pleasure. I’ll be sure to pair a great wine for you with each course.”
Me: “Ok, but all I’m saying is that you may be really disappointed when you’re telling me all about the different notes in the wine and all I can tell is that it’s sweet, tastes like wine, and I like it.”
Waiter, laughing: “No, I’m going to enjoy introducing you to various wines, whether you notice the differences or not!”

Cut to: an hour later, my table mates were like “Um, have you noticed that he’s going into the giant wine cellar over there every time we have a different course and is hand-picking wine for you? He’s opening bottles JUST for you.”

No, actually, I hadn’t noticed because I was too busy trying to figure out how they cut the mushrooms in the first course so finely and why I had a tiny fork in front of me that looked like something a doll would use in a fake tea party.

Me: “Oh really? No, I hadn’t noticed.”
TMs: “Yeah. And he’s spending an awful lot of time talking to you about wine, food, and Iowa. I think he’s got a little crush.”

Sidebar: The Iowa part isn’t weird, you guys. I mentioned being from the Midwest and he is from Iowa and so we bonded. Until he referred to the Midwest as the “Midbest” and I shook my head and said “Yeah, don’t ever say that again, please.”

However, I had noticed that he would circle back around in between courses and “top off” my glass. And once I looked up while he was double-pouring and he winked at me.

WAIT: I think this is what my friends and family refer to as being flirted with, which I totally miss ALL OF THE TIME because I’m too busy figuring out the use for tiny forks! So I got excited that I noticed the winking and the extra wine and the lingering at the table to talk about oak barrels vs steel barrels…..

….but then I was like “nah, this is just his job. And I’m one of the only people in this whole room talking above a whisper, so I’m just making his night at work a little less dull.”

So I put all of the potential flirt-signs aside and continued to enjoy food I didn’t recognize. But THEN he brought out the last wine of the evening.

Waiter: “So, this is a really special wine. I was going to bring you champagne for this course, and am happy to if you don’t like it, so just let me know.”
Me: “Oooh, I do love me some champagne...”
Waiter, holding the bottle up for me to see: “But this is a white wine that has been aging since 1983.”
Me: “Wait. 1983?”
Waiter, laughing: “Yeah, which is funny because this wine is a year older than I am.”

FAIL, cute waiter, FAIL.

Me: “Um, Johnny, are you saying that to make me feel bad? Because it’s working. You were born in 1984??”
Johnny, laughing: “No, no, I’m saying it because it’s embarrassing for ME! Besides, you couldn’t be too far behind….”

Dear Johnny,
When you were born, I already
knew how to tap dance. And kill it
in suspenders. Love, Becky

Oh, Johnny.

Me: “That’s not even a funny joke. Make your way into the ‘70s and we’ll be getting warmer.”
Johnny, laughing and pouring: “Well, I would never have known…….”

Awkward silence because I was staring at the red wine coming out of the older-than-my-waiter bottle.

Me: “Um, Johnny, why are you trying to kill me with red wine?”
Johnny, laughing: “I knew you were going to say that, but that’s what’s so cool about this wine! It’s been aged so long that it’s a white wine with a red color. I promise. It’s white wine. Just try it, there are hints of caramel in there that I thought you might enjoy.”
Me: “Well yes, because caramel is delicious.”

And then I tried it, loved it, and high-fived the 30 year old waiter.

Johnny: “I knew it!”
Tablemates: “Wait, what wine were we going to get? We want to taste that one, too!”

And so Johnny made his way around the table with my special, old (younger than me) wine and we all toasted:

TM: “To the fun table!”
The rest of us: “To the fun table!”
65 year old TM: “Hey Johnny, do you have any tequila shots back there?”
Me: “Oooh no, I have to work in the morning, no tequila or shots for me.”

Um, can we all take a moment to shudder that I was the voice of reason here?

Anyway, we made it through dinner without doing shots and, while simultaneously feeling warm from the wine and the winking, I went to get my coat to leave. Which is  when I ran into Johnny.

He came over and shook my hand, lingering and holding it:

Johnny: “It was such a pleasure to meet you, thank you so much.”
Me: “Me?! Thank YOU! That was incredible. Everything was delicious and the special wines were so cool, I really enjoyed myself!”
Johnny: “When do you leave for New York?”
Me: “Tomorrow evening after work.”
Johnny: “Oh, that’s too bad, there are some great places in the city I wanted to show you.”

Um, Johnny? I was born in the 70s and have a husband. See my rings? No, of course you don’t because you’re blinded by my timeless beauty. Obviously.

And so, of course, I couldn’t wait to share all of this with CB because he has a hot commodity (to one) wife. But after telling me that I still got it while brushing his teeth, he was like “Also, how cool is it that you got to drink wine that was that old?? That is so cool, Beck!” and I was like “Right? Because the waiter liked me.” And he was like “blah blah blah old wine blah blah.”

Me: “Um, you seem to be distracted by the wrong part of the story.”
CB, laughing: “Yes, you’re hot, the waiter loved you, he was cute and you had a blast. But you got to drink REALLY rare wine! Wait until my mom and sister hear about that.”
Me: “You skipped right over the flirty parts and got right down to the alcohol.”
CB: “This is why we work.”

Happy Thursday!

I'll be putting CB on a mug. You're welcome.

So, last night we went out to dinner with some friends/former colleagues and decided to order anything that lit up.

Case in point. 

Also, the subject of this here blog came up, and our friend Denise said “You know, you should have merchandise. Like, a picture of you wearing a Friendapalooza shirt on a mug or something. People would totally buy that.”

Me: “Um, who would want to buy that?”
D: “People! You have fans!”
Me: “Yeah, but that sounds like a lot of work. I mean, I didn’t even blog today, I have a hard enough time keeping up with that.”
CB: “By the way, speaking of your fans, they’re going to be maaaaaad at you.”
Me: “Wait, why??”
CB: “Because last week you said that though you were traveling for work and wouldn’t post on Monday, you PROMISED to post Tuesday.”
Me: “I totally suck. I didn’t post.”
CB: “I know. So all of your mug-buying fans will be writing you hate mail.”
Me: “I deserve it.”

Silence, sipping the glowing drink.

D: “Anyway, so I think you should have merchandise like the Bloggess does.”
Me: “Um, I am nowhere near the Bloggess. She’s hilarious.”
D: “She is. But YOU’RE hilarious too!”
Me: “And should have a mug to prove it?”
D: “Yep.”
Me: “Maybe we should put CB on it. He’s very popular with my readers, they love them some CB.”
CB: “What’s not to love?”
D: “Perfect! A CB mug! And it could be, like, the back of his head since you never show his face, with a CB quote on the front or something.”
CB: “Genius.”
Me: “Um, I think you guys are more into this than is maybe normal?”
D: “No way, your people want CB mugs!”

So, you know, I’m sorry that I’m not giving you guys the obvious merch you’ve been dying to buy. I’m a terrible blogger, and not just because I didn’t write yesterday. I’m so sorry! I’m a monster!

However, to make up for it, I’ll blog tomorrow and, as usual, on Friday. And if I don’t for some reason, it’s because I’m busy designing mugs.

Happy Wednesday! 

Friday Wrapup

Yes, I realize that I only blogged once this week and I didn't even get to #2 on the Bali list! That will be next week. SPOILER ALERT: it won't be Monday since I'll be traveling back from a work trip. So check back on Tuesday and I promise to post three times next week! Now we can all breathe easy.
Let's get to it!


***

Well, this kid pretty much nailed it. Plus, CB sent this video to me the other day and said "I read about it and am sending it to you before even watching it since I can tell it's going to be something you love." Does he know me or what?

***

This week's book is "Lawrence in Arabia" - not to be mistaken for "Lawrence OF Arabia" which is what I kept thinking it was and I was like "I'm pretty sure CB has made me watch that movie on the old timey station before, but I never knew about the book." And then all of that thinking about Lawrence of Arabia was for naught because it's not even what this book is.

Anyway, click here to check out the great review! Also, thanks for all of your feedback on "Gone Girl" - I'm 100 pages in and think Nick is kind of a jerk. But I'm hooked, so thanks!


***

A friend of mine posted an article on my Facebook page about Ben Affleck visiting the MSU Spartans football team yesterday. She said: "Had this happened when we were there, I am confident you would have been arrested for stalking. 100 percent."

It's nice to have friends who understand you. But I mean, COME ON. Look at the man. I'd happily go to jail.

Anyway....let's go Spartans!

***

So this week's video came to me in the middle of the night last night. I woke up, couldn't fall back to sleep, and started thinking about how my dad was having a frustrating week and I'd suggested to him yesterday that maybe not everyone had heard of our family motto: "Don't be a dick" and perhaps we needed to make flyers to spread the word. And then this song popped into my head, I laughed, and fell back to sleep.

Don't worry, dad, be happy!

Happy Friday!

Conversations from Cohabitation

Yesterday was Columbus Day, guys, so I was celebrating by being lazy and not blogging. BUT that means a special Tuesday post! You're welcome.

While watching a show the other night where someone was in the hospital:

CB: “You know, they really should come up with something nicer for people to wear while they’re in the hospital.”
Me: “Other than hospital gowns, you mean?”
CB: “Yeah, something a little more dignified.”
Me: “Yeah, hospital gowns are kind of the worst. And I can never figure out how to tie them.”
CB: “Exactly. And you’re already in a vulnerable position being in the hospital, so you’d think maybe something a little nicer? You know, just to make you feel a little better while you’re there.”
Me: “Like a fancy hospital tux, maybe?”
CB, laughing: “Well, it doesn’t have to be that fancy.”
Me: “No, I think a hospital tux would be just the thing to make everyone feel a bit fancier and more special while they’re getting surgery or whatever.”
CB: “This is why I don’t start these conversations with you.”

***

Me: “So I had a kind of naughty dream last night.”
CB: “Do I want to hear this?”
Me: “Probably not. But you’ll be happy to know that I had the opportunity to get it on with Bradley Cooper and I didn’t because we were married.”
CB: “Bradley Cooper, eh?”
Me: “Yeah, and it’s kind of annoying that, even in my dreams, I’m committed to you. I mean, in real life? Important. In my dreams? Loosen up, Beck!”
CB, laughing: “Well, I’m sorry that you didn’t have dream sex with Bradley Cooper.”
Me: “Um, me too.”

Silence.

Me: “We were in some gym, and he was, like, a personal trainer. And what was strange is that he wasn’t actually Bradley Cooper in the dream, but looked just like Bradley Cooper and I kept thinking that I should take his picture to send to my friends because they’d never believe that I had a look-alike trainer otherwise.”
CB: silence.
Me: “And he was, like, pursuing me. Which was awesome. But JUST when we were about to get it on, I thought better of it and was like ‘you know I’m married.’ And he didn’t really care and I thought about just going for it anyway….but I didn’t.”
CB: “I’m sorry.”
Me: “Seriously.”

Silence.

Me: “Do you ever have naughty dreams with celebrities or other people?”
CB: “I guess probably? But honestly, since we’ve been together, you’ve been in all of them.”
Me: “That can’t be true.”
CB: “I’m serious.”
Me: “Don’t say that on my behalf – I’m all for dream infidelity.”
CB, laughing: “I know, I’m not doing it on purpose, trust me! But you’re just always there!”
Me: “God, we’re really dream-lame. Even in our subconscious we’re hanging out with each other. We need to branch out.”
CB: “I’ll do my best.”

Cut to: later that night as I was getting into bed.

Me: “I hope Bradley shows up again tonight.”
CB: “And I hope I don’t show up.”
Me: “Me too! Total buzzkill.”
CB: “I love you, too.”

Friday Wrapup

Let's get to it!

***

I basically feel about Fall the way this Corgi feels about that pumpkin. Which is excited. And I want to bite it.

***

Last night, my dad was like "Are you good for the book blog?" and I was like "Yeah, you guys have kept me afloat for a while, I can add a few tomorrow morning."

And then I didn't post anything and now I'm wondering why I always think I'll just whip up a book blog? SO, I have a question: should I read "Gone Girl"? Yes, I want to see the movie because Ben Affleck is in it. And it's true that Mary asked me if I read it about a year ago, told me how good it was, I added it to my iPhone book list, and still haven't gotten to it. BUT it's on my nightstand now and I'm about to start it. Which CB told me I couldn't do because "then I won't see the movie with you." Which I'm pretty sure is just because he doesn't actually want to go to a movie with me where I talk about what it'd be like to marry Ben Affleck.

HOWEVER, then my dad said that my mom didn't like it. And now I'm unable to make my own reading decisions and am paralyzed by my options. So, readers poll: should I read "Gone Girl"?

Sorry, dad. I'm a terrible book blog poster. I'm ashamed of myself. (also, I want CB to blog about "Unforgiven." Gauntlet dropped.)

***

Now, the video of the week. Basically, I love this song so really, isn't that enough? Plus, I dare you not to have that whistle part in your head for the rest of the day. Can't stop, won't stop.

What should the video of the week be next week?

Date Night in Bali

So we have found ourselves at number three in the top five best moments from our Balinese honeymoon. And this one is particularly memorable because it finds me spitting partially chewed food into lovely Indonesian vegetation. Let’s proceed.

The food. When I was growing up, I wasn’t known for having much of an eclectic palette, though I could authoritatively tell you the nuanced differences between Jiff Crunchy Peanut Butter and the generic store-bought brand, so I had my niche. Also, I may have taken the record for the most consecutive days spent eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and sort of still hold a grudge against my parents for not checking with the Guinness people and getting this family the notoriety we all so deeply deserved.

Anyway, exploring different cultural food wasn’t something I started to do until my 20s, but once I dove in, I dove in. I mean, I should still be your go-to guide for the best places to eat a Chicken Caesar Salad in the country, but I also mix it up with food using more than three ingredients and have even gotten CB to branch out a bit himself.

However, in the months leading up to our trip, we’d get asked what kind of food was indigenous to the area and when I started reading about it, I decided maybe not to share my findings with CB. Mainly because then I’d have to travel to Bali alone and that would make for a sad honeymoon. Though, there would still be Putra.

Anyway, what I read about Indonesian food was right up my alley – a little bit of Indian, a little bit of Thai, and a twist that was all their own. This was going to be awesome. CB, on the other hand, was a little less convinced. Turns out he knows how to use Google and figured out that his best friend Cumin and its sidekick Coriander were staples in pretty much everything served. So obviously he was psyched.

Sidebar: Did we know that coriander and cilantro were basically the same thing? Right, I didn’t either. And I’m mild-to-very allergic to cilantro. So this was an interesting discovery.

Nonetheless, we dove right in. From our first night in Bali to our second to last day, we said yes to pretty much anything. We ate everything from a boiled chicken sans its head (which I’m still convinced was just detached from its body moments before it arrived on my plate), to some suckling pig, rice, and additional mystery meat thrown in for good measure. Delicious fruit, incredible coffee, more carbs than you could shake a stick at, and the experience of saying “Sure, I’ll try that!” and going for it. We were all in.

However, by day seven or eight, CB called a time out. As we were walking in town one night after dinner, we decided to stop and get some gelato. I don’t remember what flavor mine was, but it was fine. It was gelato.

CB, on the other hand, got some delicious mango gelato and immediately freaked* (*I am taking dramatic license here. I know when CB reads this he will say he didn’t freak. But take a look at the conversation below – does he sound like a well man to you? Exactly.)

CB: “I can taste the cumin.”
Me, rolling my eyes: “There is no cumin in your mango gelato.”
CB: “I swear to God, Beck, there is.”
Me: “There’s not.”
CB: “Taste it!”

And so I did.

Me: “It tastes like mango gelato. It’s delicious.”
CB: “With cumin.”
Me: “You’ve officially lost your mind.”
CB: “I think the taste and smell of cumin is ingrained in my nostrils or something and so it taints everything I eat.”
Me: “You’re definitely tainted, that’s true.”
CB: “How do you not taste it?!”
Me: “Because I’m normal and rational and know that there’s not cumin in your mango gelato. You’ve gone ‘round the bend.”

Pause.

Me: “You better brace yourself because we have your sister’s special dinner in two days and I guarantee it’s going to be full blown Indonesian.”
CB: “It’s like you’re threatening me.”
Me: “I’m not threatening you, I’m just saying. We’re in Indonesia…I’m guessing our special dinner will be something local.”

Let me back up. You see, CB’s sister gave us this lovely gift for our honeymoon in the form of a romantic dinner at our resort. We had our own little tented villa off of the main restaurant, right next to the Koi pond, lit only by candles and adorned with flowers. It was quite fancy and we got all dressed up for the occasion.

However, as the dishes began to roll in, I started to get this sensation in my mouth that I was being poisoned.

Me: “Is there cilantro in here?”
CB: “I don’t think so, no.”
Me: “But I’m starting to get tingly. I think I ate cilantro or something. I’ve actually felt this a few times while we’ve been here and I usually just stop eating whatever it is. But I think I maybe didn’t stop in time.”
CB, staring over at my plate: “Oh wait….what’s this?”

And then he picked up a leafy substance that slightly resembled cilantro.

Me: “I think I put that in my mouth.”
CB: “Are you feeling ok? You look a little pale.”
Me: “No, I think my throat is going to close! It’s still in my mouth!”
CB: “Then spit it out!”
Me: “We’re at a romantic dinner! I can’t spit my food out!”
CB: “Either spit it out or we figure out if I know how to do proper resuscitation!”
Me, panicking: “Oh my God, it’s starting to itch and burn!”
CB, as we see the waiter come around the corner towards our table: “Hurry! He’s coming!”
Me: “Oh my God we’re going to get kicked out! Your sister is going to kill me!”

And with that, I turned around, spit into a plant, wiped my brow from the panic-sweat, and greeted the waiter with a guilty smile because I couldn’t tell if he saw me spit my meal into the shrubbery. Luckily, he was too polite to say anything if he did, and so we waited until he left to completely melt down.

CB: “Remember when you’ve been making fun of me all week for not liking the food and then you spit it out right in front of our nice waiter? You’re so rude.”
Me: “I hate you.”
CB, laughing: “This is the most romantic meal I’ve ever had.”
Me: “I can’t believe I almost got poisoned in Bali.”
CB, still laughing, getting way too much enjoyment out of this: “I can’t believe you’re so rude that you just spit your food out into the landscaping. If you didn’t like it you just didn’t have to eat it.”
Me: “I should’ve spit it at you.”

And that, my friends, is how you do date night on your honeymoon.

Pre-poisoning. Also, that bush to my
left never stood a chance. 

 Happy Wednesday! 

Conversations from Cohabitation

So, I'm tweaking my next blog post re: number three on the top five list from our honeymoon - stay tuned on Wednesday for that one!  But today, in light of our babysitting duties over the weekend, I thought I'd share a conversation between CB and me and then re-post to confirm that this parenting thing ain't easy. 

On hour 15 of babysitting duty for a 5 yr old, 3 yr old, and 9 month old on Saturday, CB and I were recapping the day:


CB: "I just kept trying to rationalize with them, but that was futile."
Me: "Yeah, it's like trying to rationalize with a drunk person. Kids are basically just little drunk people."
CB: "Except drunk people sometimes have brief moments of clarity."


***

So, CB and I spent the weekend on a lake in the middle of New York state with some friends and their kids. And every time we are around parents and their children for longer than about an hour, we are struck by two competing emotions. The first is OH MY GOD THESE KIDS ARE SO CUTE AND THEY LOVE US SO MUCH WE’RE GOING TO KILL IT AS PARENTS. And the second is OH MY GOD HOW WILL WE EVER BE PARENTS.

And I gotta tell you, the second one yells really loud!

Don’t get me wrong, you guys, I love some kids and like a few more. But the overall kid population at best, entertains me until I want some quiet time, and at worst, terrifies me to my very core.

A clear role model.

First of all, every time we spend a significant amount of time around kids, we come back to our apartment, look at each other, and start tired-laughing about how quiet it is and how exhausted we are. Also, it should be noted that we are never in charge of anything like changing diapers, food patrol, or any sort of actual parenting. We are basically in charge of running the kids ragged so they’ll sleep on the car ride home and giving the parents a few hours of uninterrupted conversation with other people their height.

However, while CB is a natural and children gravitate towards him as a playmate and someone to literally and figuratively look up to, they tend to gravitate towards me as a peer. Which, to be fair to them, makes a lot of sense since I do possess the same sparkle shoes and find yelling randomly and pretending to be scared of monsters a legit pastime. 

Also, my default when around kids isn’t necessarily to parent them – hopefully because they’re not mine and so I don’t struggle with whether to abduct my friend’s kids and raise them as my own. That’d likely be worse than just sort of letting kids talk with their mouths full when their moms aren’t looking and sometimes letting them put their elbows on the table. But I’m not a parent, so maybe I’m wrong.

I mean, I’m sure if CB and I are lucky enough to be parents to kids that are actually from our gene pool someday, things like looking out for their safety, making sure they’re fed, and knowing when to lay down a strongly worded monologue about not hitting your brother will start to just come naturally.

Plus, I think we’re both driven by a strong urge to not raise adults who are giant a-holes. And if we’re being honest, there are worse motivating factors, right?

Nonetheless, there are a few things about parenting that I’ve picked up on over the years that really stick out. Which include, but in no way are limited to, the following:

Repeating yourself is completely exhausting. Correct me if I’m wrong, parents, but half the battle – at least from ages 0-18? – is repeating yourself ad nauseam about what you just told that damn kid three minutes ago. “Don’t hit,” “Get your elbows off the table,” “No jumping on the bed,” “Don’t run with scissors” and other very obvious things that kids would know better if they were just paying attention the first million times you said it.

However, something impressive about parenting is that you just keep doing it. Like, if CB told me not to run with scissors, and then I ran with scissors and he told me not to again, yet this time, he explained why it’s logical not to run with scissors? I’d totally catch on.

But you know what a kid would do? Run with scissors five minutes later, fall, trip, and potentially stab a part of their body. Then, they’d come crying to the person who JUST WARNED THEM NOT TO DO THAT so that you can fix it and make it all better. I mean, it’s like kids are mini psychopaths just waiting to see how much you can take.

Wait, not something a person wanting to be a parent should say? Moving on.

You can never finish a sentence. Ok, so apparently this only happens between the ages of 0-8? 9? I’m not sure. But I do know that at some point your kids stop wanting to be anywhere near you, and it’s kind of amazing because then you can finish having that conversation about “The Mindy Project” you started seven years ago. But while they’re still growing and learning and depending on you for life in all ways, you definitely can’t ever finish a sentence.

Or you can, but it’s in the form of yelling at the other person you’re talking to so that you’re talking over the child who’s asking you a question you answered for them eleven seconds ago (see #1 above). And then it just makes the person you’re talking to feel bad and be like “Please don’t yell-talk at me and just let him know why he has to finish his sandwich before eating the chocolate bar. I’ll wait.”

Kids don’t listen EXCEPT FOR WHEN THEY DO. Guess what? You tell a kid not to play with scissors and he’ll be running with said scissors and a 10-inch blade in the other hand before the hour is up. But you accidentally say the f-word or call something or someone stupid under your breath while driving, and the kid will pick it up with his/her supersonic hearing before it’s even crossed the sound barrier.

You’re not allowed to laugh. Oh my God, this one is for sure the hardest. Because those mini psychopaths are FUNNY, you guys, especially when they’re doing something they’re not supposed to do. Which I’m pretty sure is why we have so many unhinged reality tv stars today - they were simply raised by parents who not only didn’t tell them not to run with scissors, but laughed and encouraged them while they did it.

Which is totally my fear! Because I find most things in life at least slightly amusing. And when those things are coming out of a three year old's mouth, it’s downright Second City-worthy. However, when you’re a parent, from what I can tell, you have to not only train yourself not to laugh at or with them when they’re being naughty, but you have to remind your friends not to totally blow your cover, too! It’s a lot of stress as a parent.

So there you have it. An incomplete list of why parenting is hard and makes me sleepy to watch. Do you agree? What have I missed? I told you it was an incomplete list and it’s because I’m extra tired from two days of kid-play!

Happy Monday!

Friday Wrapup!

Let's get to it!

***

This is basically the best.

***

This week's book is very topical for me because it's by Haruki Murakami, who my dad and I enjoy reading quite a bit. But that's not what makes it topical.

The other night, CB and I decided to turn off the tv and play a Jeopardy-type game on his phone. You know, because we're very cool and also because I got zero questions correct on Jeopardy earlier that night and we felt stupid.

And so playing this game did not help at ALL. I blamed it on CB reading too slowly while he was scratching my head, and so I then took over reading duties and we did even worse. But in one round of, like, 12 questions, we only got about 6 right - and one of them was about Haruki Murakami. I was like "BOOM. Reading makes me amazing at this game." And then I got the next several questions wrong and retracted that statement.

Anyway.

Check out the book here and browse around for other books that can make you smart when playing fake Jeopardy!

***

And now, the Video of the Week. In light of the fact that I pretty much feel like the luckiest girl in the world at the moment, coming off of our wedding and honeymoon and taking a look at our everyday life in general, this song felt fitting. It's been in rotation on my iPod for a few years, but feels right for this week's video. Enjoy!

Happy Friday!

On becoming stalkers in Bali.

As my dad put it yesterday, “your blog Monday was really short.” And then I was like “I get my sense of humor from someone else. Plus I was so sleepy!”

But point taken.

However, as promised, we’re now on #4 of my top five moments from the Bali love extravaganza. Which I kept calling it and CB kept ignoring, inexplicably.

So let’s get right to it!

Putra. Now, some of you may not know what a Putra is, and that’s a damn shame because Putra is basically the best thing that ever happened to us in Bali. And we’re pretty sure he feels the same, though it was hard to tell whether he liked us for us, or because we were paying him to hang out with us. But either way, we’re pretty sure he’s going to invite us to his Balinese wedding later this year and we’re so excited to meet his whole family and lovely bride-to-be.

Putra, our fearless guide. 

Also, it’s possible that CB and I got slightly stalker-y with our tour guide in Bali and may or may not have creeped him out completely. Especially since, on our last day, we panic-booked a trip to walk around town with him (basically not kidding about that) and he “got stuck in traffic” and had to have another guide take us.

Anyway.

On day four of our trip we got to the second resort and decided to go on a morning walk through the village and some rice fields. And when I say that we decided, I mean that I got up and showered and said to CB, still in bed “So I’m going to go to the yoga class and then take the 8am walk through the village and rice fields. Do you want me to come back after and get you for breakfast?” To which we then had a 10 minute conversation on how getting up early is not in the honeymoon plan-in-his-mind, but also, making me village-walk by myself on our honeymoon made him sad-slash-feel obligated to wake up. And so, my solo patheticness outweighed his need to sleep in a king sized bed for two more hours.

Hence, we decided to go on a morning walk through the village together.

Which is why I repeatedly remind CB that my early bird-ness basically made our entire honeymoon worthwhile, because it’s how we came to meet Putra. Which I believe is the making of any great honeymoon when it is exponentially improved by the presence of a third person.

Anyway, Putra guided us and the other ten or so guests through the village, explaining to us fascinating parts of the Balinese culture, showing us the landscape, and generally answering every single question with a smile.

Cut to: one hour later when CB and I were like “So Putra, these are the other things we want to do in Bali. Are you busy tomorrow morning?” And then, of course, Putra explained how much it would cost to bring him with us everywhere on our honeymoon, and we were like “BOOK IT.”

So let me break it down for you: in five days, we followed Putra around to these places:

• An active volcano.
• A bike ride down from said volcano, through villages, rice fields, and right on over to his friend’s house for some fruit.
• A sacred temple.
• A Luwak coffee place where we met the animal who pooped out the coffee we later drank (as you do.)
• A local art dealer who sold us a terrifying traditional Balinese mask and mini Hindu statue for our apartment.
• One of the largest and most beautiful rice terraces in all of Bali.

Plus, Putra hooked us up with a trip to a local zoo so we could ride an elephant and feed a Bengal tiger and even gave us tips on good places to eat and drink in town.

Um, also, when Putra came over to where we were sitting poolside and told us that we’d been booked for our trip to the zoo the next day, both of us looked up at him and were like “Wait, you’re not coming with us?” to which he probably wondered how one takes out a restraining order on guests who are paying to hang out with him, but instead, smiled and said “No no, it’s all set through the zoo. Please enjoy your trip!” and then speed walked away because we’re weirdos who wanted to honeymoon with him.

But whatever. Putra was the man. And literally knew everything there was to know about Bali. Which I guess is what the definition of a tour guide is? But CB and I got quite attached while also starting a game in his absence called “Just Ask Putra.” Which is maybe not so much a game as it was basically what we did all day long with or without him by our side.

Like, we would see something during our trip and not know what it was or the meaning behind it, and we’d say out loud (not in his presence, because we did have some boundaries) “Dear Putra, question 15: why aren’t there sturdier brooms anywhere? People sweep all day and it looks exhausting.” Or “Dear Putra, question 3,877: how on earth do you get mail? There are no addresses anywhere!” (that one I actually did ask him and it was a fascinating explanation.)

Asking one of my million questions. While he holds my GIANT
purse and scarf. And I wear a kick-ass hat. 

 Um, also, we may or may not still play: “Dear Putra, question 9,000: where did CB put the rest of the folded laundry?” or “Dear Putra, question 27: why did Becky watch the Scandal premiere without me?”

So basically what I’m saying is this: my number four best moment from Bali was meeting one of its residents who may or may not still go by the name Putra in order to protect his own identity should we ever come back.

“Dear Putra: Question one million: Where did you go? We miss you.”

Happy Wednesday, everyone!