I love looking back to see what I was thankful for in past years. Some are still amazing and important; others, joys at the time, pale in retrospect. But it’s obvious what I’m thankful for this year:
We’ll meet this little one — gender so far kept a secret! — in February, and I have the feeling that I’ll be thankful for him or her every year from here on out!
In years past, I’ve posted my New Year’s resolutions at the beginning of the year and then reviewed them at the beginning of the next year. While I wasn’t exactly around for the start of the new year, that’s not exactly an excuse for not doing my resolutions. So, here they are, and may I be held accountable for them!
(I don’t seem to have made resolutions last year, which makes this an easy blog entry to write, because I only need to do this year’s resolutions, rather than revisiting last year’s as well. So, here we go.)
So that’s that. Let’s check in next year and see how I do!
OK, I’ll admit, I thought that last year was a big one to be thankful for, but so far 2011’s been the big one!
I’m thankful for my beautiful wife, of course, who makes me happier every day; concomitantly, I’m thankful that I seem to be doing a good job making her happy too!
I’m thankful for the furry family, too, with Juniorbird, my best friend since 1998, having a year full of cuddles and dancing:
Jake, who’s my wife’s best buddy and is enjoying his ninth year of puppyhood and good health:
And our new family member, Charley, who tries so hard to be good (I’m thankful he tries! I’m even more thankful when he succeeds!), is such a cuddler, and may be the only of the three pets who loves me as much as they love my wife:1
And, finally, I’m thankful for [my awesome new job. So what could be a bigger year than that?
(Spoiler alert: I think 2012 will be even better!)
Once again this year, I’m going to participate in Movember to raise money for men’s health. That means that — wife willing — I’ll be growing a mustache and looking like an idiot. This also means that:
That is all. Thoughts?
It’s my two year wedding anniversary. I used to hear people say things like “she’s the only one who understands me!” and I thought that was crap; how could it be that only one person in the world understands you? And then I met my wife. And she’s the only one who understands me.
Most people would describe me as easygoing, supportive, understanding, patient. I suppose I can occasionally be cranky, in a get-of-my-lawn-you-darned-kids kind of way, but I’m not the angry type. Except sometimes, when I suddenly am angry at everyone. Talk to me? That’s a fightin’. Walk past me and not talk to me? Well, you must hate me and now I hate you too, so that’s a fightin’. Cut me off on the road? That’s a double fightin’! But it’s always been really an odd set of behavior, something that just didn’t fit in at all. I didn’t know what caused it, and it just made people I used to date really confused and defensive. (Act defensive? That’s a fightin’.)
Then, one day, the monster came out with Courtney. And, very calmly, she responded: you need a snack! (Propose a solution? That’s a fightin’!) Of course, I grumbled and wanted nothing to do with it, but I was hungry, so I had a snack. Not because she suggested it, but because I wanted one. And because she suggested it. OK, I was hungry, and I really needed a snack, and then I had one, and then I was in a good mood. (Good mood? That’s a… ooo, the puppy’s sure cute!)
I don’t know how it took until I was 31, but, somehow, somebody understood me well enough to know that I got cranky when I got hungry. And that person, the only one who understands me? Of course, she’s my wife. Happy second anniversary baby, I’m so happy I married the only person in the world who really understands me!
One of the things about being married is that one gets used to being disgusting as a single man and yet that’s somehow socially unacceptable once one grows up and enters matrimonial life. This creates a variety of challenges for us men, one of which is to figure out what to do with our farts.
This one night, I ate something that disagreed with me. We went to bed, and my wife went soundly to sleep, but I sat there, distended and fidgety, fighting my gas.
Several times, I got up and rushed over to the bathroom, hoping that would provide relief.
But, no matter how much I hoped, I still ended up in the same spot: in bed, tossing and turning and clenching myself against all that gas.
Now, let me provide some context: we live in a house we rent. Behind this house, we have a big backyard. It’s preposterously big, actually; one of the main reasons we got the place. Behind that, there’s a big, 7- or 8-foot-tall wooden fence, separating us from an alley. It looks like this:
So, there we were, sleeping — or, half of us sleeping, the other half up and down to the bathroom.
Suddenly, there was a big clatter in the alley. Given the area and the time of night, it was probably homeless people having a few beers or maybe going through a trash can.
All of the racket woke Courtney from her deep sleep: she was scared, and not unreasonably, since noise like that always seems to be coming from right outside the window, not dozens of feet away, behind the tall, sturdy fence. I comforted her and she fell back to sleep. That’s comforted in the hugging and soothing words way! Get your head out of the gutter.
So, anyway, there we were, Courtney sleeping, me tired but distended and tumefied. It was late and dark and cold outside of our cozy bed. I didn’t want to get up. Finally, after a fidget in this direction, a fidget in that direction, I let it out. Ahhh, sweet relief. I smiled and relaxed for a moment.
You all know that moment, you guys: it’s that moment after it feels great, before you smell it and you realize you won’t get away with it. Okay, everyone’s asleep, I’m bound to be home scot-free right? No! Suddenly Courtney’s eyes pop open. “Oh my god, what is that? Do you smell that?”
“It’s Jake. Jake!” I scold. Blaming the dog: it always works on TV! But Jake’s smart, he knows this smell is way beyond his pay grade. He doesn’t even move; he’s not taking the fall.
My wife knows it’s beyond his pay grade too. “That’s not Jake!” now she’s sitting up in bed, scared. “It’s the homeless men! They’re making weapons of mass destruction in the alleyway!” I’d forgotten about the clattering just a moment ago. Chemical weapons? My wife must have more exciting dreams than me. But she’s convinced. “Chemical weapons! We’ve got to call the police!”
All of a sudden, my wife’s fumbling for her cell phone, about to call the police because of the incredible smell I’ve just created. The dog thing failed; I know there’s nothing to be done for it. I can wait for the cops to come and have them discover the odor’s restricted to the bedroom, or I can just ‘fess up now and get kicked off to the couch. I take my medicine. “It was me,” I croak shyly. Courtney’s mouth hangs open. “Oh my God, you did that? I was going to call Homeland Security!”
And that’s how my wife almost called the cops on my gas. And how I learned, for the rest of that night at least, how to better take care of my bloated self:
For some reason, I thought it would be a clever idea to write a novel this November. I’d been thinking about it for years, actually, since a very good friend participated in 2000. I was jealous of her accomplishment; but somehow I managed to put it off every year. Busy and all that, you know.
At the same time, I’d begun to think of writing a novel. I guess I’d been lucky enough to read a few really bad ones and thought “hey, I can write that poorly too!” I even took a very halting shot at a sci-fi novel before deciding that wasn’t really the genre for me.
But mystery? Ahh, that was a good candidate. I read mysteries for fun; I can even read them when I’m stressed out, a time when I find literature just too much for me. Mysteries are a big market — market size is important when you’re an MBA — and seem to be made into movies at a higher rate than other genres — profitability is also important!
And then this November came up surprisingly empty. So I decided to do it. And, look at that, I finished! It was rough going for a bit, and I really relied on my ability to turn out mass numbers of words of uncertain quality (ed. note — nobody’s uncertain about it) to get the job done. Fifty thousand one hundred and thirty-eight words later, somehow it really did get done!
So I’ve written my first novel! It’s a mystery. About the exciting world of… mortgage fraud! Ooooh. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t plan on publication anytime soon. But, darn it, it sure was fun! I’m going to miss sitting at the coffeeshop and having to pump out a bunch of words every afternoon. Maybe I’ll finally make that board game I’ve been talking about since b-school. That would be sure to ruin any chance I have to hold elective office. I guess I’ll have to take up… getting stuff done.
2010 has been quite a year; there’s a lot to give thanks for, and a lot to worry about. Today’s a day for great food and great family, and I’m filled with thoughts of thanks for many of the great things in my life:
So, happy Thanksgiving, everyone! May your decisions this year be better than those of the Wampanoag, who kept our ancestors from starving so that they could then take over the whole continent.
We were on our honeymoon — in Queenstown, NZ — when our one-month anniversary came along. Now, being newlyweds, we were thrilled at any chance to celebrate our wedding, so we went on over to the fanciest restaurant we could find. Then we looked at their price list, and decided to sit down in their lounge and enjoy an appetizer and some cocktails instead. We ended up with a couple of glasses of the local bubbly and a little plate of toast rounds, local goat cheese, and local honey. And boy, it was delicious. Who thinks of cheese and honey? But it’s outstanding. And, when we got home, it just seemed like it should be a tradition.
So, every month, on the 12th — that’s the day we got married, folks — we sit down for a dinner of goat cheese and honey and toast or crackers, with some bubbly to go with. Now we’ve had 12 of these great evenings; the first one we were too enamored to shoot, another was in France, and we forgot to take photos back in January, so you’ll only see 9 shots here, but we’ve celebrated all 12, and they’ve all been delicious and perfect. (You’ll notice that we swapped our wedding cake for the cheese for our one-year shot; that was delicious and perfect too!)
Yeah, there was some mixing it up in there — different cheeses (something peppered works wonderfully), different honeys (we highly recommend Avocado), different sparkling wines, different things going along with the whole plate… we had fun with it. And, of course, with so many good options, and so much to celebrate, we really did have a good time with our monthly celebrations!
Today is one year since our second wedding celebration, back out West in Culver City. We both send our thanks out to everyone who made it special on both coasts, and then I’d like to thank Courtney, for saying “OK!” when the waiter put the ring in front of her back on April 29 of last year, and for making this such a wonderful, perfect year for me. Happy Anniversary, baby!
This weird thing has happened in my speech: I’ve begun to refer to myself in the third person. Not in the Joe Miller/Deion Sanders/Smoove B “Wade Armstrong thinks…” style; I roll a little more adjectival. “Your husband needs to…” or “Maybe your husband should…” is more my own particular idiom. This married thing, it seems to have rather adjusted my self-identity.
It was a year ago — actually, a little more than a year ago, 4:45pm Eastern on September 12, 2009, so I’m writing this whole thing more than two days late — that Courtney and I got married. To celebrate the 365 days since that big day, on the 11th we had dinner where we got engaged, and spent a night at the hotel where we got married. Then, on the day itself — the 12th — we enjoyed our wedding cake.
Dinner was Ford’s Filling Station, a gastropub in Culver City. It’s the place where I proposed to Courtney — and, actually, the place where we had our first real date (our previous two dates had been great, but they’d been at an Irish pub and a dive bar). Courtney had a roasted octopus salad and what was probably the best, moistest, most flavorful chicken we’d ever had, with a corn and celery root succotash; I had deep-fried pig ears with ooo-eee sauce, and sausage with cracked wheat risotto and smoked cracklins; then we shared a candied lemon cheesecake with blueberries that really let the cream cheese flavor loose. The hostess was lovely, the bartender was welcoming and fixed us right up (usually, actually, we just go to the bar and have a drink and a couple of appetizers, so it’s a reliable favorite), our waitress was beyond friendly, and chef Ben Ford came by to say hi and welcome us, which made us feel great and was also really sweet since he’s not a front-of-house kind of chef, glad-handling around.
We stayed at the Culver Hotel, in what I think was the John Wayne suite — John Wayne being a past owner and resident of the hotel, which is across the street from the formerly-famous Culver Studios. They’d treated us great when we booked our wedding, and the event planner there remembered us as soon as we walked in. We got an upgrade to a suite, two free drinks at their gorgeous restored bar, and, just minutes after we got back from our dinner, an on-the-ball room service staffer showed up with a bottle of Champagne. In the morning, we enjoyed their new breakfast service, especially their Eggs Benedict, which is one of the best we’ve ever had. Afterwards, while Courtney relaxed in the deep pedestal tub, I watched football and played around with the fact that the remote operated both the TV in the bedroom and the TV in the sitting room, switching back and forth randomly.
And we finished it all off with the wedding cake. Frankly, we didn’t expect much — how good could a cake be after a year in the back of the freezer? But we dutifully defrosted it, unwrapped it when still cold — to keep the fondant from sticking — and then let it come back to room temperature. And it was moist and oh, so delicious. It was the most beautiful, most scrumptious cake on the day of the wedding, and it was well worth saving for a year! A really good job by my fellow Trojan, Nancy Kay. We ate it until we’re sick. And there’s still plenty left! Come by and get some, we’d love to share.
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