addiction

I'm embarassed to comment on my recent addiction. I wish I could say it was my first, alas-I cannot.

I'm addicted to the history of the British Monarcy.

It all began with instant streaming of the showtime series "The Tudors", which explores the life of Henry VIII and his reign as king. This is not my first rodeo with the Tudor family, with whom I became intrigued following the reading of the "The Other Boleyn Girl".

I spent last evening reading the official website of the British Monarchy for at least two hours. Unfortunately for my husband, I am blessed with a photographic memory and I spent the rest of the evening reciting British trivia.

I've been consistently dreaming of 16th century court. I've set up 8 hours worth of recordings following Prince William and Kate Middleton's marriage. I keep telling Chris that this is a healthy obsession. I could be smoking crack for God's sake.

Tonight, he became a co-dependent by setting up several movies surrounding the British Monarchy into our Netflix queue. When I asked if we should watch another episode of the Tudors (Anne Boleyn is close to death afterall), he replied, "As you wish, my lady."

Uh-oh. We're all in trouble now.

What day is it anyway?

It's winter in Spokane. Just when I thought spring was peeking her nose out, we got a foot of snow. I'm ready to strangle that damn groundhog. The days go like this: Wake up. There's a little bit of sun. Feeling good, all I need is a fleece. Lunch time: One of my patients comments on the weather. I look outside for the first time all day. It's surprisingly overcast. Approximately 2.3 seconds later there are snow flurries. Afternoon: Leaving work, heading to the gym. Snow showers. The parking lot at the gym is like a snow marsh, and consequently my feet are wet and I'm unhappy. Heading home: It's now rain/snow mix. My yummy taco dinner originally panned sounds terrible and all I want is beef stew.

The days are running together. I literally have no idea what day it is.

Hawaii T-19 days.

Haha. We're even.

This week, Chris and I marked yet another adventure in married life-the combining of the cell phone plans. We have now combined bank accounts, I have changed my name on nearly everything (except my email, which I'm never giving up), and jointly filed our taxes (well, Chris did that. I provided moral support). When we strolled into AT&T at 4:30 Monday afternoon we had no idea it would be so emotionally exhausting. (Duhn-duhn-DUHN).

Chris decided he wanted some super fancy phone that we had to order ahead of time. We had discussed that he would keep his phone number, which he'd had for a few years and still involved a Bellingham, WA area code. Great, I thought. I never want to change my phone number. I am the only person I know who has had the same phone number since 1999. My phone number also bore the badge of the 775....that of northern Nevada, my home sweet home.

After at least 20 minutes discussion of discounts, phone plans, and a little bartering on Chris's part (I just walk away--can't handle the pressure), the lovely associate informed us that Chris can't keep his phone number. What-what-Whaaat? Um, not what we discussed. Apparently, because I am the name on the account, and this account was opened in Nevada, it is considered a different market. Consequently, either Chris needed to switch to a Nevada number, or we both had to switch to Spokane numbers (and close and re-open the account to do this).

Chris casually mentions how it makes sense for us both to switch our numbers, since we live in Spokane. I comment that I've had the same phone number for 12 years. He says it makes no sense for him to change to a Nevada number. I nearly shout, "I changed my name!" And I'm pretty sure every person in that store mumbled under his breath, "Mmhmm, that's true." I looked at Chris's face and noticed the sweet expression of defeat.

He is now a (not so)proud member of the 775. I know it's a big step for him. But at least he didn't have to go to the DMV.

Home means Nevada, home means the hills...home means binge drinking?

Chris and I ventured south for Martin Luther King's Day weekend for what we hoped would be a relaxing time to reconnect and hang with my parents. This plan was quickly foiled when my brother, James, and his girlfriend, Morgan, surprised us from Las Vegas! James and I don't see each other very often and so anytime an opportunity arises it's hard to pass up a short drive. Or I imagine it's hard to pass up a short drive. I've actually not surprised my brother at my parents' home, but I'll put it on my bucket list.

No surprise, the relaxing weekend became a time to celebrate all celebrations for which we were apart during the year. We had Christmas/Thanksgiving (I think that was the wine and yummy pork dinner), Memorial Day/4th of July/Labor Day (drinking large amounts of beer on the patio), New Year's Day (drinking in the morning-white russians and bloody marys), New Year's Eve (staying up too late, drinking), and baseball season (watching Major League while drinking, and actually creating a drinking game with the movie). We celebrated James's birthday in actuality as well, which was lovely.

Chris and I returned to Washington, tired, bloated and in need of detox. However, we were definitely smiling. That was some vacation.

Our day together OR Why the f*** did I ever think I liked to ski?

Chris and I were lucky enough to have this past Friday off together, and decided to go skiing...a past time we both claimed to enjoy from the early talks of our relationship, but one we had never actually experienced together. Now, we all joke about my obscene planning tendencies, but this husband of mine has a planning streak as well-and his happens to be a little more particular than mine. Consequently, he decided the location, prices, and of course, meal options far in advanced. It was a wet day of skiing, particularly for me, as I fell on every run except the last one. So frustrating. I need to ski more often, I suppose. Chris was lovely, patient, and helpful. Even when I had a full on nervous breakdown in the middle of a slope and a 12 year old asked me if I was okay. Just kidding, he actually laughed at me that time.

Our little Christmas

Our first little Christmas was fabulous. Attended the Children's Mass on Christmas Eve with our good friends the McBeavs and their adorable hunk of love, Keane. Thank God Keane attended, because he kept Chris entertained. Well, and vice versa. The four of us enjoyed a crab dinner with wine a-flowing while Keane sat in the living room, happy as a clam with our kitty Harvey. Such a good boy. He never once got fussy, just happy to be present.

Christmas morning was a melding of traditions for us. We woke up, popped the champagne and had cinnamon rolls while opening stocking stuffers (my family). Then we made our meat-i-licious Christmas breakfast before we opened any gifts. Killer. Lots of fun gifts, of which we still need to write our thank you notes. Working on it, I promise.

The rest of the day consisted mainly of sitting on the couch, drinking champagne until it was time to shower and head over to the McBeav's house for a tasty prime rib dinner (complete with Molly's fab jell-o mold) and Mama and Papa Beav. We did discover that all of us should enter a wine drinking contest because we are really good at it. Beav's wine/white russian combo did catch up to him, and eventually the evening was called to an end. A fabulous end, mind you.

Forcing Christmas

I love Christmas. Not like, "Oh what a fun time of year, I like presents, blah, blah, blah," but I FREAKING love Christmas. Thanksgiving marks the beginning of the Christmas season for me and my family. We have a lot of traditions, as Chris is beginning to grasp. We kick it all off with our annual viewing of "White Christmas" on Thanksgiving. Now, when I watch "White Christmas" with my immediate family, we are obnoxious as hell, commenting on the same exact things, at the same exact time, every year. Chris is still learning the stimulating plot line along with the required commentary, but I'm considering writing cue cards with these comments for next year to make it easier.

Early in our relationship (probably like our second date. I'm serious about this holiday), Chris and I discussed Christmas preferences. Conversation probably went like this, "Chris--so you know I want to get married as soon as possible and I like multi-colored lights on my Christmas tree. What kind of lights do you like?" (If you know me at all, you are laughing your ass off right now, just so ya know.) Well, much to my dismay, my future husband likes white lights! No worries, I showed him the light. Enter stage left, our beautiful, gaudy, multi-colored, tinsel covered, glorious tree.

Look at me compromising...it has colored lights AND white lights. :)