weekend warrior [part b]

I'm not 100% sure where I left off.... oh well. 

Bachelorette Par-tay in Nashville  

• 5am + coffee + sick Jessica + minimal sleep = 8.5 hour power thru drive to the glorious country capital of the entire freakin' world
• Little black dresses, little tank tops, little hotel room, little party favor pins and "Mrs. Mathews" shot glasses
• Fireball shots + fire-y red lipstick on the "kiss the man" poster = bachelorette pre-gaming
• Bar dancing, booty shaking (I legitimately won a booty shaking contestone night... what?!)
• Big hair, big attitudes, big country accents
• Theme song = Eye of the Tiger. Why? Sometimes magical things like that happen on their own.

And now for the harsh reality: Girls are a gross group when they get together, scream, hug, jump around screaming "I-have-not-seen-you-in-forEVERRR!," and then spend a night or two together in confined spaces. Pillow fights and giggling? More like smeared lipstick, fake eyelashes clinging to life, and no topic frowned upon. But girls already know that. And boys? They should go on pretending. 

Minnesota Bday Bash

mega beer

• This last weekend was a very short trip up to Minneapolis for Bean's birthday. 
• Fancy bacon and chocolate donuts and coffee Saturday morning at Glam Doll Donuts
• Mall of America 6+ hours Saturday afternoon, where I fell in lust with Typo.



B at the Mall of America

• Mall of America also including a fantastic trip through the aquarium where I got to poke and prod water dwelling things. PLUS we took a trip down the underwater aquarium tunnel of awesome which included none other but the apex predator of the seas.... dun nun dun nun... sharks! My tireless educational Shark Week watching on Netflix proves useful yet again.
• German beer hall and one gigantic stein of beer each
• Brianna falling into a 12 foot+ snowbank on our way there... but conquering it on the way home
• Entire backseat of the car to myself on the way home meant that I got to sip my Starbucks coffee drink and knock-off Gatorade and send fat chin Snapchats to all my friends. My lucky, lucky friends. 

Ben in Tampa/Parents on Mexican Cruise/Ben in Boston

• and I was not/am not. Instead, I'm drudging through a Polar Vortex and having dinner with my cats. Because I'm cool like that. 

xoxo, b

merry christmas kiddos

I'm going to be honest, I thought about doing a Pinteresty-lovey-dovey-oh-how-adorbs type Christmas card this year. We clean up nice.

Picture it: Snow gently falling as we tenderly embrace along the lake shore. A sweet kiss on the forehead with the city lights twinkling behind us. Holding hands and looking backwards over our shoulders while cheesing for the camera.  Or maybe a smile-worthy, heart warming mishap with a string of lights, tangling us together into a PG-13 kiss.

Then I realized that's silly. We don't skip around town gazing into each other's eyeballs. Well, not all the time.... and besides, that's what everyone else is doing. Which is lame. Because I've walked around and I hardly ever see people striking a traditional Christmas card pose during my day to day activities.

So I present to you, Ben & Brit's real life Christmas card(s):

cats wearing clothes, cell phone, wine, mess.

Merry Christmas :)

fa la la la la

la la la la

xoxo, b

just be cool

An average of 17 times every 8 minutes, I think to myself "Why can't you just be cool, dude?"

Which is not cool in and of itself because I'm not a surfer dude... I'm a trophy wife in training. And if I can't even get that part of the thought right, then what hope is there for actually coolness? Nonetheless, this nagging little nugget has skipped across my mind. Usually after the fact.

Examples:

• Forgetting to switch over to windshield washing fluid that won't freeze. It's December in Wisconsin, I know better. Every time I pull over and start scooping snow onto all over my dirty windshield, I think about all the cool kids driving past me on their way to work in their stunna shades listening to indie-rock music while wearing pencil skirts and heels because the cool kids shave their legs regularly and don't forget to brush their teeth. The cool kids aren't standing on the on-ramp with a jug of half-frozen washer fluid, dumping it directly onto the windshield, trying to make sure they remove all the highway gunk. That's why some inventive cool kid designed no-freeze washer fluid to use with a simple flick of a switch while driving. So cool.

• Cool kids don't get caught belting out all the words to Avril Lavigne's Sk8er Boi or Seal's Kiss From A Rose while weaving through rush hour traffic. You're in a box on wheels with windows. Or, oh-em-gee, Aerosmith's I Don't Want to Miss a Thing. And cool kids definitely don't get distracted during the middle of a blog post and have a solid rock-ballad-love-song-breakdown-belt-out-concert in their living room with two cats named after socialites popular in late 20__-something and have their husband walk in and silently judge them. It's not like he's that cool either.

• Cool kids look cool at the gym. Instead of weird noodly-arms named "Fettuccine" and "Linguine," they have muscles by the names of "Butch" and "Slasher" or whatever cool kids say nowadays. And they certainly don't put on a sports bra and instantly turn into what looks like a 13 year old boy who thought it would be funny to try on his big sister's training bra. No sirree. 

• Laugh-snorting. Cool kids don't do that.

• Getting stuck in clothing-- not something cool kiddo's are familiar with. Skinny jeans stuck around your ankles in a fitting room? Bra stuck in your hair in your bedroom? T-shirt pinning your arms above your head while trying to shimmy out of your shorts and top at the swimming pool? "Absolute madness!" yell the cool kids of the world in unison.

Maybe one day I'll be smooth. I'll be suave. I'll be dripping with cool. I'll saunter into the party with a cane and a top hat tilted to one side, point and wink at the bartender and have three or four butlers with trays of champagne flutes instantly circle around me while singing a barbershop quartet-styled song about how cool I am. I haven't worked out the details yet, but stay tuned.

xoxo, b

sushi

There's sushi on my counter, rice coated little packages of joy shooting me shy glances from across the room. I have to wait for Ben to get home, since he is the responsible adult who brought home the sushi for dinner and then braved the elements (hello snow?!) to go work on his fitness and overall well-being while I finished up the retail-hour workday.


I'll just have a glass of wine to pass the time. I like wine.

But I really like sushi.................


Why do those tasty little nuggets have to sit on the counter in plain sight, taunting me with their perfect bite sized combination of veggies and raw fish or whatever the hell is rolled into the magical concoction that is begging to be tenderly dipped into the warm brown soy sauce...........


Just have more wine, woman. You may have wine. Sushi has to wait.......

Wine. Wine. Wine bottle. Beer bottle. Brewery. Brewery tour. Odd tourists on a brewery tour. Some guy with a goatee wearing a tropical shirt with a collar and the three top buttons undone because he likes to strut his stuff.


Where the heck is Benjamin. Also, how could my wine glass be empty.


I'm going in. Self-restraint is lame.


xoxo, b

2 years & unsolicited advice

I had a vivid revelation of awesomeness the other day. In order to reflect upon our last two years of marriage, I thought Ben and I should answer similar open ended questions concerning stuff like what's changed, what's the same, where do you see us in 5 years, why isn't there any good beer left in the fridge, and what's for dinner.... but I digress.  

So I cornered him. Started asking him questions. And he, like a wild animal, tried to escape. My revelation of awesomeness was going nowhere, and I was forced to shut it down after there was way too much interest in describing in detail the only thing he believes to have changed in the last two years: that I've farted in front of him. There were references to Nazi gas chambers, dying beasts, and the end of days before he finally concluded, gave a satisfied smile and nod, and shut his mouth.

First off, I'm a trophy wife wanna-be, I don't fart. That's something boys do. 

And second, I don't fart. 

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So in lieu of my vivid revelation of awesomeness questionnaire, 

here are my little bits of unsolicited advice/knowledge nuggets on the matter:

Your husband will be the single most annoying person in your life. He throws his dirty socks at the cats. He is addicted to checking sport updates and stock prices on his smart phone. He forgets to put leftovers in the fridge. He gets moody when he is having what I can only assume is a man-period. He still has not figured out how to work the laundry hamper, despite intense one-on-one training sessions with the Rocky theme song playing in the background. He strolls into the bathroom and asks what you're doing when you're trying to use the toilet or shave your legs in the shower because he doesn't fully understand privacy. And sometimes he flat out disagrees with you about severely important things like "what should we do tonight?" But what sets the husband apart from any other run-of-the-mill annoying roommate? It's that you care way too much about his opinion and your opinion matching up. You want him to see things the way you do. Exactly. You want him to think the way you do. Exactly. You can't give the generic "whatever I could care less what you think" response to him and de-friend him on Facebook because you do care what he thinks, and he lives with you. He's an individual with his own opinions and thought process... which is so annoying. 

Your husband will be the single most amazing person in your life. He wakes you up with breakfast in bed most Sundays. He swaps back rubs with you before falling asleep at night. He's funny and spazzy and doesn't mind that you sing off-key during car concerts. He let's you do your own weird thing, and encourages you to be your awkward self. He takes you to the zoo, even though you've gone at least one gagillion times already. He lets you have the bigger piece of steak or eat more of the cookie chunks from container of ice cream. He makes excuses to drive 30 minutes with you to your job on the weekend so that at the very least you can see each other for the hour worth of driving there and back. He just gets you, even when you don't get yourself. As a self-proclaimed commitment phobic person (it took 7 or 8 years before I power-walked down the aisle), my Oprah ah-ha moment was when I realized that yeah, I could live without him... But I didn't want to. And even though I allegedly hyperventilated and had to take a moment to sit (not run, even though there were bets placed) before my I-do's, that 24 hour period of time is a drip in the leaky faucet of life. A very expensive drip. 

And everyday since then has been a bit of an adventure. 

xoxo, b

the ugly cry

first business trip

 Ben departed for New York this morning sometime around 4am. I'm not 100% sure on the exact time because, hell, it was 4am and frankly, I was ugly crying. No single glistening tear on this cheek. No, no. More like a pitiful pajama-clad, bedhead me standing lost in the living room trying to keep it together. I don't know about the rest of the population, but when I'm tired and sad my ugly cry is straight out of an 80's horror film. To hold back tears I hold my breath, my stomach clenches up, and my face crinkles and conforms into ways previously unknown to mankind. The breath-holding causes red-eye bulging and a series of odd choking gasps, boogers, and tears.  To top it off, muttering things between gasps like "You look so handsome! I'm going to miss you so much! The cats are mean and punch me while I sleep!" and I've successfully brought a whole new level of sexy. 

Paris & Nicole helping Ben pack

So my husband's gone for Monday through Thursday night. Seriously, not that long at all. Especially since he rounded up some "brit-sitters" to keep me company this week. I have a busy week. And we are leaving for our two year anniversary road trip on Friday night. That's exciting.... I could totally Google things for us to do.... we have plane tickets and no plans. Just the way it should be!

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WI State Fair

Ben and I went to the Wisconsin State Fair on Saturday. It was glorious and sunny and warm and wonderful. We tried loaded potatoes, funnel cake, ice cream, craft beer, did a wine tasting, and rode the sky glider from one end of the park to the other. We also found the barn with the ducks, but the place was way too crowded for me to steal one. 

riding the sky glider

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

And here is a photo of Paris wearing a bikini. 

She's trying to break into the cruel world of swimsuit modeling.

I think she looks fantastic.

Paris in a bikini

xoxo, b

trophy wife

I'm under the impression that I should be a trophy wife.

I'll rock my hot pink heels and a dress and sashay around department stores and go out for lunch and wear too much perfume and develop a fake laugh so I can say things like "daaaaaarrrrling, this afternoon mojito is absolutely faaaaaabulous!" Then I'll twirl around and waltz home where I will pat my fluffy kitties on their fluffy heads and make a three course dinner. Soon, Ben will burst through the door, set down his briefcase and in a very deep voice exclaim, "Honey! I'm home!" He would then immediately pick me up, twirl me around, and give me a passionate kiss on the lips. Obviously, I would be drinking wine by this point in the evening. He would then compliment me until I beg him to stop because dinner is getting cold.

 

 

In immediate hindsight of the directly above mentioned story, there's no way in Hades that I could be a trophy wife:

 

 

- I can only wear my heels for short periods of time. If I sashay, my feet pay. Maybe I could be a barefoot/flip flop wearing trophy wife?

 

- I have not met a department store that I have not felt overwhelmed and/or lost in. Literally lost. It's like a black hole maze of different designers and there is no way to safely escape in a timely manner. It's like ADHD materialized.

 

- I could do lunch. I like lunch that other people make for me.

 

- Fake laughing makes me feel like I have internal bleeding. Super annoying, internal bleeding.

 

- Not a fan of mojitos. Do trophy wives drink beer and like to BBQ? Is that a thing?

 

- I do enjoy a good twirling about... especially in a sundress. That part can stay. I'd have to bring my A-game for leg shaving on a regular basis.

 

- Our fluffy kitties are experiencing their teenage angst years. They've really made a name for themselves as the apex predators of this apartment. They are spazzy, destructive monsters. Sitting pretty for a pat on the head is not something I imagine happening in the foreseeable future.

 

- When Ben comes home, he does give me a hug and kiss. There is no picking up and twirl around hug and kiss though. This must change immediately.

 

- I need more not-cheap wine. Or craft beer. Again, can a trophy wife drink beer right from the bottle? Or is it strictly a swirl your wine type deal?

 

-And the final reason, I require a variety of multiple activities to fill my day. Otherwise, I come up with "great ideas" that I try and execute myself. Past examples have included dying my hair dark brown, rearranging the entire apartment, ripping apart our closet and putting it back together, chopping some bangs, impromptu painting, highlighting my hair and the middle of the cat's forehead, cooking disasters, trying to give the cats a bath, organizing our storage locker, Pinterest DIY projects, and donating things before Ben finds out they're missing.

 

 

It's a work in progress. Time for some imitation crab and fruit juice.

 

Trophy wife out.

 

 

xoxo, b

confessions of a newlywed

We are about a week away from being married for a year.

No matter how long you've dated, getting hitched brings a few things to light. Aaaaand cut to written montage of things learned in the first year as a wife:

++ He's good with numbers and grocery shopping. You become good with creating storage space for the masses of oatmeal, canned soup, K-cup coffee, Dr. Pepper cans, kitty treats, Tombstone pizzas, and Gatorade that he triumphantly gathers and presents to you in cave man style.


++ When you decide to alternate days of cooking dinner... you will start out spending a great deal of time creating homemade culinary masterpieces for your mister. It will be delicious, and something new each night. When it's his turn for making dinner, you will sample a broad array of nearby restaurants and food delivery services.


++ You take care of his personal hygiene, and making sure he has what you believe to be necessary essentials such as soap, deodorant, man-sprays, and haircuts. He reminds you that even though you're a self-proclaimed "scrappy" individual, you'll probably hurt yourself or a cat with your solo mission to rearrange the living room... again.

Ben's downfall... the tricky laundry hamper.

++ Even though he's a smart and sassy individual, he cannot conquer his arch nemesis..... the laundry hamper. You've given him numerous one-on-one training sessions on how to dispose of his dirty boxers and gym shorts inside this hamper contraption by simply lifting the lid, but he can't quite get the hang of it. Obviously frustrated, he leaves his dirty clothing on top.





++ You both would rather being doing something  rather than nothing. This leads to opportunities and adventures that are generally spur of the moment, and always memorable-- good (Monday night Packer game tickets)  or bad (total a rental car in southern IL).

Good = Lambeau Field

Bad = wreck a rental

++ He enables your candy addiction, to a point. You support his odd collections of playing cards, sports jerseys, and bouncy balls, for the most part.


++ He likes new scented candles. You cleverly figure out that your day of shopping can be easily overlooked when you present him with a new pyro-friendly candle gift.


++ You're not too old to make a blanket fort in the middle of the living room and watch movies all night. Add some pizza and beer, and it seems like a pretty good way to spend a low-key Friday night.

three bed ninjas in action

++ You are a bed ninja. Your two little black kitties are also bed ninjas. You kick, you flip, you fight crime in your unconscious slumber.  He is a controlled on-his-side-of-the-bed sleeper. Every morning you marvel at the fact that he still kisses you goodbye before he leaves.



++ From the outside looking in, the both of you look like spazz-cakes. The oh-so-bad dancing, the standing on furniture for no reason other than to get a response out of the other, the lame jokes and the hysterical snort laughing.... yes, from the outside looking in, you both should be living in a white room with padded walls.

++ This whole marriage thing takes a bit of getting used to: splitting holiday time between two families, having two families, being your own weird little family.




++ There's always a kiss goodnight, always.


xoxo, b