I know I have been neglecting you, dear readers, but I was on vacation. Actually, I'm calling it "Senior Week" since I not only didn't have to go to work, but I got to graduate with my Masters at the end of it. That's right, I've officially got my Masters (or my Mistress as I've decided to call it. It's so much more sordid that way.) Friendster Guy did Senior Week with me but all he got was the opportunity to sit in the rain with my two sets of parents (2 biological and 2 step) for 3 hours and listen to boring speeches and long lists of names being called. He's a saint.
What else did I do during "Senior Week"? In honor of pretending to be an undergrad, I slept like an adolescent. Seriously. There were several days when somehow both FG and I managed to sleep for 10-11 hours straight. Plus naps. Either we were sleep deprived or we contracted African Sleeping Sickness. Seven days of sleeping as late as you want and not going to bed much later than usual does not make the transition back to work easy. I did not, repeat, did not, in the least, appreciate the alarm this morning. Nor the fact that I must remain in an upright position until the end of the day. Bollocks.
I also gained back all the weight I'd lost during the first 3-4 week of Sassy's Seven Week Challenge. Go me! I'm hoping that these couple pounds are transient and not thoroughly entrenched wherever they have lodged (mostly over my abs. Dag nab it!) If I don't knock myself out doing a face plant into my keyboard I will be going to the gym this afternoon to shake them loose. I did somehow manage to go to the gym three times between naps. But it's hard to negate the whole, "What? I'm on vacation!," excuse for gorging yourself silly at least two times per day (It would have been 3 times/day but we were sleeping too much.)
Between bouts of narcolepsy, FG and I did manage to get out of town a couple of times. One day we went for a drive with no destination and hours later ended up in Montpelier, VT. We ate dinner at Julio's and had what they called, "HLBs", short for "Hot Little %^$#^@", i.e. crispy beer battered jalapeno slices with citrus sour cream. They were awesome. Awesome! And since we both ate them, we could make stupid adolescent (again with the adolescence) jokes for the next few days about the state of our bowels. Because we started out the week this way, and we spent so much time together over the next few days, I do think it is fair to say we took our relationship to a new, not quite admirable but definitely necessary, level - the level of fart jokes and potty humor. We've skirted the subject for the last year, delving in only for a few appropriately timed comments about farts but always keeping the humor at a distance, i.e. not in reference to us specifically. But now, I can safely say, we crossed a line somewhere and it is ok, and perhaps even encouraged, to take the conversation where it wants to go. I can't quite believe I'm saying this, but we've grown as a couple because of it. And I have FG's solemn vow that I will never be the victim of a Dutch Oven at his hands. I can't say I made the same promise. (Love ya honey!)
We also spent some time with my sister, brother-in-law, and niece. We went to the beach for a day and shivered under towels because it was not quite beach weather. Afterward, since it was their five year wedding anniversary, and I felt like going out instead of babysitting, I treated us all to dinner at Gauchos in Manchester, NH. This is a Brazilian barbeque place where they keep bringing meat to your table until you plead with them for mercy to stop. I have never eaten that much bovine in my life. Nor do I intend to in the near future, even though it was yummy. I'm not a big beef eater but when it comes to your table skewered on a sword carried by men with accents and sharp knives asking if you want some, you say yes. And "please" and "thank you". This meal did nothing but fan the flames on the ever-so-classy conversations re: bowel movements. We had sushi the next day in order to atone for our gastronomic sins. There is something cleansing about wasabi, at least psychologically.
Finally, the most newsworthy thing that happened was that my parents met FG's parents for the first time. Cue scary music - Dun dun dun! We all got together for a graduation "after party," i.e. lunch at a local pub. I think it went quite well. In all honesty and without exageration, in just a short lunch they have now interacted with each other more than my parents interacted with my X in-laws (who, if I remember right, met at the wedding. Or maybe at my undergrad graduation two days before the wedding. In other words, they didn't know each other and 7 years of marriage didn't increase that knowledge.)
So that was my Senior Week, in highlights. Oh, and during another day's road trip to Woodstock, VT I got a new bumper sticker: "Don't make me release the flying monkeys!" Cute right!? And totally appropriate for someone with a Mistress degree and adolescent tendencies.
What else did I do during "Senior Week"? In honor of pretending to be an undergrad, I slept like an adolescent. Seriously. There were several days when somehow both FG and I managed to sleep for 10-11 hours straight. Plus naps. Either we were sleep deprived or we contracted African Sleeping Sickness. Seven days of sleeping as late as you want and not going to bed much later than usual does not make the transition back to work easy. I did not, repeat, did not, in the least, appreciate the alarm this morning. Nor the fact that I must remain in an upright position until the end of the day. Bollocks.
I also gained back all the weight I'd lost during the first 3-4 week of Sassy's Seven Week Challenge. Go me! I'm hoping that these couple pounds are transient and not thoroughly entrenched wherever they have lodged (mostly over my abs. Dag nab it!) If I don't knock myself out doing a face plant into my keyboard I will be going to the gym this afternoon to shake them loose. I did somehow manage to go to the gym three times between naps. But it's hard to negate the whole, "What? I'm on vacation!," excuse for gorging yourself silly at least two times per day (It would have been 3 times/day but we were sleeping too much.)
Between bouts of narcolepsy, FG and I did manage to get out of town a couple of times. One day we went for a drive with no destination and hours later ended up in Montpelier, VT. We ate dinner at Julio's and had what they called, "HLBs", short for "Hot Little %^$#^@", i.e. crispy beer battered jalapeno slices with citrus sour cream. They were awesome. Awesome! And since we both ate them, we could make stupid adolescent (again with the adolescence) jokes for the next few days about the state of our bowels. Because we started out the week this way, and we spent so much time together over the next few days, I do think it is fair to say we took our relationship to a new, not quite admirable but definitely necessary, level - the level of fart jokes and potty humor. We've skirted the subject for the last year, delving in only for a few appropriately timed comments about farts but always keeping the humor at a distance, i.e. not in reference to us specifically. But now, I can safely say, we crossed a line somewhere and it is ok, and perhaps even encouraged, to take the conversation where it wants to go. I can't quite believe I'm saying this, but we've grown as a couple because of it. And I have FG's solemn vow that I will never be the victim of a Dutch Oven at his hands. I can't say I made the same promise. (Love ya honey!)
We also spent some time with my sister, brother-in-law, and niece. We went to the beach for a day and shivered under towels because it was not quite beach weather. Afterward, since it was their five year wedding anniversary, and I felt like going out instead of babysitting, I treated us all to dinner at Gauchos in Manchester, NH. This is a Brazilian barbeque place where they keep bringing meat to your table until you plead with them for mercy to stop. I have never eaten that much bovine in my life. Nor do I intend to in the near future, even though it was yummy. I'm not a big beef eater but when it comes to your table skewered on a sword carried by men with accents and sharp knives asking if you want some, you say yes. And "please" and "thank you". This meal did nothing but fan the flames on the ever-so-classy conversations re: bowel movements. We had sushi the next day in order to atone for our gastronomic sins. There is something cleansing about wasabi, at least psychologically.
Finally, the most newsworthy thing that happened was that my parents met FG's parents for the first time. Cue scary music - Dun dun dun! We all got together for a graduation "after party," i.e. lunch at a local pub. I think it went quite well. In all honesty and without exageration, in just a short lunch they have now interacted with each other more than my parents interacted with my X in-laws (who, if I remember right, met at the wedding. Or maybe at my undergrad graduation two days before the wedding. In other words, they didn't know each other and 7 years of marriage didn't increase that knowledge.)
So that was my Senior Week, in highlights. Oh, and during another day's road trip to Woodstock, VT I got a new bumper sticker: "Don't make me release the flying monkeys!" Cute right!? And totally appropriate for someone with a Mistress degree and adolescent tendencies.
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Whoohooo!
I realized over the weekend that my new in-laws have never actually met my mom and her husband. And, if the in-laws arrive in NC for our reception instead of VA like they mentioned they might do, then they won't meet until party time. Guess those sorts of things might happen with parents in different parts of the country and a week's notice for a wedding;>