UPDATED: What would you do?

Let's say you've started a blog and, several months in, realize that some of the things you've chosen to write about aren't particularly appropriate to share with family, but too late 'cause they've been reading this entire time?

It was suggested that I not share the private details of our marriage with my family, as it might be difficult for them to forgive and forget. And, even though The Husband has assured me that he hasn't had a problem with anything I've written, I have to agree with The Shrink.

So, now what? Should I censor myself? Ask them to stop reading? Change site locations? Ignore the suggestion?

Help.


Updated to add: The reason I ask is because there is brand-spankin' new stuff I want to write and rage about, but I don't want to keep adding fuel to the fire, so to speak.

Nine totally random and insignificant things I can tell you about this photo.

1. I'm a freak. I change socks three to four times a day. I can't stand it when my feet feel dirty and there's nothing better than fresh, clean socks. This is why I never wear flip-flops or sandals. I just can't handle it.

2. These pants are too big for me everywhere except my butt. It's a problem.

3. This is a glass turtle candy dish which remains empty because I find it impossible to leave candy in our apartment, untouched. Unless it's hard candy. But even then it's debatable that it'll stay around for very long. I have approximately nineteen turtles throughout our apartment and nearly all of them were given to me by my mother-in-law who is, apparently, trying to make up for the live turtles I gave up years ago.

4. We purchased these sofas shortly after we moved in four years ago. We have used them maybe six times. We don't entertain often and, when we do, everyone gathers around the television in the den. I picked this set because of the chaise. I imagined myself curling up in it and reading for hours. Yeah. Didn't happen.

5. I finally started reading a book that has nothing to do with Edward Cullen or Twilight. (I know.) The book is Birthright by Nora Roberts. The first three words in the book are "Douglas Edward Cullen" which is the name of one of the main characters. Weird, right?

6. I bought this little television to put in our dining room which is where I used to do most of my scrapbooking. I haven't scrapbooked in months years and now the TV sits on the corner of my desk because I like the background noise. Except you have to turn it on if you want background noise and I rarely do.

7. I hate my hands. I have fat, oddly shaped fingers and I pick at my cuticles relentlessly until they bleed. I bite my nails which means they're always jagged and uneven and I'm so embarrassed of them that I won't even get a manicure. Sigh.

8. I have had nine book shelves on this wall until one became unstable and I had to take it down to repair the wall. Apparently these shelves weren't mean to carry loads of heavy books. I took the shelf down five months ago. I still haven't repaired anything except to spackle the original holes. And all those books up there? All romance novels. 'Cause I'm a major sucker.

9. I painted this wall when we moved in. It runs along the entire length of our apartment, ending in our dining room. Every time I paint something I remember being seventeen and finally talking my parents into letting me paint my bedroom. I had the biggest room in the house (aside from the master, of course) and I spent an entire week painting my walls light pink. It was the prettiest color. It was so light that, in direct sunlight, you could barely see the tint of color, but at night deepened into this lovely light rose. After years of living with mismatched hand-me-down furniture (it sucks being the middle child), I finally had the bedroom of my dreams. Six months later, the landlord sold the house and we moved.

I've shared nine random things about me. You have to share at least one. Go.

I'm not sure what the weather's doing.

Remember how I was all crazy and blah blah blah about the weather this weekend? Well, did I mention there was a chance of snow? A FOUR PERCENT CHANCE OF SNOW? The Husband totally doubted me.

And yesterday? When it SNOWED ON US? Yeah, I looked at him and said, what up now, bitch?

It snowed on us while we made our way to Mirror Lake. Neither of us thought it was cold enough to stick, but on our way back through the same area, there was a very fresh, white and GORGEOUS layer of snow on the ground. It was incredible.

I know many of you are from parts of the country that have seen snow for months now, and I apologize for my enthusiasm, but this southern California girl doesn't get to experience mother nature at her finest like this. And, yes, I said finest.

The trees were lush and green, having started to make their transition into spring, and there was this lovely white layer of snow clinging to their branches. I've only seen snow that was clinging to the lifeless limbs of poor gray trees having gone into hibernation for the winter.

This Yosemite trip has been incredibly different from the last, which was many, many years ago with my family. Let me tell you, it's a lot more fun when you don't have to worry about your mom yelling at you for paddling the raft in the wrong direction and how did you get stuck in a raft on a lake with your insane mother in the first place?

Yes, it has legs and they're almost as short as mine.

Well, it seems my mother (a.k.a. "anonymous") is the winner of this "game" except that no one really wins when confronted with the wrath of a daughter thwarted. (You and me, mom. Anytime. Any place.)

Oh, did I mention she gave me the mug?

Family. I'm just not sure there's enough wine.

Are you ready to give up?

The Game. Updated.

I may be making a huge mistake here, but I've decided to skip over image two and three and go straight to number four. Two and three were basically identical to the first, but with more of the M showing. I hope this doesn't make it too easy for you. 'Cause, you know, big prizes involved.

That was supposed to be sarcastic. There aren't any prizes. I wish there were. I'd give you exactly what I've made in advertisements, but it wouldn't be enough to cover postage. Sigh.

Wanna play a game?

See that image above? What is it?

The first person to guess the correct answer wins a trip to The Pioneer Woman's website where they can enter their name into a real contest and possibly win a real prize. 'Cause I'm broke and that's how I roll.

I'll reveal more of the image tomorrow and as the day goes on. Take a guess. Take eighteen guesses. Be specific. Or don't. Whatever. There's nothing up for grabs, remember? I just feel like getting all interactive with you people. 'Cause I like you. (Insert creepy grin here.)

Happy Whatever.

Today is Earth Day. It's also Administrative Professionals Day. It's also Ignore Your Co-Workers For Being Idiots And Wishing You A Happy Administrative Professionals Day Day.

I hate this stupid lets-find-one-more-reason-to-eat holiday. I dread it every year. I'm doing my job. My paycheck is recognition enough, thank you very much. I do not need or want or like the extra attention that comes from celebrating this ridiculous day.

I work in a very large hotel. I'm just one of... um... thirty? administrative assistants. I mean professionals, of course. And each year, they turn this one completely meaningless day into a whole week of fun and games torture.

One day it’s a trivia game, the next it’s a group breakfast. Okay, I’m not a total scrooge. The assorted candy and snacks left on my desk were nice… but, please, for the love of all that’s sweet and chocolatey, let me get back to blogging work already!

Mother Nature and the Internet totally hate me.

I got an e-mail this morning from the nice people at the hotel where the other half and I are staying in Yosemite this weekend. They were kind enough to offer us services they thought we might need such as car rentals and the weather forecast... which, incidentally, looks like this:

Of course it'd be raining the entire weekend we're there. I called The Husband and we discussed our options. We could cancel, but who knows when another four-day weekend would just fall into our laps and oh, wait a second. I think I remember hearing something about a little rain never hurting anyone.

Me: Since it's not raining on Friday, we'll have to leave super early so that there's still plenty of time to take pictures once we get there.

Him: How early is "super early?"

Me: Like, five. I don't want to hit traffic in LA.

Him: We're going to hit traffic no matter what.

Me: Nuh uh! Not if we leave RIGHT AT FIVE.

Him: Is that a bet?

Me: It sure is, bucko!

So, whichever one of us is wrong has to jump in the lake once we get there. The same lake that's filled with the water from MELTING SNOW. Which means it's marginally warmer than actual snow.

Later, I was preparing a document and had to check the weather. (I prepare weird documents at work.) I went to AccuWeather and typed in "Yosemite" just for kicks. And lo and behold...

"Plenty of sun." Got that? AccuWeather seems to think we're in the clear. Literally. PLENTY OF SUN. All weekend.

Well, at this point, I was on a mission. I went back to the original e-mail to see who their supposed weather source was. Intellicast. So, I went to their website and typed in Yosemite. And I'm thinking the folks at Intellicast are on IntelliCRACK.

Now it's partly cloudy. What the hell, people? Which is it? Do I pack sweaters? Or tees? Jeans? Or shorts? I don't want to pack my entire closet, thank you very much.

For shits and giggles, I went to Weather.com. At this point, I'm thinking they're all a bunch of fucktards, but might as well see what they have to say.

I guess I'm packing everything I own and hoping for the best.

Nacho mama’s bucket list.

Ten Nine things to do before I… you know.

Punch someone in the face. This could be husband-specific, but I haven't decided. (Not sure what that says about my repressed anger.)

Throw panties at Dierks Bentley. Because THAT VOICE.

French kiss Stephenie Meyer and/or Judith McNaught. Preferably both because they’ve created my two all-time favorite heroes. (See: Edward Cullen and Matthew Farrell.)

Be a pirate. Of the Caribbean, not Somalia. With swords and canons and parrots and an eye patch. And rum. And Johnny Depp.

Slap Tom Brady's ass. While he's standing on the sidelines during a game. Preferably the Super Bowl, which he'd win. Naturally.

Star as a cartoon character in a Disney movie. I would make an amazing cartoon.

Be interviewed by Larry King. Incidentally, I also want him to get me so worked up that I storm off set. Later, the video would be replayed over and over gain on CNN and YouTube and Nancy Grace would be all panties-in-a-twist about it. Apparently, I want to get a lot of important people all hot and bothered.

Break into someone's house. Because I've read this book one too many times. And also this book. And it sounds awesome. And totally doable.

Buy life-sized portrait of Edward Cullen. Oh wait.

Already did. (And it only cost me one husband. Totally worth it.)

Florentines

Hands down… hardest cookies to take pictures of ever. In fact, I was so unhappy with the first round that I made them twice just so I could take another set of pictures. And I still wasn’t happy with ‘em. (And I refuse to believe it’s the photographer.)

The cookies on the other hand… amazing. Light and crispy and buttery and sweet and you should make them immediately.

They were incredibly easy to make. Mix a few basic ingredients (which you probably already have on hand) in a saucepan on the stove. Then drop by the teaspoon onto a baking sheet and bake for five minutes.

Please do not underestimate the incredible expanding capabilities of these seemingly harmless cookies. If you use too much dough (dough? batter? whatever) you will pull out of the oven one giant cookie that is in the process of swallowing your baking sheet whole.

And, for the love of God, do not leave your cookies to cool on top of the stove where you accidentally left the burner on because you’ll soon find yourself wondering what’s burning and then realize that you just destroyed a batch of cookies (but at least you didn’t burn down the house, ‘cause that’d be a hell of a lecture to endure). (Not that this has ever happened to me.)

Oh, and did I mention…

Cake pops.*

Why? Because I made them and they were gorgeous and the bokeh was too fantastic to resist. If you haven’t made cake pops yet… WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?!

*I’m sorry, I just can’t call them “cake balls” anymore. (Even though that’s clearly what they are.)

Eating leftover Easter candy until I figure out how to squeeze more time out of my day.

I am currently knee-deep in the middle of eight million projects. It's almost overwhelming and I have to keep reminding myself that I'm doing this FOR FUN. (It'd be a lot easier if I wasn't forced to spend a third of my entire day at work.) (Did I mention how grateful I am to still be employed?)

It occurred to me yesterday that if I went to bed a little later each night, I could really maximize productivity. Normally, I'm in bed by ten-thirty, which is just in time to catch the second Seinfeld rerun. So, why not push it back to midnight? Sure, I snooze my alarm eight times each morning, but does that really have anything to do with being tired? Or is it just that I don't easily make the transition from being asleep to being awake?

Then I spent four hours after work taking pictures, stopping for groceries, and making cake pops and by the time I got in bed at TEN-FIFTEEN, I was exhausted. And you people with kids? How do you do it?

Going to bed later isn't an option. (I need sleep.) Working less isn't an option. (I need money.) I've stopped watching TV during the week. I've completely quit cleaning my apartment. I rarely go grocery shopping (which you'd think would result in less eating, but, surprisingly, it hasn't). (In fact, my pants are quite snug. I know this because every time they get a little too tight, The Husband compliments my butt. Which I suppose is flattering in a fuck-I-need-to-go-on-a-diet kind of way.)

So, what's keeping me busy?

Photography, as always. Taking and editing photos is a daunting, never-ending task. And, as much as I love it... I wish it came easier. (When something you absolutely love to do doesn't come naturally... does that mean it's not meant to be?)

I'm building my own table-top lighting tent. This project requires many trips to many stores, hours spent standing in an aisle being indecisive, many chewed fingernails, frustration, and, finally, one trip Samy's to purchase the table-top lighting studio I should have just bought in the first place.

Baking. Finally. I've made Florentines twice and they were delicious. And, eventually, I'll share the photos, but see gripe about photography above. I also made cake pops for a birthday. If I could eat take pictures of cake pops for the rest of my life, I'd be a happy girl.

I'm redesigning this here blog. Because I'm bored with the current look and I need something bright and fresh and fun. Summertime is coming, y'all, and it's time to reflect that. I see bright blues and greens in our future. Please don't be afraid. There's plenty of chocolate and wine to get us through, I promise.

And speaking of summertime, there's all this glorious sunshine we've been getting and who can stay inside when it's so sunny and warm? When the sky is so big and so perfectly blue it's almost painful to look at? It's irresistible. Staying in doors is like saying thanks, but no thanks to a piece of chocolate.

You don't say no to chocolate and you don't stay inside when the day is that lovely.

Loving.

Sunshine
Having never been a fan of hot summer months, it's come as quite a surprise to realize that, sometime over the last year or two, that started to change. Maybe it's our bedroom, a room that never gets any sunlight and is therefore freezing cold all year round (my closet especially) or maybe it’s my desk at work which sits right underneath the air conditioning… but suddenly I am very much looking forward to summer.

When The Husband and I went to lunch a couple weekends ago, it was with the sole purpose of sitting on the patio to enjoy the eighty-plus degree weather. I was wearing a t-shirt, pants, and a sweatshirt. And I gladly traded seats with him so I could sit directly in the sun and he the shade. It was lovely.

It’s possible that come July and August my feelings will change, but I have never been more excited for summer, with all it’s sun and warmth, than I am right now.


SoBe energy drinks
I like the sugar-free variety. They taste good, both cold and at room temperature. I know this because I usually start sipping one around ten a.m. and it’s still delicious when I leave at four. And, aside from my love affair with Mr. Tall Nonfat Latte from Starbucks, these actually give me that boost I’m looking for and hey, I’m productive again! (These are not, however, productive for my wallet.)


My car
And not just because it’s a means of getting from point A to point B, but because I really freaking love my car. I drive a Corolla and, despite it’s size, I’d happily live in it if I had to. My very first car was a truck that completely sucked me dry of money and patience. When we finally parted ways, I swore I’d never buy another truck again.

The other day I asked The Husband how many miles he thought this car would last. According to him, it will serve me well until I’m 43. At which point, I’ll buy another Corolla. (Please, no lectures on buying American. I get it, but you just can’t sway me on this point.)


Frozen yogurt
Because it's freaking amazing. I especially love these self-serve chains that have popped up recently. J and I frequent the Yogurtland near my dad's quite often. Possibly too often. Favorite flavors? Cheesecake, Heath Bar, Cookies n' Cream... in that order. With cookie dough bites on top. Amen.


The dollar movie theater
I love going to the movies. Going to the movies means two hours spent NOT THINKING and lately that's a kind of relief that isn't easy to come by. I found this slightly run-down dollar theater near my dad's house a few weeks ago and what I especially love about it is that it plays family-friendly movies so there's no wading through the horror flicks and other junk I don't care for. I saw Twilight here and, a couple weeks ago, Marley and Me. And even more awesome? There's a kick-ass candy store just ten feet away. (Yes, I said "kick-ass.") (Is "kick-ass" a hyphenate?) So, now I pay $2 for a movie and $10 for a quarter pound bag of candy. Obviously my priorities are in the right place.


Okay, now it's your turn. What are you currently loving?

That explosion you just heard? That was my brain.

I asked The Husband to meet me at Starbucks on Tuesday night. Eventually, no matter how much we both love our Starbucks, we'll never be able to go there again for fear that one of us is about to ask for a divorce.

Starbucks is our neutral territory. For me, it’s about getting out of the house so that whatever it is we need to talk about doesn’t hang around and linger in our home. It’s along the same vein as not going to bed mad, which, I admit, The Husband and I have been guilty of in the past. (If you’ve been married for a significant amount of time and have never gone to bed angry, I’d like to know your secret.) (Oh, right. Communication. How could I forget?)

The whole point of asking him to meet me was because I was finally ready to propose the Big Fat Ultimatum. Me or her. No one responds well to ultimatums, so I tried, in my completely inept manner, to phrase it in the best way possible. And when I was through stumbling over my words, he looked at me and said, “So, what you’re saying is I have to choose.”

Well, yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying. But it’s my choice, too. And I’m choosing to not be with a man who is having this type of relationship with another woman. That means deleting her from your Facebook, MySpace, e-mail, cell phone, etc. That means no Christmas cards, no Happy Birthday’s, no catch-up phone calls once a year or ever, for that matter. The relationship ends now. And, if you can’t do that, then I choose to be alone.

There’s a certain amount of relief that comes from hearing him say he chooses me. However, as much as I try (and I know it’s only been a few days), it’s incredibly hard to stop thinking and, yes, obsessing about it. There’s a heavy cloud of depression hovering nearby. I’ve been able to fight it off to this point, but since seeing The Therapist (she is supposed to help, right?), it’s been even harder to ignore and keep at bay.

No matter how hard I try to ignore them, phrases like “runner-up” and “second best” keep flashing through my mind. There’s an evil, little bitch inside my head that’s determined to prevent me from being happy. Then the questions come. The ones that have been circling around inside my mind without rest; the ones that no amount of reassurance can ease.

Did he need that week away to rule her out as an option, once and for all? Is he only staying with me until the next “Mrs. Right” comes along?

And, even more frightening, I’ve finally had to acknowledge that my husband has a pattern. One that involves lying and turning to other women to fulfill something emotionally that he doesn’t get from me. So, am I a total sucker for staying? A glutton for punishment?

Really, really dumb?

Has my pattern been to make excuses for his behavior?

And is it normal to feel such anger, hurt, and disappointment in him and yet still want to go out of my way to make him happy? Before I realized that there was, to a degree, a sexual relationship between him and this “friend,” I understood why I wanted to make him happy. And that was because I had been, in a sense, neglecting him. I hadn’t been participating in the things that he enjoyed. Yes, he made this easy for me (so easy I never realized there was a problem), but I should have been more involved.

Now that I’ve seen their relationship for what it really is, why am I still so eager to make him happy?

And the cherry on my sundae is the fact that this part of their relationship has been going on for ten fucking months. Ten months. TEN. In ten months, he never once stopped to think that maybe this is wrong? That maybe his wife meant more to him that that? Does he think so little of me that he believes this behavior to be okay?

And by setting myself up to be hurt like this again, do I think so little of myself?

I know what you’re thinking. Thank God I’m not in her head.



I’ve closed comments because I know you guys are crazy supportive and I love you, but I just needed to write and get this off my chest. Tomorrow I’ll write a long list of all the things that make me happy. Promise.

This took all day to write and now I can’t come up with a title.

I left a comment today on a blog that is vastly more amusing and well-written than my own and it was as I was checking back for a response and about to leave a second comment that it occurred to me maybe I should take what creative juices are flowing and spend some time here. Totally radical idea, I know. Write. On my own blog. I bet you’re wondering how I come up with such brilliance.

I spent nearly two hours with my therapist last night, talking about things I wished had never happened, coming to conclusions I'd rather not have, and generally feeling bad about myself. And, while I believe it went well, there were some ideas she opened my eyes to that left me wondering, again, if I'd have been better off not knowing.

And then she told me to get a life. It's okay. I wasn’t offended. I’ve been telling myself the same thing for a while. My whole adult life has been wrapped up in and revolving around my husband since I was eighteen. (That three-month stint of living on my own, while totally awesome, doesn’t count.)

So, she told me to get a hobby or three. Something that gets me out of the house and around (insert Jaws theme music here) OTHER PEOPLE. I looked her in the eye and asked, “don’t you know me at all?” She laughed and I considered asking for a refund.

Then she told me to create a "dream board." (Groan.) I'm sure many of you have heard of or seen these before. It's a collage of images that represent your- wait for it- dreams. In this case, I've been told to focus on where I want to be a year from now. Supposedly, having this visual reminder everyday will motivate me to put an effort into actually achieving them.

So, here's what I'm putting on mine:

I kid!

On a serious note, here's what I'd like to accomplish...

What do you think? Overly ambitious? Maybe. But I have to admit that, although I started playing with this as a joke (please don't tell my shrink), looking at those pictures causes a funny feeling in my tummy. Like maybe I want to put in the effort to make these things happen.

Or it could be I just want a cookie.

Because I'm too stubborn not to.

After this post, I fully plan on making all the necessary effort to get “back to normal.” (Whatever that means.) But, before I do that, I feel the pressing need to clarify something. I’ve been trying to let this go, but… here’s the thing… this is my blog. My eHome away from home, so to speak. This is where I come to vent, rage, laugh, cry, tell stupid stories, share pictures, etc. This is where I feel most comfortable doing so.

I realize that by sharing all the sordid details of my life on the WWW and by allowing comments from you strange people (she said with love), I’ve opened myself up to all sorts of criticism… but it’s still my little place in universe. And it’s really chapping my hide that some people might be under the wrong impression.

So, maybe this little nugget of information I’m about to share won’t change your opinion, but it’ll make me feel better that there are no longer any misunderstandings. (It’s just something I need to do.)

What I found on The Husband’s phone on Tuesday was brand spankin’ new... To me. Yes, it was dated in February and March, but I just found it. And it opened my eyes to a piece of his relationship with another woman that I never knew existed. It rocked me to the core.

If we hadn’t recently recommitted to giving this marriage our best effort, what I found could have seen our relationship down a very different course.

I don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to be shaken by something that, despite having occurred in the (recent) past, is probably the worst thing (aside from actually having sex with her) that I could have discovered.

Think about it. If you came to find out that your spouse had been involved in a very inappropriate relationship with another person (a person they swore up and down was just a friend) weeks, months, or even a year ago, would you be okay with that? Because it was “in the past?”

That doesn’t work for me. Especially knowing that this is a woman I’ve had… uncomfortable… feelings about since day one. I’ve never met her and I could never explain why my husband’s friendship with her bothered me so much as I’ve never been the jealous, suspicious, or possessive type (actually, I may just be too gullible for my own good. I mean, shit. When he said they were “just friends,” I believed him. Every. Single. Time.) … but I couldn’t help those feelings.

I’m not the type to hold grudges, either. I’m much too happy a person, believe it or not (please try to see past the sarcasm, pessimism, and all those other negative “isms”), to sit around dwelling on what happened then.

But this is a very new and very fresh wound that’s been inflicted upon me. I’ll recover (each day gets easier), but it’ll take time. Don’t worry… Cookies will be made. Pictures will be taken. Posts will be written. Have faith. I’ll get there.

I just couldn’t sit back and let you think I was moping around and obsessing about things I’ve already come to terms with. Nope, I’m just moping and obsessing about the new stuff.

Now that I’ve cleared that up, I pose a question to you. Put yourself in my shoes (as much as you can without knowing every single gory detail). Your spouse, in an effort to make up for what’s happened, brings you a present. A very expensive present. A very expensive present that you’ve been wanting for a very long time.

Would you accept it… and why? Or why not?

I’ve already decided, but I can’t wait to hear read your responses.

Right now.

I'm totally addicted to turkey and Cool Ranch Dorito sandwiches. Don't tell me you've never jammed your chips in between the layers of a sandwich. It's awesome. Sure, I haven't done so since I was, oh, TWELVE, but I just can't seem to get enough.

I'm rereading Twilight. But, before you sigh and shake your head in disgust (you think I don't know, but I do), let me explain. I devoured four very long books in a matter of days. I saw the movie in the middle of the third. By that time I was beginning to forget details of the first. Suddenly, I couldn't help but remember the first book as if it had happened exactly like the movie. I had to go back and reread it to remember. (To remember how fantastic it was.)

I am, however, slightly unnerved to realize that I'm having an even harder time putting it down now than I did the first time around. Which was approximately twenty days ago. I have a problem.

I'm worried that I might get fired for blogging at work. I'm not sure this will actually stop me from doing so, but it's something to think about. One of our supervisors was just fired for some sort of sexually inappropriate e-mails, the details of which I'm still fuzzy. Granted, this blog is a far cry from "sexually inappropriate" (I think), but you never know. I really should stay off the Internet while at work. But then what would I do with the other six hours?

I'm wondering why Blogger insists on capitalizing the word "Internet."

I'm trying to decide whether or not I want to hear the answer to a question I asked of The Husband earlier today. I asked him if he would choose The Other Woman (who will remain nameless because I can't type her name, let alone say it, for fear I might vomit) over me if she were, in fact, available and not married.

And then I said, "You know, marriage? It's that same thing YOU AND I entered into legally five years ago? We stood up in front of friends, family, and GOD and vowed to be together forever?! REMEMBER THAT?!" Okay, so I didn't actually say that, but maybe I should have, just to remind him. Because I think he's forgotten.

Either he will say yes, at which time I will have to cut off his testicles (sorry, men), or he will say no and I won't believe him. Either way, it's a no-win shituation. Which is why I'm not sure I want to know the answer. So, I ask you this... Is it better to know? Or be blissfully ignorant? I'm not sure which way I'm leaning.

I'm changing the subject.

I'm wanting to bake. But not wanting to bake. But wanting to bake. And welcome to my brain. This is how it's been for weeks. Tonight I came close. See, on Sunday, The Husband and I and my mother-in-law drove out to Palm Springs to visit family. We went to lunch at this deli that had one of the most amazing displays of assorted desserts that I've ever seen. Of course, the heart wants what the heart wants and mine wanted the giant smiley-faced sugar cookie. Sure, I could have chosen any one of the decadent desserts they offered, but no. I wanted the sugar cookie. And it was delicious.

However, while we were there, I also noticed they had giant chocolate-dipped Florentine cookies. They looked spectacular, but I thought that might be going overboard. Surely an eighteen pound sugar cookie is plenty... even for me.

But I couldn't get those Florentines out of my mind. Tonight I found a recipe. I turned on the oven, set a saucepan on the stove, checked to make sure I had corn syrup... and then lost all ambition. Sigh. One of these days...

I'm thinking it's time to go to bed and not just because that means Edward Cullen.