I told my husband I loved him. Oops.

It's not something we go around casually saying to each other. At least, not since February. Sure, during one or two or three hundred of the serious talks we're had, one or both of us might have let the L word slip. And, hell, even last night he said "that's why I love her" to a random stranger at the bar. What this random stranger said to warrant such a response? I have no idea. He was probably commenting on the good sense God obviously graced me with to know when to replace the pitcher of beer.

But this morning? The big, fat "I love you" just slipped out and it was awkward and I spent the next six hours hearing myself say the words over... and over... and over again. At least I can be grateful it was only over the phone and not (shudder) in person.

Me, grinning like an idiot at the display on my cell phone: Hello?
Him: Hi. I'm just calling to make sure you're awake.
Me: I'm just walking out to my car.
{insert brief miscellaneous chit chat here}
Him: I'd better get back to work.
Me: All right. Have a good day.
Him: You, too.
Me: I love you.
Him: (awkward pause) (which I may be exaggerating) I love you, too.

The we hung up. I got in my car and I sat there staring straight ahead as I heard those three little words replay like a broken record. My face got hot. I was like that girl, the one who always says "I love you" first. No one wants to be that girl. And even though I meant it, I do love him, and even though there are worse things I can do than tell my husband I love him, it just wasn't the time.

It left me feeling exposed and vulnerable. The sad, pathetic fact is we still haven't figured out (or even discussed) what the hell we're doing. And, despite its continuous improvement, there is still a big possibility that this marriage won't survive the surgery. Especially if we never make it into the OR.

You may have seen the tweets. It's what I do when I'm feeling embarrassed. Might as well take it public! In the middle of tweeting the awkward start to my day, my cell phone started to buzz with a call from my mother.

Her: I don't get it. Why can't you say "I love you?" (Did I mention her cell phone alerts her with each new tweet?)
Me: (sigh) It just wasn't the time. I didn't mean to say it and I think it threw us both off.
Her: But you're married.
Me: We're separated. We were getting divorced. Still could. And we certainly haven't been in the habit of saying "I love you" lately.
Her: And you don't want to be the girl who let's it out accidentally.
Me: Well... no.
Her: Frankly, I think you're both acting like babies.

I hate to admit it, but she has a point. You're all free to side with my mother. But just this once.

On a positive note, this whole situation has made me painfully aware that it is time for us to have The Talk. We need to make a decision once and for all. What the hell are we doing? Because even worse than being the girl who accidentally says "I love you" at the worst possible times? Being the wife of nearly seven years who isn't sure when it's appropriate to say "I love you" to her husband.

I'm broke, but it's awesome. A poverty update.

Yesterday I signed up with Mint.com.

Today I received this e-mail:



Proceed with caution, indeed.

Normally, this would be enough to make me wet myself, but I'm happy to announce my pants are dry (if maybe a bit too snug). $29 left to my name and I'm totally calm and collected. So much that I'm going to sit back with this bag of Starbursts (which I suckered my mom into buying) (and which certainly isn't helping the fit of my clothing) and relish in my new found financial prowess.

Okay, "prowess" might be a stretch, but I feel as if I've accomplished more in just a few short days than I have in the last ten years. How, you ask? Well, let me tell you. I increased my profit sharing from 6% to 10% (because I have no reason not to save more) (and I'd be a complete moron not to), I sent $600 to both my car loan and credit card, and I have a budget. A real, live, grown-up budget. One I plan on sticking to.

And this morning, when my mom asked if I wanted to run to Staples with her, I said yes and LEFT MY DEBIT CARD AT HOME. And thank God I did 'cause I could have easily dropped my remaining $29 in unnecessary office supplies.

I love office supplies.

But I love not feeling guilty more.

Peeps, thanks for your help. Now if only you could tell me what to do about this little (huge!) candy problem I seem to have...

The cold, hard facts.

I'm a spender.

A real let's-blow-it-all kinda girl.

Like, I've already imagined all the ways in which I'm going to spend my paycheck and it's not even payday.

The Husband took over our finances as soon as we got married. And I was more than happy to let him do so. My idea of "managing finances" follows the don't ask, don't tell policy and I have often avoided checking my account balance out of fear for what I might find. And, when I finally do, I often hear myself saying, "wait, this can't be right."

I nickel and dime myself. Five dollars here, ten dollars there. It's not much at the time, but, damn, does it add up. I can't get in and out of Target without dropping at least thirty bucks, usually more, and I'm all about instant gratification which means that as soon as I have an idea, I'm taking out my wallet. And most of the time? My "good ideas" turn out not so good and I'm left with random crap I don't need and won't use.

Now, add into the equation that I suddenly find myself in a position where I don't pay rent and hey! I can buy anything I want! Whenever I want!

It has become a serious problem.

As I write this post, my inner (and very weak) budget-conscious self, the one who wants to save money, is cringing. I can only imagine how other, more financially responsible people, will feel while reading this.

Brace yourselves.

I printed out each one of my bank statements since February. That's when I opened my shiny new bank account. Here are a few horrifying facts about the month of May:

I spent $300 at Target.

In other words, I spent on... I DON'T KNOW WHAT.

That's THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS on random stuff.

Three hundred dollars nickel and diming myself.

And that does NOT include the $40 I spent on books.

Or the $40 I spent at Starbucks.

Or the $50 I spent on a couple new shirts.

Or the $80 I spent on gas.

Or the $50 I spent on groceries.

In the month of May, I spent MORE than I earned.

MORE!

!!!

That does not include the trip to San Antonio, either.

Because I used my CREDIT CARD to pay for that.

People like me should not have credit.

Although, truth be told, my credit score is quite amazing.

Just thought I'd throw that out there to try and redeem myself.

How much money went into my savings account? A whopping $26.41.

And that's only because I'm enrolled in that stupid Keep the Change program and I was too lazy to call and cancel it.

Are you as horrified as I am? Because, let me tell you, when I added and tallied and divvied everything up, I wanted to puke.

Back in March, depressed and moving into my kid sister's bedroom, I had grand plans for getting my car paid off, saving money, moving out on my own... I said six months tops. That's how long I'd stay with my folks. I estimated that six months is how long it would take me to pay off my car if I in sent every extra cent I had. Without that payment, I told myself, I'll feel a lot more comfortable moving out on my own.

Now, granted, I have sent extra money towards my car loan each month. But only half of what I had planned. The other half went to God only knows. )Let's be honest. Probably candy.)

The worst thing is that May was a carbon copy of March and April. I've done a lot of damage in the past three months.

A lot. Of. Damage.

Peeps, I'm putting myself on a budget. I've even created a binder and everything! (Which, naturally, I spent money on.) (I can't win.) But I'm planning ahead and keeping track and SAYING NO. And it feels good. Weird, but good.

The most important thing I've realized is I can't be trusted. If there is money available, I'll spend it. And since this is a problem that can't be fixed overnight, I've decided the less money I have, the better off I'll be. So, in my effort to save, I'm spending.

No, it makes sense. I swear.

You see, despite the fact that I spend way more money than I should (on crap I don't need), there's a fear I have of running out. I've been determined to keep a certain amount in my bank account at all times. For what? I have no idea. But it was important to me that the funds were there. This is why I couldn't send as much to my car as I had planned. The more I spent on useless crap, the less I could send to my car... otherwise I'd fall outside of my financial comfort zone.

I'm forcing myself to get over it. I've decided that as soon as it comes in, the money needs to go right back out again. In the last couple of days, I've sent everything... okay, nearly everything... that was sitting in my account to my car and credit card. I've left only enough for gas and groceries and maybe a book. (Hey, there's only so much I'm willing to give up.)

And I plan to continue sending the money out until both are paid off.

I'm a little embarrassed to admit this, but for the last few weeks months I've been operating under the impression (and hope) that The Husband and I will work things out, that maybe I won't need to prepare to move out on my own because I'll be going back to live with him. But the truth... the truth that you all probably grasp much better than I... is that we are far from reconciliation and, sadly, the chances of us actually working things out aren't great.

They're quite dismal, actually.

Sure, we're having fun and getting along and communicating better than we have in years passed, but we are still far, painfully far, from what I'd consider a healthy relationship.

I mean, I still haven't found a way to say, "What are we doing? Where are we going? How do I fit in in your life?" Because I'm too afraid of being that girl.

HOW STUPID AM I.

Turns out, my finances aren't the only thing that I need to take responsibility of... But it's a start.

Any tips?

Mixed.

[Once upon a time, there was a video here. It was a Twilight movie clip. The one where Bella get's on the back of Jacob's bike. It's since gone missing, never to be found again...]

This clip aired on the MTV Movie Awards last Sunday. I was psyched and totally prepared to watch. I had plenty of candy (I always have plenty of candy), my computer, and a TV all to myself. Then The Husband called.

There's a whole post forming in my head about this (that may or may not actually see the light of day), but I went to see him, bound and determined to be back by ten AT THE LATEST. I set the Tivo to record and went on my way.

Naturally, I didn't get back until twelve-thirty. I was going to attempt to watch the show, but I was too tired and had to be up in just five hours, so... YouTube to the rescue.

However, I have mixed feelings about the clip. On one hand, it's pretty good. I mean, Edward is amazing. Jacob's not half bad. Bella... meh.

BUT IT DID NOT HAPPEN LIKE THIS IN THE BOOK. I know, I know... some things have to change. I get it. I do. I understand that not everything is going to happen in a movie exactly as it happened in the book.

BUT Bella would never ever have gotten on the back on that motorcycle had Edward been there, watching. She never intentionally hurt him. She hated hurting him.

God, I really do have a problem.

Anyway, I wasn't going to share the clip, especially when day after day passed and I figured everyone and their mother has already seen it if they were at all interested, but... it's what I do. And, eventually, I just couldn't resist. So, enjoy.

In other Twilight-related news, Breaking Dawn is being made into two movies (YAY!) but they're making us wait until November of 2011 for the first of the two (assholes).

Happy weekend!

San Antonio. Finally.

Here's what I remember:

It was hot.

And cloudy at times.

And humid.

But I liked it.

I'm sure the humidity gets much worse, but for those two days, it was heaven.

I planned to go sight-seeing.

I didn't.

I sat by the gorgeous pool, under an umbrella, with a cocktail or four and tweeted.

It often looked just like this:



And thank God for poolside wireless internet access.

I also took random pictures of the lifeguards. Because after my third vodka-infused Vitamin Water, I stopped caring.



(Insert tan envy here.)

There was a lazy river. I love lazy rivers.



And water slides.

Who doesn't love water slides?

There was a Target nearby. It was spectacular.

The candy aisle alone brought a tear to my eye.

I am embarrassed to admit how much I spent on jelly beans.

But there were so many flavors! More than I've ever seen in one place before!

I'm sorry to say that they did not sell vodka.

Even though the sign above the aisle clearly stated "Beer. Wine. Liquor."

The local HEB didn't sell alcohol, either.

It was as I was standing amidst bottles of beer and wine, only beer and wine, when I realized I wasn't in California anymore.

Luckily, there was a liquor store right next door.

And the two men working there was so effing friendly I couldn't stand it. We actually chatted!

Texans. Weird.

I also stopped at a CVS and look what I found while looking for trail mix:



I love Edward.

(By the way, peeps? TWENTY-TWO MORE DAYS.)

We went downtown to see the Alamo.



They have a resident cat named C.C. As she strolled past us, no amount of tsk'ing or kissy noises could get her attention.

The Husband thought she was deaf. The guard on duty corrected us. "Nope, she's just a spoiled brat."

We strolled the River Walk.

It was too hot to hold hands.

We had dinner at a British pub, the name of which I've completely forgotten.

I had the chicken curry.

I love curry.

It was too hot for curry.

The River Walk is super cute.

And full of tourists.

The Husband and I had a good time.

In fact, we've been having a good time.

Such a good time that we haven't made any decisions, plans, or even talked about our relationship in weeks.

He bought us fair passes. For him, me, and my kid sister.

Just like last year.

When I told my sister, she was excited and then looked at me weird and asked, "What are you guys doing?"

To which, I had no answer.

Because I don't know.

And, as time passes, the not knowing is making me terribly anxious.

Anyway.

The night before I left, we had dinner with old friends.

They drove down from Austin.

It was fun.

And all I could think about was the fact that I had to wake up at four a.m. Killjoy.

All too soon it was time to fly home.



And let me just say this: Getting up at four a.m. is painful. Getting up at four a.m. when it's only two a.m. your time and you only slept for three hours? Fucking. Brutal.

I fell asleep during the first flight.

I read during most of the second.

And ate my weight in jelly beans.

Twenty minutes before we were due to land, we hit such awful turbulence I started to feel sick to my stomach.

The fear of vomiting on a plane while surrounded by people got me so worked up I started to sweat.

I had to tell myself to relax! take deep breaths! get a hold of yourself!

I thought I was going to puke the rainbow.

I didn't.

Orange County was shockingly cold compared to the warmth of San Antonio.

My teeth began to chatter as soon as I stepped outside.

Then again, my teeth chatter at the drop of a hat.

(FYI, I don't understand that saying.)

(Also, I used to work for a woman who used to say, "Just for your FYI..." Just for your for your information.)

So, I made it home.

I didn't unpack until the next day.

I changed into my pajamas, grabbed a blanket and crashed on the couch for five hours.

It was fun, but too short a trip.

I've been exhausted ever since.

The end.

The other other other white meat.

I know, I know. You want to hear all about my trip to San Antonio. Well, keep your pants on. I'm not ready yet.

First I need your help. You see, I have a friend. (I know, shocking.) His name is Jack. Jack is vegan. (Is "vegan" supposed to be capitalized?) Jack wanted me to try this vegetarian Vietnamese restaurant. Not really my first choice, but sure, why the hell not?

We should have walked out as soon as that little, tiny worm fell out of Jack's silverware. How he convinced me to stay and actually eat something, I'm still not sure. Apparently, I have no standards.

We ordered several different plates to share. One was a salad. It was gorgeous. Plenty of fresh, crunchy veggies. A tangy dressing. The Fritos garnish was interesting, but hey, I love chips as much as the next person.(Maybe more. I really love chips.)

But, in addition to the veggies and the Fritos, there was something else. Something white and chewy with curled edges similar to those on a lasagna noodle. The texture, not like a lasagna noodle, was so, so wrong. I wanted to spit it out. I forced myself to swallow.

"What is that?!" I asked Jack in horror.

"Relax!" he said in a low voice, glancing around to make sure no one was witness to my disgust. "It's a vegetarian salad. It's probably, I don't know, a flower or... something."

He looked a bit worried. It was probably the worm that did it. I mean, worms in the silverware? God knows what you might find in the food. (I can't believe we ate there.)

Jack stopped our server as she walked past our table. He asked her what it was. I don't think she knew the answer either. She was young, just a teenager. It was a family restaurant. You could tell she'd rather be anywhere else but there.

"Oh, that?" she asked. "That's just, um, like... vegetarian... cow stomach."

She walked away and Jack and I just stared at each other.

"Did she just say vegetarian cow stomach?" I finally asked.

"I don't think she knows what she's talking about."

"Then what the hell are we eating?"

Jack looked ill. "I'm not sure I want to know."

Well, I do. I took a picture.



I know. I don't post a picture in years and when I finally do, it's of a half-eaten plate of food.

But, please, I'm begging you, tell me what those white tentacle-looking things are.