Happy Birthday My Love

Tomorrow (or in one hour and 26 minutes..he's not counting) the love of my life will turn 24.

Happy birthday to the most amazing man I know.

I love your sense of humor, how you make faces at me just to make me smile. I love how you cuddle with me 15 minutes before we get up in the morning. I love how you're perfectly content staying in on a Saturday night. I love that you love the dog just as much as I do...or maybe even more. I love your brown eyes. I love that you go to every work function that I ask you to go to with minimal complaint. I love that you dance with me in the kitchen (even when there isn't music playing). I love that you kiss my cheek in public. I love that you love me. And most of all, I love you.

Bedtime Stories

The best part of living in our very own house is that we can do what we want, when we want, where we want. Living with another couple can-er, interrupt things. Or can cause one set of roommates to think someone is trying to break in during the middle of the night when in all actuality it's just the other couple's headboard. Yes, that makes for a very awkward encounter in the middle of the night.

So, last night when I let my goodnight kiss linger a little longer than usual, the boy in all his charm and suaveness asked me "Sooo, DTF?..." He didn't even use the phrase, just the three little letters.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have one classy future husband. I swear, I'm not sure I how I keep the ladies away from him, I mean with all that game he has it's a wonder they aren't lined up at my door. I guess it's a good thing he only has eyes for me.

Work Related

It's pretty apparent to everyone I love my job. I weather through the ups and downs pretty easily because at the end of the day I'm still giddy about this job. In particular, I love writing extensions for the Bossman. These are read after business is conducted and they forever remain in the the LOC. Pretty freaking cool if you ask me.

An extension is essentially a gold star for exceptional people. Agriculturist of the Year, Teacher of the Year, veterans, etc. (Un)fortunately, this list also includes deceased soldiers. I've written less than a handful for said fallen heroes and while each one is sad, the one I wrote yesterday almost made me shed a tear.

Usually nominated by someone within the community, the heart of the extension is a bio about the individual (that is usually provided by the requester of extension). Obviously, that is usually not the case with a deceased soldier, so I rely heavily on my googling skills to acquire a satisfactory blurb about their achievements outside of the military.

As my day was wrapping up yesterday I decided it was the perfect time to finish an extension for a fallen soldier. My googling skills commenced and low and behold I came across his wife's blog. I read all about her life (well as much as one can when stalking another's blog). I learned how they first met, how he proposed, how they decided to have children right away and I honestly felt like I knew this chick. I saw pictures of their infant daughter and felt ridiculously sad that she will never meet her father. But what I admired most was not one post about how she was angry with the Marines for taking her partner away. She was adamant that her daughter would know what a wonderful man her father was and how much he enjoyed being in the service. I think it's safe to say I'll peek at that blog from time to time now.

A big salute to those in the service or families thereof. It was an honor to write that extension.

Grab Much?

I'm pretty sure Damian copped a feel from Ole' Pam Anderson last night.

Granted, I'm pretty sure Pam thought she was filming another home video...oh la la.

Old Time Memories

The boy is half-Italian, half-Irish. So, of course, we had to join in on the St. Paddy's day activities...to celebrate his heritage an all. Not because we just wanted an excuse to get hammered on a Wednesday. Not us.


The boy and I brought along one of our good friends, R brought along one of her good friends, and along the way we made a couple new good friends. After a few beers and some amazing crab dip, we started sharing. Sharing about bar experiences, ex's, and anal (don't ask). All the talk of old memories brought back one very fond V-day memory that is still funny, almost 7 years later.


It was Valentine's day circa 2002. The boy planned a very special dinner out but unfortunately, I came down with a nasty stomach bug. Our hot steamy night out turned into a rather dull, sleepy night on my mom's couch.


Let me interrupt my own story for a minute to give you an idea of the boy's choice of apparel back then. He wore basketball shorts over his boxers and under whatever type of pants he chose-every day. He also corresponded his shirt with said basketball shorts. He claims it was because his boys used to pants him...I'm not sure his excuse for the matching shirt...


Anyway, at some point (prior to the boy's redic early curfew) my dad called and asked us to come over. The boy had stripped down to just the basketball shorts so we could comfortably lay under a blanket without feeling like we were in the Middle East. I groggily respond "Sure Dad, as soon as the boy puts his pants back on".


Yeah, that wasn't an uncomfortable visit at all.

A Visit to the Homestead

After a hard day at work yesterday and a couple more hours spent at the new house painting and unpacking, I came back to our rental and had a few brewskis. What seemingly was a brilliant idea, had one obvious flaw. I hadn't had a bite to eat since noon and it was pressing on 9 o'clock. The first blue moon went straight to my head and well, so did the second and third...

I drifted off to a cozy beer induced sleep sometime after midnight and woke six and a half hours later. I'm not quite sure how it happened but I swear a sweater was covering my tongue. I dragged myself downstairs and poured a glass of water down my throat and then dragged myself back upstairs for a piping hot shower. This early morning hangover would've been irrelevant had I been able to sit anonymously at my desk for a couple hours while my body decided to stop hating me. However, I had an early morning meeting at my alma mater with the Bossman himself.

I arrived at campus early, mainly so I could sit in the car and pray to the higher powers to miraculously cure the stirring in my stomach and pounding in my head. With ten minutes to spare, I made my way to the classroom written out on my briefing to set up the powerpoint. 5 minutes later its show time. The Bossman speaks, my Chief of Staff speaks, and I managed to say a few words without spewing on anyone or anything.

I telepathically bonded with a chick sitting in the corner of the room dressed in a blue hoodie, a high messy pony tail, and yoga pants. She looked like I felt and fortunately for her she was probably able to meander back to her dorm room and plummet into a nice, warm bed.

Oh, how I miss the days of rolling out of bed, sleepy eyed and hungover only to walk several hundred yards to campus to expel the entire contents of my stomach on Burdick Field. Visiting the homestead brought back a lot of good memories.

Not So Random Anymore

Last Friday, after waking from a wonderful slumber, taking a very sleepy shower, and putting together an outfit that had the least amount of wrinkles I could find, I made my way to the office. I sat at my desk with a english muffin and a coffee and logged onto our local paper's website to begin my morning ritual-prolonging the inevitable work day.

I read through the first couple posts of the day- Towson gas station robbed, man critically injured- three shot, one fatal in late night assault- man shot during attempted carjacking North Baltimore. Nothing out of the norm really. I mean, I do live in a City commonly referred to as "Bodymore, Murderland". I read a few stories about the rich and the semi-famous, catched up on real estate adventures, and then finally decide I should actually begin to do what I'm being paid for- seriously, how is net surfing not a paid job already? Just kidding, I really do work hard...

Anyway, several hours later I log onto facebook (shocker, right?) and my homepage is bombarded with Stay Strong, T and we know you can pull through T, etc. I'm clearly clueless about what happened to T. I bbm the boy and he has no idea. I text Powerslam- a mutual friend between of T and I. Actually, I may have met T through Powerslam. Regardless of that, Powerslam is not sure either- so the brigade of texts begin. T was the man shot in armed carjacking, the article I carelessly read about hours earlier.

I was stunned. Beyond belief actually. I was scared for T and his family and I'm pretty sure I said a quick prayer and for those of you that know me, I'm completely indifferent about religion. But this hit home. Now don't let me mislead you to think T and I speak every day or that I see him on the reg, because I definitely don't. However, he's been invited to every party I've ever hosted- I've seen him at almost every gathering I've probably attended, I've thrown back more then a few with him, and he even joined in our short lived poker nights.

T survived a bullet to the stomach that punctured his liver, kidney, and colon. But he's already beginning to regain his charm. In fact, when I visited him Tuesday with a group of friends, we asked the dumbest question we could "How are you feeling?" His response was classic "Like I have a bullet in my stomach". Well said T, well said.

I had a different outlook Monday morning when I sat down to read the recaps of the weekend. I no longer felt indifferent to news article outlining the tragedies of the City. Not to say that I won't become jaded at these stories again or that when I hear the sirens roll by my house at night that it won't cross my mind that someone may have just been shot. But for now, at this moment, my heart bleeds a little for the families and most definitely the friends of these people, who suffer at the hands of the ignorant.

I'm already looking forward to the Welcome Home party for T.