Fertile Frenzy

Yesterday the husband and I attended a "Young Married People's Potluck" planned by our outgoing and incredibly social back-yard neighbors.  Yay.  

Now, I'll be honest, the Husband and I don't have a ton of married friends.  We enjoy each other's company and really don't crave the company of other couples all that often.  

So, when we first received the scrapbook inspired invitation to the potluck, I was entirely opposed to attending such a pretentious party.  I mean, I can do without social obligations.  But, after much consideration and self inspection, I decided that we've been much too hermitical and aloof lately, so, the "Young Married People's Potluck" it was.  After all, what was the worst that could happened?  At the very least it would be a good opportunity to... expand our horizons... right?  And expand our horizons, it certainly did.

We arrived at the gathering 15 minutes late.  Fashionably late, I thought, but as soon as we walked around the corner, we were greeted with "It's about time!  Now we can finally start the party!"  Yes.  They had waited for us.  And, Yes.  We were the last to arrive at the engagement.

I set my tupperware of cookies on the table in-between the freshly baked bread, the homemade peach jam, the absolutely delicious baked beans, and the pasta salad (garnished with fresh 

herbs)... all presented beautifully on fine china serving plates.  My tupperware looked slightly tacky.

The husband and I began to load up our plates when we were interrupted with "Perhaps we should have a blessing on the food first?"  So, we reluctantly and embarrassingly put the serving spoons back, set our food down, and joined in the blessing on the feast.  After the prayer was over we finished piling on the food, and I spotted some older chairs for us to sit in (I wasn't about to risk spilling on the brand new lounge chairs).  

Soon everyone joined us, and once I got comfortable and settled in, I 

noticed something.... something, strange.  Every couple was either 1. Toting a small baby-aged child, or 2. Wearing their most fashionable maternity clothes.  Talk about a Fertile Frenzy.  For a moment, I felt like I was in a horror movie.  Images of a chubby baby faces, then a gigantic pregnant belly, then a diaper bag, then another pregnant belly, then another taunting baby face kept flashing before my eyes.  Oh the insanity!!!!  It seemed everyone at the Potluck had managed to "Expand their Horizons" in some way or another.

It was horrible.  Don't misunderstand.  I LOVE babies.  I want at least 4 or 5... but babies aren't really in "the plans" for us right now.  So, for these "Young Married People" to just flaunt their round faced babes and baby filled bellies in front of me... I found it appalling!  Don't they know?  I want a BABY!!!  They can't just invite us to a "Young Married People's Potluck", and then try to expose us to their Felicitous Fertile Frenzy so we'll have a baby and join their real clan.... "Young Married People Plus".  It just isn't fair!

Eventually, I couldn't take it anymore.  The laughing angelic babies and glowing expectant mothers finally got to me.  I was feeling more fertile just being around them all, and I couldn't risk and unplanned pregnancy.  So, we left, and went back to our home... my mother-in-law's home, so I could come back to reality, and remember WHY a baby isn't in "the plans" right now.

The good news, is that everyone really loved the cookies I made (despite the tupperware

 presentation).  And, it gave me something to look forward to.  Yes, it WAS a Fertile Frenzy, but one day, I want to be a part of that.  When the time is right, I plan on joining "Young Married

 People Plus".

Thalassic Eulogy

Today we gather together to honor our great and noble Fishey Friend, Trevor Rigby Junior.  Many of us close to Trevor affectionately knew him as "T-Bone".  

I first met Trevor at PetsMart several months ago while browsing the aquatic aisle.  I remember the exact moment when his bulging eyes first met mine, and I knew he would be the perfect addition to our family.

Trevor was always shy, constantly hiding behind the statue of Mozart in his tank, but that was what made him special.  He had an endearing, quiet sense of humor.  He wasn't afraid to be himself and never gave into peer pressure when tempted to do dangerous feats by his brother Fritz, such as swimming through the Ruins in their tank.  Trevor was always true to himself, and we will always remember him for that.

Although T-Bone was sucked into the water filter, causing severe brain damage and paralyzation of his lower half, he still fought on after his accident, living several days longer than the doctors or our family expected him to.  He had a heart of goldfish, never giving up.  

We will miss Trevor greatly, but as he leaves this watery sojourn and on to the next, we recognize what a great and glorious swirling sea chum he was.  (No pun intended).  We wish Trevor the best of luck on his porcelain peregrinate, and want him to know, that we will always love and remember him.

To you, Trevor Rigby Junior.

Domestically Challenged

Over the weekend, the husband and I were invited to Sunday dinner at my parents house (as usual), which we attended (as usual), at which we gorged ourselves (as usual), because, let's face it, I'm not exactly what some would call "Betty Homemaker". I always joke with the husband that I'm "Domestically Challenged", and he always jokes back that I'm "Not".

It doesn't really bother me, because it's true. My best friend in high school had to teach me how to make scrambled eggs when i was a Senior. I'm good at the laundry and housekeeping, and to be honest I can make a KILLER batch of cookies. But, I guess when it comes to actually making something "healthy", i bomb.

The problem lies in my prideful, self sufficient attitude. I start dinner by following a recipe to the T, I use measuring cups and spoons, I set the oven to the exact temperature as directed, but then, about half way through the recipe, my pride starts to kick in. I start to think "I don't REALLY need to measure everything out" or "I don't think that ingredient is absolutely necessary" and "ooohh!! what if I added in THIS?". See? My pride sets in, and I think I know better than the recipe. In the end, I take one bite of my disaster, it goes down the garbage disposal, and it's frozen pizza for dinner, AGAIN.

I think a big part of it is because I watch my husband in the kitchen: NO recipe, NO measuring tools, not even an idea of WHAT he's going to make! Just a smorgasbord of ingredients and a bowl, and it turns out to be this beautiful perfect gift of sweet nectar from the gods made by a mortal man with an apron and a mustache! Go figure.

Now, some women may be "put out" by their husband's ability to run circles around them in the kitchen, but I've decided to take a positive, perhaps even entrepreneurial take on the "situation". I have decided to get my husband his very own Food Network show. Something like "The Alpha Cook" or, I don't know, "Homemade Husband". He's the male version of Paula Dean for cryin' out loud! (Well, except for the obvious weight and personality differences...) I could make a SERIOUS killing off of his unique skills. PLUS, he'd be busy trying out new dishes all of the time for the show, I'd never have to cook again!!! I could have a homemade meal for Breakfast, Lunch, AND Dinner. It would save me so much time, and make me so much money.

Then again, my whole plan could backfire. I could end up never seeing my husband because he's away, filming his show, and then I'd be stuck eating cold cereal for Breakfast, Lunch, and Dinner. But, I'm willing to take a risk. I eat cold cereal all the time ANYWAY, so I have nothing to lose! (Besides the company of a good husband). Ok now, who has Emeril's cell number?

Not so much "difficult" as "formidable"

It has come to my attention that occasionally I am a somewhat intrusive, un-managable tyrant of sorts.  And lately, it seems as if there IS no "right" side of the bed... at least, I can't seem to wake up on it, that's for sure.  I don't know what it is.  It's like suddenly all of my hormones are completely out of whack!  *And men, "hormones" is not a four lettered word... YOU have them too!  So, please, let's not run for the bomb shelter every time the ladies mention them.*  

The fact is, these past few weeks, I've become this MONSTER of emotions!  I'm super happy at one moment, I mean like the giggly happy, where you are just overcome with feelings of b

liss and joy.  Then suddenly Mr. Hyde comes out and I get upset at my husband for helping me fold the laundry!  It's weird.  Not to mention I started crying

 when I happened to flip to WWE and saw Rick Flair retire...strange.  I'm not so much "difficult" as "formidable". 

Most of you may be thinking, "well Torrey, sounds like you're pregnant to me"... but I'm not!   Believe me, I almost wish I WERE, at least then I'd know why I'm acting so crazy.  The worst part is that my husband has to put up with it all.  Poor guy HAS to ride my

 emotional roller coaster with me.  What a TROOPER!  I start to act normal and happy and he'll start to drop his guard, thinking I'm back to my old self... the SUDDENLY I turn on him and become evil again!  Or start crying for no reason...

But bless his heart, he still loves me.  And sometimes he lies to me to make me feel better "No honey, I DON'T think you're crazy".  Ofcourse I KNOW he's lying, but it makes me feel better.

Maybe I should try some ancient Voodoo cure for my multi-hormonal nature.  I'd be willing to look into a spell or something... as long as I don't have to eat goat brains or drink worm blood or anything like that.  I AM a gemini, perhaps that has something to do with it.  Let's see... here's what my monthly horoscope says "You are more peace-loving than usual" WRONG-O!  What else?... "You have some great professional energy, romantic energy, and plenty of intellectual energy."  If by "Energy" they mean "Raging Hormones", I guess that's true, but other than that, I don't think the Cosmos are of much help.

For now, my only cure is to warn everyone that I'm just a little difficult right now... well, not so much "difficult" as "formidable".  This will just have to do until I get a chance to meet with my favorite witch 

doctor...

A Potbellied Pal!

Today I really want a Potbellied Pig. I've ALWAYS wanted a potbellied pig, ever since I was little, but today I'm especially longing for one. (sigh) They're the PERFECT pet, with their cute little chubby legs, watery snout, and adorable furry gut!

My husband doesn't understand that potbellied pigs are INDOOR pets which is why I can't have one. But he also doesn't understand that Potbellieds are the greatest pets in the entire WORLD! So, here are the reasons I REALLY want a Potbellied PIG!!!

First of all, they're odorless. Now, i realize that no living organism is COMPLETELY odorless, SO... I guess what I mean is that these pets don't smell bad ALL of the time. Hey, humans are the same way!

Next, they can be potty trained! Hooray! They will either "go" in a litter box, or in a designated part of the yard! I mean, most small children aren't even potty trained. See why they're so perfect?!

What else... Pigs are incredibly social animals. They LOVE to be around people. They are affectionate and enjoy getting their bellies rubbed. Doesn't that sound SO cute!? I want a little Piggy to cuddle up next to me so I can tickle it's little furry chin while it snorts happily away.

Most importantly, Potbellieds are driven by FOOD! They're food possessed! Why is that important to me, you may ask? Because I'm the same way! Ha ha ha!!!

But seriously, I can't think of a single reason I WOULDN'T want a Potbellied Pig! I'm thinking I may just bring one home one day, I'm sure it'll grow on my husband. And if not, well, he'll have to find someone to adopt it from me, and I'll be super picky about it's future parents! SO THERE!!!