Silly as it may be...

Is it silly that I want it just because it's mine? 

I got notification that they will be "cleaning up" my xanga site unless I post today.  No pressure, right?!? And the thing is, I don't know why I care. I never post here anymore -- mostly because it took me three tries of clicking "take me to my site" after ads and surveys to get here, and when I do get here it's cluttered and unfriendly.

And yet... this little blog 'mine...

So fine. There. Are you happy? I've posted. Stop bullying me.

The Governator

It's that time again. Time for my somewhat yearly hair straightening appointment. 

I went in on Saturday to have Joe do his thang to my hair.  I was somewhat overdue for the treatment, as I wanted my hair in curls for the wedding and so put it off.  But you may recall on previous occasion I have spotted various celebrities during this experience in hair luxury.  Saturday proved no exception.

About halfway through this three-hour straightening process, in walks no other than the Governator himself - Arnold.  No less than five secret service agents - recognizable by their matching wrist watches with faces the size of jelly jar lids and ear pieces stringing up from their shirt collars - surrounded the entrances and the stairway leading up to the private room especially designated for celebrities and the like. 

For an hour I sat, in various states of chemical hair, waiting for him to come back down.  I had barely seen him when he went in, and I was determined to get a good clear look at him as he left. 

And sure enough, I did.  With no less than full-on saran wrap around my head, I saw the Governor of California. He walked - or lumbered is really a better description - down the stairs with an unlit stoggie clamped in his teeth.  He is as wide as he is tall... a true hulk of a man that is impressive in real life.  He was up there for the better part of an hour... a long time for someone with short hair.  He was dressed in deep brown shorts and a white Tommy Bahama-esque short sleeved shirt.  And white tennis shoes.  He came down the stairs, out the door, and right by the window where I was sitting.  He even paused at the window to turn and talk to his secret service before heading down the back alley to what I assume was his waiting car.

Seriously, the guy is huge. And starting to show his age a little in his face... which is a not a knock.  We all show our age. But I had just finished watching True Lies just last week, so it was a little surreal to see him standing there, cigar in mouth, literally larger than life not more than four feet from me.

Joe said the day before, Sly Stalone was in having his hair done.

I'm personally very pleased to have seen Arnold. I'm a pretty big fan, especially of his warm fuzzy movies like Kindergarden Cop and Twins. (incidentally, david had to put up with me telling him everything was "not a tumor" all the rest of the day).  But who would you be most thrilled to see - saran-wrapped head and all - in your hair salon?

Hawaii Time

I'm still on Hawaii time.

Our footprints along Ka'anapali Beach

Yes, I know.  I've been back for a month.  And it's only a three-hour time change. But my body is refusing to adapt back to California time. Refusing, I say.  I can't fall asleep until close to midnight each night, and I drag myself up with the last whack of the snooze button at the last possible minute I can get up and not be officially late for work.

View from our Balcony

It's not like me at all. Pre-wedding, and especially pre-engagement, I was a full-fledged morning person. I woke up voluntarily and hour and a half early to get in my morning run.  By 9pm I was thinking about my pillow.  I felt energized and ready to take on the world.

Poolside Bar

Not anymore.  And I don't know how to get it back.  And then I wonder if I really want it back - deep down.  I think my body is trying to overpower my brain. It's telling me in not-so-subtle ways that I should still be in Hawaii. 

Doing this.

The Great Name Change

I worried at first that changing my name to Mrs. David would prove to be a difficult and tedious task.  I had anxiety about it as I waited anxiously to receive my official marriage certificate in the mail, even when all my internet research pointed to simplicity.  It seemed too easy.  There are times when I find a lack of instruction disconserting in my somewhat overdocumented existence.  No one was exposing loopholes or telling cautionary tales of mishaps along the great name-changing journey. 

A cover-up?  Perhaps. Time would tell. 

Well, time has indeed told this tale, and I'm sad to say it's every bit as boring as was predicted in my lack of findings.  Both the IRS and the State of California have sent me new identification, and it took less than two weeks and only two lunch hours spent in short, easy lines after filling out short, easy forms. 

David joked when we applied for our marriage license that the simplicity and lack of documentation required made it possible that he could be applying to marry a goat.  As long as said goat had a driver's license, that is.  Might prove a sticking point. But basically so long as you're willing to sign and say you're telling the truth, no one really questions it. And I found the same of my name change. I had the magical marriage certificate, and that was really the only key needed to open the name change avenues.  It took me longer to drive to the DMV than it did to get my new id ordered - picture and all.

So with one little "I do" and two easy forms, my whole identity has changed. I have a "maiden" name. Weird. Cool, and kind of fun.... but weird. 

Just think, one day my hypothetical children will be filling out forms that ask for MY maiden name.

Crazy old world, isn't it?

Have you ever changed YOUR name? Would you?

The Signs of Summer and a Well-Stocked Pantry

A few things are going on right now as part of the post-wedding return to life. 

First, it's summer. Officially.  Mr. David and I broke out a bottle of champagne on the 21st to celebrate the occasion.  The return of summer is definitely a day we celebrate whole-heartedly, as it means longer days, more sunshine, an an overall attitude of "I'm just going to move a little slower for now and see what I see along the way."  We should really live like it's summer all year long, but we haven't quite figured out how to do it yet.  Perhaps it's a learned behavior left over from our school daze.  But whatever the reason, it exists. And we celebrate it.

Besides the big sunshine I had marked on my calendar, there are several signs that tell me summer is here.  One is the gorgeous produce that has inundated our grocery store.  Tomatos that start to taste like tomatos, strawberries that simply cry out for a glass of champagne, and mangos that are perfectly ripened. Another is the way we have started to leave our windows and sliding door open 24 hours a day, letting in the light breeze to stir up our somewhat small apartment. But mostly I know that summer is here because the Girlfriend is back to being a running soundtrack to our lives. 

The Girlfriend, if you haven't already heard this story, is our neighbor's girlfriend.  His patio door opens directly across the courtyard from OUR patio door, and unfortunately he has the same affinity for fresh air that we do... and a girlfriend whose voice would rival Fran Drescher's for obnoxious tonal qualities.  She also has the IQ of a pea and insists on sharing her trivial diatribe loudly, frequently, and in the direction of our patio door. It's lovely, really.  And a definite sign that summer is here.

Also, now that every last second of free time is not spent doing wedding errands, we broke out the cookbooks again and planned a few new meals this week.  Our theme was "cashews."  Last night we had cashew crusted Mahi Mahi and roasted new potatos.  Delicious! If I do say so myself.  Tonight I made Thai Cashew Chicken on a bed of Jasmine Rice.  That one... needs some work.  I found the recipe online, as I didn't already have one for a spicy, thai cashew dish - what I was craving.  It looked good and smelled good while I was cooking it, but when we sat down to eat it... yikes.  It was like licking a salt lick.  Or like I would imagine what licking a salt lick would taste like.  I have to say I've never actually DONE it.  But the combination of soy sauce and fish sauce called for was entirely overpowering, much to our mutual disappointment. We picked out enough bites of chicken and cashews to not go hungry, but it was still discouraging to have put so much time and effort into finding it, buying the ingredients, and making the darn thing. 

Although I have to take a moment to sing praises to our pantry for just a moment.  Not the pantry itself, of course, which is throwback 1970s era particle board brown.  But the contents and the well-stocked nature of the thing.  We went through a recipe phase a little over a year ago, and I was so excited to try new dishes every week that we ended up spending tens of dollars every week on spices, vinegars, oils, and every conceivable ingredient that recipes notoriously call for and then you never hear mentioned again in your lifetime.  It got to the point that David, out of frustration, had banned me from buying even one more spice or oil because there was simply no where else to store them.  But not this time.  This time I picked out five recipes of varying flavors and origin, and as I sat down to make my grocery list, I realized that the only items we didn't have were the perishable ingredients!  Parsley flakes? Check. Rice Vinegar? Check. Dill weed? Check. As I pulled the ingredients out of the pantry one at a time to mark them off my list, I felt a growing sense of... pride really. Pride in a spice cabinet? I know it sounds somewhat odd.  But yes.  Pride in my well-stocked, adult cabinet.

And now as the day winds to a close, I find myself chugging water to rid myself of the cloying taste of soy sauce and playing with a stress ball David pulled out of his computer bag earlier as he was getting ready for his business trip tomorrow.  I guess it was a promotion giveaway he got from... let me read it... Wyoming Community Gas.  This ball comes with "patent pending" technology - yes, it says that on the stress ball - called "a*Roma Therapy."  Each squeeze of the ball lets out a burst of scent and essential oils that is supposed to invade my senses and relieve my stress even more thoroughy.  This one is peppermint flavored, though the packaging says there are five other scents.  The end result, now that I've been squeezing it for ten minutes, is that my hands smell like I powdered them with crushed altoids.  If only I had a head cold, I could clear my sinus cavity by sniffing my hands.

I think I'm going to need another bottle of water before this night is through.