I'm gonna get serious for a few minutes.
In my seven months of marriage, there has been one thing that really irks me. It's not that my hubs leaves his socks anywhere he pleases, and it's not that our bathroom sink is in a constant loop of repair.
It's the judgement I feel radiating from people when they figure out that yes, I am 22 years old AND married. And to those close enough for me to share this with, they are FL-OOR-ED when I tell them that both E and I waited until marriage to have sex, and to live together. I know we're "crazy", but we like knowing that we are the first and only people we'll ever be with.
...I could write about these things forever. It's sooooo annoying, and it happens way too often. Is 25 the age when you can "actually" have and know that feeling? Why do people think we're idiots for letting our faith, not our carnal desires, guide our relationship?
I've been wanting to express my thoughts on this for a really long time. I've tried writing open letters for publications or articles on why we did things the traditional way, but every time, I get lost in my frustration of why I actually feel led to write about this.
And then I found this article. While it doesn't touch on every bullet I use when explaining why getting married at this point in my life works for me, it hits on the one I get the most flack for - marrying young. I couldn't address this topic better myself.
I still hope to write something about why I was a 22-year-old virgin who never lived with my husband at our wedding. I'll let you know when it happens.
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Thursday, August 9, 2012
We got the cup.
I woke up this morning and something was missing. It was my voice.
Last night was the Open Cup Championship at LIVESTRONG Park, and our beloved Sporting KC was fighting the previous champion (Seattle Sounders) for that beautiful, over-sized goblet.
AND WE WON.
It was amaze-za-zing. When we got to the stadium, it started raining. And then it started pouring. The literal downpour turned into hail. And then it stopped, and there was a double rainbow. And this all happened BEFORE the game.
I could tell you so much about the game itself, but I think you'll get sick of it before I'm finished. But the game was cray-cray, people, involving 95 minutes of regular game time, two overtimes and ending in a shoot-out. Bless our loved Jimmy Nielsen. That's all I can say.
...In case it wasn't clear, I lost my voice (E did, too) from cheering loud. The entire game. And after.
Last night was the Open Cup Championship at LIVESTRONG Park, and our beloved Sporting KC was fighting the previous champion (Seattle Sounders) for that beautiful, over-sized goblet.
AND WE WON.
It was amaze-za-zing. When we got to the stadium, it started raining. And then it started pouring. The literal downpour turned into hail. And then it stopped, and there was a double rainbow. And this all happened BEFORE the game.
I could tell you so much about the game itself, but I think you'll get sick of it before I'm finished. But the game was cray-cray, people, involving 95 minutes of regular game time, two overtimes and ending in a shoot-out. Bless our loved Jimmy Nielsen. That's all I can say.
 |
| Post downpour and soaked. |
 |
| Some friends we went with, during the 30 seconds we sat down. |
 |
| DOUBLE RAINBOW! (in formation) |
 |
| That's Jimmy, warming up. Don't hate me for my point and shoot's crappy quality. |
 |
| Serious celebration. Shirts were taken off. Not mine, though. |
 |
| You can kind of see the cup. |
...In case it wasn't clear, I lost my voice (E did, too) from cheering loud. The entire game. And after.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
[internal] Freak out
That's what I did when Doug Ulman, President and CEO of LIVESTRONG, replied to one of my tweets.
...Hoooooooooooooooly crap.
Some context. I don't know if it's being married to a soccer freak, or living in a city with a super good soccer team, but all of a sudden, I'm crazy about all things Sporting KC. I love the games, I love the stadium, I follow numerous Sporting Twitter handles, I'm crazy for the Cauldron...someone stop me. I barely know anything about soccer, but this team has got it going on.
And as you know, E and I are heading to LIVESTRONG Park tomorrow to watch our beloved Sporting take on the Seattle Sounders in the U.S. Open Cup Championship.
Which brings me to my most awesome Twitter moment.
Ugh. I feel so cool. It's the little things.
...Hoooooooooooooooly crap.
Some context. I don't know if it's being married to a soccer freak, or living in a city with a super good soccer team, but all of a sudden, I'm crazy about all things Sporting KC. I love the games, I love the stadium, I follow numerous Sporting Twitter handles, I'm crazy for the Cauldron...someone stop me. I barely know anything about soccer, but this team has got it going on.
And as you know, E and I are heading to LIVESTRONG Park tomorrow to watch our beloved Sporting take on the Seattle Sounders in the U.S. Open Cup Championship.
Which brings me to my most awesome Twitter moment.
Ugh. I feel so cool. It's the little things.
Monday, August 6, 2012
'Can I have a baby lion?'
...was the title of an email I sent to E, with a link to this video. Do not even try to convince yourself (or me) that you aren't thinking the same thing.
Thursday, August 2, 2012
A simple marriage lesson
My husband and I are insanely different. Computer programmer who claims he is allergic to the sun. Communication fanatic that miserably sweats poolside for hopes that swimsuit lines will become a little more distinct.
We're different. Which brings a unique challenge to our marriage.
Since we spend a majority of our time together, we've had to work extra hard at finding things we both like to do. I know I'm crazy, but E spending his time being a genius in our office while I watch TV all night long is not my exact picture of bliss.
Enter, the brilliance of Starbucks dates.
A month or two ago, we started this thing where, every Thursday, after work, we go to Starbucks as a way to wind down from the week and prepare for the weekend. Sometimes, we bring our computers and work on things (like this blog post), other times, we sip our frappuccinos and laugh at each other for being ridiculous.
We learned in marriage counseling that having a designated date night or activity you do each week does great things for the relationship. I'm here to tell you with my words that it really does. I love looking forward to my Starbucks date with E, even if we're a little ticked at each other. If we have something that needs to be worked out, it's a neutral spot. And if we're really feelin' the love that day, we gaze into each other's eyes, hold hands and make everyone else throw up in their mouths with how in love we are. (So much fun.)
For all my married/dating friends, and for those feeling like a specific friend is missing from their life, schedule something like this. A walk around the neighborhood. Ice cream runs. Something where your attention is directed to the person you're spending time with. Give that relationship the priority it needs by designating and dedicating time each week to that person. It works wonders.
My smarty-pants love, hard at work.
Such a hipster, with his side-part and v-neck. And I love it.
We're different. Which brings a unique challenge to our marriage.
Since we spend a majority of our time together, we've had to work extra hard at finding things we both like to do. I know I'm crazy, but E spending his time being a genius in our office while I watch TV all night long is not my exact picture of bliss.
Enter, the brilliance of Starbucks dates.
A month or two ago, we started this thing where, every Thursday, after work, we go to Starbucks as a way to wind down from the week and prepare for the weekend. Sometimes, we bring our computers and work on things (like this blog post), other times, we sip our frappuccinos and laugh at each other for being ridiculous.
We learned in marriage counseling that having a designated date night or activity you do each week does great things for the relationship. I'm here to tell you with my words that it really does. I love looking forward to my Starbucks date with E, even if we're a little ticked at each other. If we have something that needs to be worked out, it's a neutral spot. And if we're really feelin' the love that day, we gaze into each other's eyes, hold hands and make everyone else throw up in their mouths with how in love we are. (So much fun.)
For all my married/dating friends, and for those feeling like a specific friend is missing from their life, schedule something like this. A walk around the neighborhood. Ice cream runs. Something where your attention is directed to the person you're spending time with. Give that relationship the priority it needs by designating and dedicating time each week to that person. It works wonders.
My smarty-pants love, hard at work.
Such a hipster, with his side-part and v-neck. And I love it.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
A sammich I don't joke about
Yes, I said 'sammich'. Like when E kids, saying, "Make me a sammich, woman."
If there is one thing you should know about me, it's that I have a serious, SERIOUS taste for BLTs. One of those tastes where I could eat them every day (for real).
If there is a second thing you should know about me, it's that a BLT is thee only sandwich that I will put mayo on. Excluding chipotle mayo on salmon BLTs.
I wish I was kidding. A few people in this world know that I have a crazy relationship with sandwiches. As in, I won't eat them if a) I don't see them being made and know exactly how they're made/what's on them, b) they are something super delicious from a super delicious restaurant, and c) they are stocked full of anything relatively close to deli meat. I can't even blame my parents for my behavior.
And I've always had a hatred for mayo. In complex terms, my hatred was pretty much sealed when, in highschool, I watched a classmate eat a sandwich bag full of mayo for an eating contest. In simple terms, grrrroooossss.
But BLTs. They change ev-er-y-thing. I can confidently order a BLT from Jimmy John's and know it will be delicious. And I would gladly let any one of you make me one, as long as it has all of the ingredients in its iconic acronym of a name. Plus a little mayo.
In my & E's world, BLTs are no joke. So, while eating them one night, I decided I would dedicate a blog post WITH pictures to show you how much we love them.
This is what real bacon looks like. As in, your dad trades beef for some pork at the butcher shop.
Life lesson: the best tomatoes always come from farmer's stands/markets.
The same goes for lettuce.
And that's the moneymaker. In all of her perfect combination glory, sandwiched between two lightly-toasted pieces of bread.
If you don't understand my love for BLTs, consider this an open invitation to my apartment. I will show you the error of your ways, and even serve you a Boulevard with your soon-to-be-favorite meal.
...I don't joke about BLTs.
If there is one thing you should know about me, it's that I have a serious, SERIOUS taste for BLTs. One of those tastes where I could eat them every day (for real).
If there is a second thing you should know about me, it's that a BLT is thee only sandwich that I will put mayo on. Excluding chipotle mayo on salmon BLTs.
I wish I was kidding. A few people in this world know that I have a crazy relationship with sandwiches. As in, I won't eat them if a) I don't see them being made and know exactly how they're made/what's on them, b) they are something super delicious from a super delicious restaurant, and c) they are stocked full of anything relatively close to deli meat. I can't even blame my parents for my behavior.
And I've always had a hatred for mayo. In complex terms, my hatred was pretty much sealed when, in highschool, I watched a classmate eat a sandwich bag full of mayo for an eating contest. In simple terms, grrrroooossss.
But BLTs. They change ev-er-y-thing. I can confidently order a BLT from Jimmy John's and know it will be delicious. And I would gladly let any one of you make me one, as long as it has all of the ingredients in its iconic acronym of a name. Plus a little mayo.
In my & E's world, BLTs are no joke. So, while eating them one night, I decided I would dedicate a blog post WITH pictures to show you how much we love them.
This is what real bacon looks like. As in, your dad trades beef for some pork at the butcher shop.
Life lesson: the best tomatoes always come from farmer's stands/markets.
The same goes for lettuce.
And that's the moneymaker. In all of her perfect combination glory, sandwiched between two lightly-toasted pieces of bread.
If you don't understand my love for BLTs, consider this an open invitation to my apartment. I will show you the error of your ways, and even serve you a Boulevard with your soon-to-be-favorite meal.
...I don't joke about BLTs.
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