Monday, May 27, 2013

Celebrating Year One

Last Sunday the hubs and I did an overnighter in Wildwood in honor of our first wedding anniversary. Our anniversary was actually on Monday, so we decided to make Sunday and Monday our weekend. We of course started out later than we intended on Sunday, but it was nice to be in no particular rush. The weather was pretty crappy on Sunday, chilly & damp, raining on and off, generally blah. Once we finally got on the road, it didn't matter. There was just an immediate feeling of freedom. It may sound silly for only one night, but sometimes you just need a night to recharge.

We had to take Josh's car, since mine is officially dead. I haven't listened to actual radio in years, but given the choice of being subjected to one of Josh's CDs full of club crap or braving today's radio landscape, I chose sanity. I scanned the stations until I found some Billy Joel, and I left it on. We rocked out for a while to some surprisingly good music, but the station started fuzzing out as we drove further south. So I did some more scanning, heard a DJ say "Here's the new Phillip Phillips single," and left it on out of curiosity. After about 45 seconds, this conversation took place:

Josh: Are you leaving this on to torture me?
Me: What? No! It's Phillip Phillips...I was actually curious to see if his new song was as good as that song "Home."
Josh: And?
Me: Not so much.

More station scanning, and I stopped on a Taylor Swift song, on purpose. 

Me: I'm leaving this on to torture you.
Josh: Mission accomplished.

The rest of our little road trip continued in much the same fashion - sometimes screwing with each other, sometimes having actual conversations. I wish I could say "and sometimes just sitting in silence," but with Josh that was not even a possibility.

We made pretty good time considering it was raining the whole way down and there was an accident on the Parkway (because why wouldn't there be?). Once we entered the city of Wildwood, this happened:

Josh: Ok, now where?
Me: What?
Josh: Where's the hotel?
Me: You don't remember? Right across from the Convention Center.
Josh: No, I know that, but how do I get there from here?
Me: I don't know...just drive towards the ocean.
Josh: Worst.Navigator.Ever.

Hotel located, we checked in and were pleasantly surprised to see our wedding picture on the wall behind the front desk, along with the thank you card I had sent them.
They are the nicest people at the Oceanic Hotel. As we were checking in, they let us know that we literally had the entire hotel to ourselves, no other guests that night. Rock on. We chatted about Hurricane Sandy; they told us Wildwood had gotten lucky and didn't have much damage at all. Yay Wildwood! Then they went to dinner and we dragged our stuff to our room - the very same room we stayed in the weekend we got married last year. So cool. 

Still no phones in the rooms though.
Josh wanted to shower & change before heading out, so I ran into the bathroom first to quickly pee. 30 seconds later, I'm looking at a clogged fucking toilet. ALL I DID WAS PEE! I tried to flush it again and the water just rose higher. What.The.Fuck. After a ridiculous amount of time, I finally opened the bathroom door and told Josh I thought I clogged the toilet. 

Josh: I thought you only had to pee.
Me: I DID!
Josh: (skeptical look) Then how did it clog?
Me: How the fuck do I know? Can you go ask them for a plunger?
Josh: (laughing) Why do I have to go ask??
Me: Because, dude, I don't want to. We just got here and we're already asking for stuff??
Josh: Oh, so make me do it.
Me: Come oooon (yes, by now I was whining.)

After he tortured me a little bit longer, he headed downstairs to ask for a plunger. But they didn't just give him a plunger and send him on his merry way. No, the guy had to come up himself with the plunger. Gah! Embarrassment city. Before he left, he asked if we wanted him to leave the plunger there for the night. Wow, just when I thought it couldn't get worse. 

Me: He totally thinks I clogged the toilet.
Josh: You did.
Me: You know what I mean! 

By the way, it's a damn good thing he did leave us the plunger, because after we got back from dinner that night the stupid toilet clogged again. Happy Anniversary! Here's a plunger. 

Anyway, we decided to check out the boardwalk first. I asked Josh if he thought I should bring an umbrella since I wasn't wearing a hoodie. He said "Nah, it's not even raining anymore." So we walked across the street to the boardwalk, and by the time we got there, it was drizzling. I gave Josh a look, which he correctly interpreted.

Josh: (laughing) You want me to go back for the umbrella, don't you? 
Me: Well you're the one who said it wasn't raining anymore.
Josh: Yes, but you're the one who wants it. Nope.
Me: Please? Come on, my hair is frizzing as we speak. 
Josh: Then we'll buy you a hat. Let's go.

I guess making him ask for the plunger was his limit for the day.
It was a damp, chilly, foggy night, but it was wonderful just to be near the ocean again, even if I couldn't see it. It restores me. I was in a pretty great mood, frizz and all, so we walked for a little while, talked, took some pictures. 

Eventually it stopped drizzling and started actually raining. At this point I told Josh we needed to check out some shops so I could buy a hat. First of all, you wouldn't believe how hard it is to find a plain baseball cap in a shore town. Second, not much was open because it's off-season, making choices even more limited. Beggars can't be choosers, however, so I was pretty sure I'd end up with a hat that said Wildwood on it. Which would have been fine. But when I picked up the one I disliked the least, lo and behold, there was a whole stack of plain black baseball caps behind it. Hallelujah! 5 bucks later my hair was safe. 

Me: Does it look ok?
Josh: You look hot. You should wear hats more often. 
Me: I guess it looks ok then.

We walked and talked some more, Josh did his usual scoping of crane machines and of course he won. He won a Brainy Smurf, but still. 

Next thing we knew, we'd walked nearly the entire boardwalk. So we turned around and started discussing what we wanted to do for dinner. By the time we got back to the car, it was around 9:30pm and we still didn't really know what to do for dinner, so we figured we'd drive around and see what was open. Unfortunately, being that it was a rainy, chilly, off-season Sunday night, not much was open. We were just about to give up when Josh spotted Alfe's, an Italian seafood restaurant we had eaten at before. You'd have thought we won the lottery, we were so excited to find someplace not only open, but familiar and yummy. 

After a great dinner, we went back to the hotel and hung out for a while. After our wedding last year, I told Josh I thought it would be fun if each year we tried to get each other anniversary gifts based on the "traditional" anniversary gift list, and he agreed. The first year is paper...we got each other scratch-off lottery tickets. Hey, it doesn't have to be fancy, just fun.
At midnight on May 20th, we cut into the wedding cake we'd had frozen at my mom's house since the wedding, and YUM. We had completely forgotten what flavors we'd chosen for the top, but after we tasted it I remembered it was called the "Elvis," and it was chocolate, banana, and peanut butter. So good. 

Happy Anniversary to us!
We munched on cake and watched Movie 43, which ended up being the most confusing, strange movie I've seen in quite some time. I don't even know. It was fucking weird. 

Monday morning dawned bright and sunny, and considerably warmer than the previous day. I was so excited to be able to actually see the ocean! We took our time getting our shit together, got sucked into a M*A*S*H reunion special on TV while we were getting ready, then went down to the boardwalk. As soon as we got there I realized it was much warmer than I'd thought, and I certainly didn't need the light sweater I'd brought to throw over my tank. As we started walking...

Josh: Did you bring any sunscreen?
Me: No, why?
Josh: Because you're pale as hell and the sun's pretty hot. You know you burn easy.
Me: Nah, I'm not spending twenty bucks for sunscreen on the boardwalk, and we're only going to get something to eat anyway.
Josh: Are you sure you're sure? You're winter pale.
Me: Can we go eat please?

Maybe a half an hour later, we saw that Stewart's was open and decided to eat there, upstairs on the deck level. It was a beautiful day, there were awesome oldies playing, and the food was exactly what we'd wanted without really knowing it. 

Root beer float!

Full and happy, we headed back down the boardwalk in the direction of the car, again not in any particular hurry. When we reached the car....

Josh: Wow, you got color.
Me: (looking in mirror) No I didn't.
Josh: No, not your face. Your arms and your chest. 
Me: HOLY SHIT. That's not color. That's fucking sunburn. Dammit! 
Josh: I told you you needed sunscreen. 
Me: Shut.Up.

Evidently while dining on the upper level of Stewart's my face and my forearms had been shielded from the sun, but my upper arms, shoulders and chest had not. And they were bright fucking red. Awesome. Now I was sunburned and annoyed. And I really, really didn't want to stop in Atlantic City, but I knew Josh wanted to and I refused to be that girl. I will never be that girl. So I sucked it up and put on a happy face, and ended up having a pretty good time while were there. It helped that we found the new Family Guy slots, because they were fun, and they were hitting. 

We left the Borgata up 50 bucks (we're not exactly high rollers) and had a relatively uneventful drive home. That night we topped off our weekend by seeing Star Trek Into Darkness, which was awesome. And the theater had the new luxury reclining seats which we didn't have to pay extra for. Win. 

Overall, we really had a great time. But then, we always do when we go places together. We crack each other up and we enjoy screwing with each other, but most of all we love each other. And as long as we've got that, we can always make our own fun.

Friday, May 17, 2013


I just plucked a long gray hair that dared to appear in one of my eyebrows. This is completely unacceptable. I mean, I knew it was already starting in the hair on my head, but now my eyebrows? Fuck no. And this is one of the many reasons why...

Being 37 sucks.
Even the number itself is unimpressive.

NOTE: I know there are some of you out there saying "Pffft, 37's nothing, imagine being (insert age here)." To those people I say: hush. This is my blog, and I'm 37. Everyone has their own reasons why being their age sucks. If you wanna bitch it out, start your own blog. Now let's move on.

37 means I graduated high school 20 years ago. It means I graduated college 14 years ago. It means I remember when AOL was the most awesome thing ever. It means I had a beeper. It means I remember when MTV played actual music videos. It means I'm older than the entire cast of Jersey Shore. It means I remember when Axl Rose looked like this:

I refuse to post a photo of what he looks like now.
37 means both of my siblings are also now in their 30s. Both younger than me though, the jerks. It means I call 25-year-olds "kids." No, really. I did it the other day and immediately wanted to kill myself. 37 means there's a good chance I'll never pass for under 30 again.

37 means some of my friends' kids are already teenagers. It also means that I've very aware that my baby-making window won't be open forever. Biological clock, set to warp speed.

37 means I'm over the club scene, though not necessarily the bar scene (two different animals). Getting stoned and watching something funny on TV sounds way more appealing to me than doing body shots and rolling on Ecstasy in some random club-slash-warehouse. It means I stopped going to the Warped Tour like 10 years ago. It means 95% of Warped Tour attendees are young enough to be my kids (I think that just sounds nicer than "I'm old enough to be their mother," don't you?).

37 also means I'm at a weird place in my life. I'm an unemployed-but-still-fucking-looking (thanks, job market!) childless newlywed. I rent an apartment, I still have student loan debt, and according to this guy, "if you are under 40, your generation is getting utterly screwed compared to mine, and you should be in the streets." Awesome.

But 37 can mean some good things, I suppose. It means that I'm closer to my family and my friends than I've ever been, and I treasure those relationships more than ever. It means I've lived through some major historical events I'll be able to tell my children about (there's that biological clock again). It means I was raised on some of the greatest music ever made, which in turn means I like everything from Pink Floyd to NOFX to The Doobie Brothers to Streetlight Manifesto to Tori Amos to The Ramones to Billy Joel to The Doors to Pantera to The Beatles to...well, you get the point. It means I've met some amazing people and I've had some unforgettable experiences. It also means that there are more to come.

Most of all, though, 37 means I'm no longer just "in my 30s." I'm now in my mid-to-late 30s. And the fact that I'll be turning 38 later this year? I can't even.