While cleaning out my work bag the other day, I came across a tube of lipstick that I had forgotten I had tucked into it months ago.
Me: Hey! I found some lipstick in my work bag. I always liked this lipstick!
Patto: That's nice, dear.
Later, as we are going out to dinner:
Patto: Are you going to wear your new lipstick?
Me: What new lipstick?
Patto: The lipstick you found in your bag today.
Me: Oh, no. That's a fall lipstick.
Patto: A fall lipstick?
Me: Yeah.
Patto: What does that mean?
Me: It's for fall.
Patto: Fall?
Me: Yeah. Fall. It's the wrong season lipstick.
Patto: Lipsticks have seasons?
--Pause while we just stare at each other in confusion.--
Both: Never mind.
Silly Patto. Doesn't he know it could set us back WEEKS in my attempt to force Spring upon Boston if I put on fall lipstick? It's like giving up the high ground! Is he MAD?!?!
Boys. No strategy.
Showing posts with label Patrick. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Patrick. Show all posts
Monday, March 31, 2008
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Hey smoopyliciousness!
The darling Patto and I are planning a trip to the World's Best Alma Mater for a housing reunion, since I was an RA in college and am still close to my former fellow RAs. The other RAs and I have been exchanging e-mail messages for some time, working out the reunion details. Then yesterday, I received an e-mail to the group that The Breakfast Club, the most amazing 80s cover band ever to play the stage in Knoxville, TN was going to be in town the exact! same! weekend!
It was a sign from God that this trip home and the attendant housing reunion is blessed!
In my glee, I quickly fwded the e-mail to Patrick, along with the following note:
"Oh baby! Remember the Breakfast Club? They're going to be in Knoxville the same weekend we are! Oh! Happy Day!
I love you my baby I dooooo!
Happy Wednesday, otherwise known as Wed "less than 4 days till I am back with my baby" nesday!"
Nauseatingly cutesy, I know, but I haven't seen my husband in a couple of weeks and I have been living apart from him for the past 3.5 months, and my mental state is deteriorating quickly without him. And he would have just chuckled and that would have been that.
That is, had I actually sent that e-mail to Patrick.
No, instead of hitting "Fwd" I somehow hit "Reply All," and in my extreme excitement, did not notice the difference. So I sent that incredibly snuggle-filled missive not to my darling husband, but to 9 of my former co-workers and my former boss.
They were good enough to send me multiple e-mails back telling me they loved me, too.
It was a sign from God that this trip home and the attendant housing reunion is blessed!
In my glee, I quickly fwded the e-mail to Patrick, along with the following note:
"Oh baby! Remember the Breakfast Club? They're going to be in Knoxville the same weekend we are! Oh! Happy Day!
I love you my baby I dooooo!
Happy Wednesday, otherwise known as Wed "less than 4 days till I am back with my baby" nesday!"
Nauseatingly cutesy, I know, but I haven't seen my husband in a couple of weeks and I have been living apart from him for the past 3.5 months, and my mental state is deteriorating quickly without him. And he would have just chuckled and that would have been that.
That is, had I actually sent that e-mail to Patrick.
No, instead of hitting "Fwd" I somehow hit "Reply All," and in my extreme excitement, did not notice the difference. So I sent that incredibly snuggle-filled missive not to my darling husband, but to 9 of my former co-workers and my former boss.
They were good enough to send me multiple e-mails back telling me they loved me, too.
Monday, August 13, 2007
First Anniversary
You guys know I don't spend a lot of time gushing. But this post is an exception. Yesterday was my first wedding anniversary with Patrick. He flew in Friday evening and we had a fabulous anniversary weekend. We went shopping along Michigan ave, we saw the Bourne Ultimatum, we went to the Melting Pot for dinner, (which is one of our favorite restaurants and where we spent our first Valentine's Day). Afterwards, we walked down to the beach with a bottle of champagne and watched the water and the Chicago skyline. It was beautiful. We exchanged gifts (we spent too much on each other again- it is ever our curse). Being that the first anniversary is paper, Patrick ended up getting me four cards, because he liked them and couldn't decide between them anyway. One was funny, one was kind, and two would melt your face off with the loving goodness that flowed out of them. Someone who was truly in love wrote those last two cards. In keeping with tradition of me being a strange, strange bird, I got him a card that referenced puppet shows. Que romantic.
People often tell me that the first year of marriage is the most difficult. I hope so, because this year has been incredible, and if it gets even better after this, I'm sold. As my sister said in her toast at my wedding, I have truly met my match.
And now, only two more weeks until my summer stint is up in Chicago and I can live with my wonderful husby full-time again! I have missed him these three months. I cannot wait to wake up close to him every day (not just every other or every third weekend) with his arm wrapped around my waist and his warm breath in my face and me gently and sweatily wriggling free because Oh. My. God. that man emits so much heat and he sends me into premature hot flashes every morning. I have missed those hot flashes and wouldn't trade them for hanging onto my own pillow and all the covers for anything in the world.
People often tell me that the first year of marriage is the most difficult. I hope so, because this year has been incredible, and if it gets even better after this, I'm sold. As my sister said in her toast at my wedding, I have truly met my match.
And now, only two more weeks until my summer stint is up in Chicago and I can live with my wonderful husby full-time again! I have missed him these three months. I cannot wait to wake up close to him every day (not just every other or every third weekend) with his arm wrapped around my waist and his warm breath in my face and me gently and sweatily wriggling free because Oh. My. God. that man emits so much heat and he sends me into premature hot flashes every morning. I have missed those hot flashes and wouldn't trade them for hanging onto my own pillow and all the covers for anything in the world.
Friday, August 10, 2007
I have no comment on this
This is my husband.
This is my husband on a dare.
And yes, we are going to discuss that popped collar when I get back from Chicago.
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
Patto's new 'do
Last weekend, Patto came to visit me in Chicago. Here's a recent picture of Patto:
Anyway, while he was in, he decided that his current hairdo was just too... 'eh', and he wanted to buzz his hair. Now. I find Patto very handsome with his current hair, so I was a little hesitant at this point. But it's his hair and I support his decisions. (I have been telling him this for years, because I knew there would come a day when I would want to do something to my hair that he would not really want me to do, and I want to be able to say to him, "Darling, haven't I always said "it's your hair and I support your decisions?", thus trapping him into supporting mine. Since we're on the subject, that day came in November of 2006 when I bobbed my hair. He hated it from go, but is a tough little trooper. It's now back to shoulder-length, and he has quit whining about it).
But I digress. So Patto decides he wants to buzz his hair, a look he has not sported since the second grade. But I support him. And besides, he is always saying that if he ever starts losing his hair he is just going to man up and shave his head, so now is as good as any to find out if he has an odd-shaped noggin. Forewarned and is forearmed.
So I buzzed his hair. Buzzing a person's hair is some of the most fun I have had not on a segway in weeks. Especially the part where you run the clippers straight back and give him a reverse mohawk. I wish I had gotten a picture of that. But anyway, here is the final product:
Patto with 1/3 inch-long hair and no goatee. Isn't he dreamy?
The biggest difference to me is that I think it makes his face look more round, which is unusual given that Patrick has a rather long face (a horse walks into a bar and the bartender says... oh, nevermind). Anyway, Patrick returned home with his new crew 'do. On the following Monday, Patto reported the following exchange:
Works like a charm.
Patto, July 2007. Isn't he dreamy?
Anyway, while he was in, he decided that his current hairdo was just too... 'eh', and he wanted to buzz his hair. Now. I find Patto very handsome with his current hair, so I was a little hesitant at this point. But it's his hair and I support his decisions. (I have been telling him this for years, because I knew there would come a day when I would want to do something to my hair that he would not really want me to do, and I want to be able to say to him, "Darling, haven't I always said "it's your hair and I support your decisions?", thus trapping him into supporting mine. Since we're on the subject, that day came in November of 2006 when I bobbed my hair. He hated it from go, but is a tough little trooper. It's now back to shoulder-length, and he has quit whining about it).
But I digress. So Patto decides he wants to buzz his hair, a look he has not sported since the second grade. But I support him. And besides, he is always saying that if he ever starts losing his hair he is just going to man up and shave his head, so now is as good as any to find out if he has an odd-shaped noggin. Forewarned and is forearmed.
So I buzzed his hair. Buzzing a person's hair is some of the most fun I have had not on a segway in weeks. Especially the part where you run the clippers straight back and give him a reverse mohawk. I wish I had gotten a picture of that. But anyway, here is the final product:
Patto with 1/3 inch-long hair and no goatee. Isn't he dreamy?
The biggest difference to me is that I think it makes his face look more round, which is unusual given that Patrick has a rather long face (a horse walks into a bar and the bartender says... oh, nevermind). Anyway, Patrick returned home with his new crew 'do. On the following Monday, Patto reported the following exchange:
So, a guy from the admissions office came by today, looked at me quizzically, and said, "Do you usually wear glasses?"So if your significant other wants to do something out of the ordinary with his hair, I say support him! 1), he might stay just as dreamy (or become more so, depending on his current state of dreaminess); 2), he has no one to blame but himself if it is a terrible, terrible mistake (and any clever woman can think of how to use that to her advantage at a later date); and 3), when you want to do something drastic with your hair, you can say, "remember when you wanted to dye your hair purple? Haven't I always said, 'It's your hair and I support your decisions?' Now get to supportin' mine, bucko!"
To which I replied, "no, I usually have hair."
Works like a charm.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Boys and their fantasies
I hear a lot that women fantasize more than men do. I hear this is why the romance novel industry is a multi-billion industry, because women just love to fantasize. Well, this might be true in matters of romance (although I want to see some numbers on that), but I can tell you that in my vast experience of talking to men, on the whole, men fantasize much more than women. As in constantly. And not about what you might think.
The following is part of an actual email I received from one of my closest male friends, who was bored while trying to study for the bar, and let his mind begin to wander:
"I'm in Russia post-bar. Maybe a ship. Maybe stormy. I prevent some devious and dangerous crime. Months later in Chicago. Having dinner w/ firm folks. Attacked by Russian types. Big Bear of a dude. We show down. Many possibilities here, but final: I defend myself a little, a little impressively, but clearly will lose. Then intervention by other Russians. In charge is beautiful russian woman. Sort of modeled on the russian fighter girl from Street Fighter (though maybe w/out communist beret...). Somehow we have a past. Maybe on the boat. But there's still electricity.
Phew! Got me through this morning..."
...
Ok. Let me clarify for you, because it took a few emails back and forth for the entire thing to become clear (although it never made it to the point of realistic). My otherwise normal friend spent the morning daydreaming about protecting Russians from some devious crime on a boat and perhaps developing some chemistry with a woman who looks about like this, after which, the spurned criminals hunted him down in Chicago and were about to mangle him (despite his impressive efforts of fending them off) when said beautiful woman and her posse of Russian protectors arrived and saved the day, presumably by beating the snot out of the criminal Russians. He and Russian woman fall into one another's arms. Perhaps they go for cocktails and he regales her with his latest musings on Hegel. Whatever. I have one thing to say to this:
Right.
You may be thinking to yourself, "why would her friend even tell her about this?" Well, in fact, he began the email by saying "you would appreciate this." Why would I appreciate this? Because I married the King of fantasizers.
Oh yes. There isn't an idle moment when Patto is not inventing scenes of attacking marauders and his ensuing and heroic intervention. These episodes occur most frequently on the train. Patto will start staring off into space, and perhaps begin to squeeze my hand uncomfortably. I wriggle free and he looks up all sheepish. "What?" I say. And then he is explaining how he was imagining if the guy at the end of the train suddenly jumped up and pulled a knife on us how he would block like this (quick demonstration) and then would jump up and swing around the balance pole (I imagine like a stripper - but I don't think that's what he had in mind) and kick the guy in the chest, but then what if the guy jumped up and a bunch of his friends ran to help him? (What is it with guys and gangs of criminals?) THEN he would grab the closest one and throw him like this, and then trip the second one over the first one's body, and then hold him in this kind of choke hold and force the others to call the police on themselves or he would snap the hostage like a twig! And then....
You get the idea.
So let them say that women are always fantasizing. Just know that the next time your brother/friend/husband seems to have zoned out, he is probably dueling an escaped and psychopathic criminal pirate, who is attempting to derail a large passenger train loaded with rare medicine and bound for a small and impoverished village in Africa, (oh! and the conductor is a beautiful and intelligent woman who's father is the CEO of WorldBank!), and the only way to stop the crazed pirate is to hop a runaway stagecoach and set a trap involving Algerian bulls (the natural enemy of pirates) and then beat him in a battle of wits! And then...
You get the idea.
The following is part of an actual email I received from one of my closest male friends, who was bored while trying to study for the bar, and let his mind begin to wander:
"I'm in Russia post-bar. Maybe a ship. Maybe stormy. I prevent some devious and dangerous crime. Months later in Chicago. Having dinner w/ firm folks. Attacked by Russian types. Big Bear of a dude. We show down. Many possibilities here, but final: I defend myself a little, a little impressively, but clearly will lose. Then intervention by other Russians. In charge is beautiful russian woman. Sort of modeled on the russian fighter girl from Street Fighter (though maybe w/out communist beret...). Somehow we have a past. Maybe on the boat. But there's still electricity.
Phew! Got me through this morning..."
...
Ok. Let me clarify for you, because it took a few emails back and forth for the entire thing to become clear (although it never made it to the point of realistic). My otherwise normal friend spent the morning daydreaming about protecting Russians from some devious crime on a boat and perhaps developing some chemistry with a woman who looks about like this, after which, the spurned criminals hunted him down in Chicago and were about to mangle him (despite his impressive efforts of fending them off) when said beautiful woman and her posse of Russian protectors arrived and saved the day, presumably by beating the snot out of the criminal Russians. He and Russian woman fall into one another's arms. Perhaps they go for cocktails and he regales her with his latest musings on Hegel. Whatever. I have one thing to say to this:
Right.
You may be thinking to yourself, "why would her friend even tell her about this?" Well, in fact, he began the email by saying "you would appreciate this." Why would I appreciate this? Because I married the King of fantasizers.
Oh yes. There isn't an idle moment when Patto is not inventing scenes of attacking marauders and his ensuing and heroic intervention. These episodes occur most frequently on the train. Patto will start staring off into space, and perhaps begin to squeeze my hand uncomfortably. I wriggle free and he looks up all sheepish. "What?" I say. And then he is explaining how he was imagining if the guy at the end of the train suddenly jumped up and pulled a knife on us how he would block like this (quick demonstration) and then would jump up and swing around the balance pole (I imagine like a stripper - but I don't think that's what he had in mind) and kick the guy in the chest, but then what if the guy jumped up and a bunch of his friends ran to help him? (What is it with guys and gangs of criminals?) THEN he would grab the closest one and throw him like this, and then trip the second one over the first one's body, and then hold him in this kind of choke hold and force the others to call the police on themselves or he would snap the hostage like a twig! And then....
You get the idea.
So let them say that women are always fantasizing. Just know that the next time your brother/friend/husband seems to have zoned out, he is probably dueling an escaped and psychopathic criminal pirate, who is attempting to derail a large passenger train loaded with rare medicine and bound for a small and impoverished village in Africa, (oh! and the conductor is a beautiful and intelligent woman who's father is the CEO of WorldBank!), and the only way to stop the crazed pirate is to hop a runaway stagecoach and set a trap involving Algerian bulls (the natural enemy of pirates) and then beat him in a battle of wits! And then...
You get the idea.
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