A new venture. For now.

Hi Friends,

I am taking a break. Actually, I have been taking a break from blogging for a new, fun venture. I’ve developed great interest in health and nutrition over the years and my husband (who is the best chiropractor in the world) and I are on a quest to make people healthier, one person at a time.

We recently discovered a whole food nutrition supplement called Juice Plus, which is 100% organically grown vegetables and fruits. It’s the most researched nutrition product on the market today and has changed our lives. Our friends, our families, our colleagues and patients are also discovering how their lives (and their children’s) can change by simply giving their bodies the nutrition it’s craving.

We aren’t vitamin deficient (a whole other rant that I could get into about how vitamins don’t work due to the megadoses of minerals/vitamins they give) – we are whole food deficient. Did you know that we only know of 500 nutrients in an apple when there are thousands unknown? These nutrients work synergistically together in perfect balance to keep our cells healthy, prevent heart disease and even Alzheimer’s.

Juice Plus does not replace fruits and vegetables – and you still need to exercise! It’s just a great compliment to a diet since most people (if anyone) can eat the recommended 7-13 servings a day. It’s a very exciting time, and I am thrilled to share my excitement with everyone!

Check out our website at www.perkswithjuiceplus.com and message us with any questions – chiropractic, nutrition or product related!

Until later, Friends. I will be back to blogging in the future!

Love,
Perks Being Me

 

White People Dancing.

I don’t need to give this clip any fluff or good PR. You can just view it for yourself to see that. I am just thankful that during my horrible travel luck, I was lucky enough to be at the same place in time as these two, bold, white people dancing. Enough said. Enjoy.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6gAj0qLJ1aE

Flights, Trams and Wizard of Oz.

It started off like any other wedding weekend. Full of anticipation to see friends, celebrate and eat and drink too much. At least for that part of the trip, our expectations were far exceeded. With some pieces better left for another post, I had an amazingly fun-filled time.

I had booked a later return flight for my spouse and I, thinking how unrealistic it would be to actually get myself, him or our best friend driving us to the airport, up and out before noon post-wedding. I know when we’re together to expect the unexpected. The last wedding I went to, I woke up with a luggage cart and several bags of wine that weren’t there when I fell asleep. I later discovered one of my text messages ended up on Texts From Last Night.

The next flight time out was 8:00 p.m. What to do until then, with a throbbing head, angry stomach and dazed look as I roamed the streets wearing summer clothes in a winter atmosphere?  “I guess we could see a movie?” My husband propositioned. “Sure,” friend and myself agreed. What else are we going to do in a town where there are more bums than sidewalks and no sign of a descent chain store? After playing in a ghetto arcade and fighting to stay awake during the movie, we figured we’d killed enough and we should head to the airport.

Arriving to the check-in counter nearly three hours before our flight, it was immediately evident that something was off. A representative walked from group to group handing out a white business card. When she got to us, I blinked a few times at the card with a 1-800 number and then at her. “Your flights been canceled,” she said as she shrugged her shoulders. “This number will help you re-book your flight quicker than waiting in line. There’s some sort of maintenance issue with the planes.”

I am not going to lie. My immediate reaction was not a good one. In fact, I felt like throwing up the last rum and coke I had and whatever part of my lunch made it through the movie. However, I tiptoed out of line and whipped out my cell phone. Unexpectedly, I got an answer immediately after I dialed. “There’s no other flights out tonight.”

Awesome. I am a frequent flyer. My father is a pilot so, I’m aware that circumstances happen that are unavoidable. Welcome to traveling. And life. You can’t plan everything. Damn.

After some negotiating with the representative back in line after updating her on the prognosis, she booked a hotel for us for the night, called a shuttle and handed us dinner vouchers. Tired and thankful, we said our good-byes to our kind, patient friend and laughed that this city just hadn’t had its fill of us yet.

At the hotel, we got a nice dinner and tried to re-hydrate as much as possible. What I haven’t mentioned until this point was that my husband got food poisoning on the way up for the wedding. We are pretty certain it was your fault, Atlanta. In any case, it was nice to see that he was feeling better and actually keeping down water and food at the same time. It felt amazing to be lying horizontal for at least a few hours. Less than five hours later, at the bright and early hour of 4:30 a.m., we headed back to the airport with clearer minds and higher hopes of getting back.

Our original airline carrier was booked so they had re-booked us with the only other airline that flies into the airport we were flying into. With confirmation in-hand, I nearly slammed it down on the counter to the woman standing there. She looked at me, my husband, at the ticket. Back at me, my husband and then at the ticket. “You’re not going to like this,” she said. Awesome. That’s what I want to hear while I’ve been in a coma for 24 hours and just want to get home. She explained that while the person who had re-booked us, had managed to get the right day correct – she had failed to get the month  and year correct. Maybe the world is ending on January 12, 2012? How does that even happen? She wasn’t even in the freakin’ right calendar year.

We bounced back and fourth between the dueling airlines trying to correct this woman’s mistake. The woman who had to find us seats, laughed like a hyena in our faces. “I’ve seen some crazy human errors in my time, but GEEEZ!!”  No kidding, Captain Obvious.  Let me smack that smile right off your face. Dare me, please. Lucky for her, two remaining seats were available on a rapidly approaching flight. After demanding for additional food vouchers, we were on our way. The first flight went well.

Then, we had our layover in God-forsaken Atlanta. That airport should just be its own city, seriously. Why do you need an airport that large? I felt like I was in the Wizard of Oz there and couldn’t keep myself from staring at everything in amazement. I mean, they offer massages in the middle of the airport. What I also failed to mention until this point is that I left my brand new kindle on the plane coming up. The plane was coming from Atlanta. I persuaded my husband to come with me to check out lost and found since we had time to kill before our final flight.

I am not joking when I say that we had to take the tram six stops, all the way to baggage claim. As soon as we got off, I asked the first person I could find where lost and found was. She spoke no English. Of course. So, I went up to someone official looking and they gave me explicit directions, basically down to the number of yards it would be before reaching it. And of course, those directions didn’t work and we ended up running circles around baggage carousel number 7. I then went to the information desk. The women working the counters looked at me like I had three heads and I was crazy for even suggesting something like lost and found. I ran up to another non-assuming worker and she was kind enough to guesstimate where she “heard” it was. ‘Seriously,’ I thought. ‘Can this trip BE OVER?!?!?!’

Just like when they finally get to see the “Great Wizard,” I arrived at a door that opens at the top and bottom with a hand-written sign. No wonder no one knew it was there. It’s like an airport myth. I knocked on the door and a man opened just the top part and poked his head out asking what I wanted. After describing my kindle, he gave a concerned look and said, “be right back” and closed the door. I have never bought drugs, but at that moment I felt like I was doing something either really bad or really great.  A few minutes later with a disappointed look, the man told me no one had returned it. I figured.

My husband and I turned around and got back on the tram and rode all the way back. What we didn’t realize when going to baggage claim is that coming back, we would have to go through security again. Joy! We crammed our way through and suddenly, my purse went missing off of the x-ray belt. A tall, dark, angry woman barreling over me demanded to know if it was mine. I swallowed my tongue and admitted that I might have some liquid lip gloss in there I should have taken out. “No! You have soda or something in there!” she exclaimed.

Crap. I forgot I had bought water. Sue me. I got thirsty from walking through this maze you call an airport. I didn’t try to argue or even deny I had water in there. I just let her manhandle my poor purse and strip me of whatever rights I had before I came there and waited until she was done. Just let this be done.

The second flight went smoothly and finally, finally, we were off. The icing on that cake was that we got to sit right next to the bathroom and Billy had too many Wheaties for breakfast or something. That was really special…REALLY. Thanks for that.

But – that didn’t matter anymore. We were home! After nearly running people down to get our bag from baggage claim — we waited. And waited. We looked at each other and half cried, half laughed. My mother had jokingly said, “I wonder where your bag is going to end up!” We watched the same, lonely, remaining bags circle around the carousel. Scanning the airport floor I saw what resembled our bag. When I got close to the unattended bag, I saw it was tagged with our name. A woman came out and explained that during the flight-booking-debacle our bag never even stood a chance. It came on the earlier flight. I wonder how many times it went around before someone figured out that we weren’t going to be coming for a while.

After we were settled at home and I got a long shower, I sat down and wrote the airline a nice, long, explicit letter explaining the situation and how amazing they made our trip home. Not to mention the serious attention to detail they offer their customers. I also explained how when I enlightened another rep of her co-worker’s mistake, she laughed in my face. I am glad someone found humor in the fact my husband and I had to miss work unexpectedly and scramble to be sure our clients were taken care of. They promptly replied with an apologetic, stale, corporate apology and a flight voucher.

I am just glad we got home on a plane that worked and didn’t have “maintenance issues.” My husband can now eat and drink with no long-lasting effects of Atlanta’s chicken wings. As far as we can tell, he will be fine. And I still am holding onto the thought that a sweet, old woman found my kindle and will return it with some homemade cookies.

Kool Aid Meets Fine China.

I’ve been M.I.A., I know. I guess because I’ve been busy, but I can’t recall many blog-worthy occurrences. How does that happen? We’re all so busy running around each day, we have to schedule conversations with long-distance friends, book appointments on our lunch breaks and drop off our dry cleaning in sweaty t-shirts straight from the gym. Yet, we can’t recall what we did on Friday. It’s a manic Monday and I’m already wishing it was the weekend.
So, here’s the thing. The most exciting things that have happened to me lately are:

a.) I’ve been trying for weeks to videotape a man who dances savagely while flaunting a $.99 “Sloppy Joe” sign outside this shady, grim-looking restaurant. He’s planted at an intersection where the short light and my driving/videotaping capabilities are no match for his colorful, hip shaking and sign twirling abilities. I am currently strategizing a new line of attack. Stay tuned.

b.) I passed a strip club last week and have questioned my own marketing/advertising talents when I saw how the owner used good ole’ fashion shock tactic. A neon flashing sign declared: “24 Pretty Girls, One Ugly One.” Wow, at 7 a.m. Now that’s a little more fearless than competitors. Admit it. Aren’t you slightly curious as to what the “Ugly” one looks like? Pretty bold. I bet a few “stragglers” will use that as their excuse for entering. Yes, that made my morning.

c.) The past week, I’ve been seeing blue. No, I haven’t been diagnosed with some neurological disorder or become manic-depressive. I hosted a baby shower brunch over the weekend. It was a pretty interesting feat to only purchase blue items leading up until the day. Blue-frosted cupcakes, streamers, confetti and napkins adorned my house. The only blue, non-alcoholic drink I could think of that’s blue was Kool Aid. Maybe not as classy as other mocktails, but an instant classic nonetheless.

I feel honored to be the one to throw the shower and test out our wedding-ware. Especially, since most people claim you only use around 2% of what you end up putting on your registry. I think hosting not only made me feel like I was sharing in my friend’s baby bliss, but for the first time in a long time - I felt like I was hosting a party as an adult. Rarely do I eat a meal at a table. Rather, with a pillow on my lap and a plate on top.  Why? It serves as a hot pad and it closes the gap between lap and mouth. I’ve lost a lot of food to the floor (and dog) thinking otherwise.

More often than not, we use our casual dishes or even palm tree garnished plastic dishes. I guess, you could say, the party forced me to pull out the inner Emily Post my grandmother and aunt instilled in me as a little girl. Funny thing about that. Apparently, she grew up right out  of her Keds and etiquette. Saturday was the day of the party. I woke up with a list of last minute to-dos:

1. Sweep – check.

2. Ice in champagne bucket, casserole in oven – check, check.

3. Set table – I stared at the tangle of reflective steel.

‘Holy crap. How do you set a table?’ I asked my dog, Daisy. She blinked in between a few blank stares. Ugh. I knew I was on my own. I felt a lump in my throat. ‘Has our casual lifestyle taken everything I learned about dining etiquette when I was six and thrown away the key?’ I thought. For the life of me, I could not remember where the fork, knife, spoon or champagne glass went.

Too ashamed to call my mother, I thought– this is why we have the internet. Yep, I had to look up instructions on how to set a table. An hour before the party, the tables were set. I didn’t measure that the top of the plate was two inches from the bottom of the water glass, but I’m fairly certain it was close.

I’m so ecstatic my friend got to have an entire day celebrating her and her baby. Her life is about to change in so many ways I can’t even begin to imagine. The entire day, I sat and listened to current and future Moms talking about their pregnancies and children and saw the sparkle in their eyes as they told their stories. I was worried that I was playing dress up and house all wrong. In the midst of diaper cakes, pastries and baby Bingo – I knew no one was worried about the table settings. The day was focused more on the anticipation of this new family member than anything else and you know something? Hardly any Kool Aid was left.

A Million Wrongs Make Some Rights.

I’m sure you’ve been there. You’re  in the car (hopefully at a light) and you scramble to send a quick text. Maybe you’ve just got exceptionally fat fingers. You get a message back from your friend that reads something like, “What the h***?”

Whatever the reason for our lack of attention to detail, these type-os make conversations much more interesting. Especially when no explanation is given to the person on the other end. If we are moving into an era where hand-written letters and spell-checked emails are minimal then, game on. I pondered whether or not to remove autocorrect from my phone the first million times it “guessed”  my personal viewpoints and tastes.  My hatred turned into hysterics and so I’d like to implement a weekly or monthly (depending on how many submissions we get) posting of the best autocorrects.

Please email your autocorrect(s) and how it was used in a sentence. Put next to the word that was “corrected” the word that was intended and post them below!

To begin, here are my favorites:

1.) “No, nutshell (what autocorrect calls itself) put that.”

2.) “We went to the Japanese storehouse (steakhouse).”

3.) My brother:  “Almond talking about drinking white russians since about nine this morning.”  - I would say almond has a 50/50 chance of being intended in that sentence.

4.) My personal fave. so far: “I miss you and the baroness (randomness) that follows you!”

Bumping Carts and Hearts.

There’s nothing quite like walking around Walmart on Mother’s Day. This year, the withered 2 for $10 flower barrels, the clearanced Easter candy, cutoffs showcasing entirely too much and the smell of suntan lotion were sad reminders of just how much I missed my Mom.

I really hate that place, but I hated it even a little more on Sunday. But – life goes on. Even if that sometimes means, without the people you love around and the people you don’t bumping into your cart. As I grazed through the aisles, I thought about my fabulous, can-do-anything-mother. I thought about how lucky I am to know her. How perfect she is because she can, quite frankly, smack reality into anyone with a devoted hand. Honestly, that kind of honesty is hard to come by.

Think about it. You may have a sprinkle of friends or family in your life that you consider to be good hosts of honesty. Being your strongest emotional sources, they sit quietly on the other line, offering an occasional “Awww” in their sweet tones and allowing you to complain about your darn good life. Your mother, on the other hand, lets you complain and then, promptly reminds you in her own indirect way that you should just do “What you can do. Someone is noticing your hard work.” Whether that someone is her, my boss or God – I’ll never know. But, she probably doesn’t realize that I am often the one leaving our conversations feeling proud of her optimism.

In light of my Walmart shopping cart eventually encumbered with carbohydrates, protein and real “Great Value” all over its insides, I thought about the fact that I’ve been away from home for ten years. TEN years. In that time, I left a kid. A crazy, overzealous, driven, ambitious dreamer. Knowing not a single soul, I went through what I remember of college in a haze of late nights. In the end, I walked away crazier and happier that I accomplished something (sort of) on my own. During the drive up to college with my parents, the only thing I could think about was getting out of their car and making new friends. The second they left, I wished they hadn’t.

And yet – here I am – ten years later in a state that is completely backwards, but has amazing weather that allows you to forget that from time to time. While I still miss home – I am so happy with my life and the fact that my husband is pursuing his dream. Without you, Mom, I probably wouldn’t have tried a lot of things I have because I’d be afraid to fail. You have taught me so many things in life, but the one that resides so clearly – particularly in Walmart – is to never be afraid. You have to at least try. I’m still figuring out exactly why, but I think it has something to do with the fact that as we get older, it’s not the judgment of others we feel we have to answer to – it’s our own. I know me and surely, I do not want to have to answer to that crazy woman. Mom, from one crazy lady to another, I love you.

Fertilize This.

On my morning commute this morning with coffee in hand, I was ready to wake up with my favorite morning radio talk show. I was thoroughly disappointed with the sudden shake and toss out of bed it gave me. Over the radio waves, a lame, loud woman complained about her life and how “the grass is always greener on the other side” adding a super-charged jolt to my a.m. java.

One after another, anonymous callers dialed into the station confessing their personal insecurities, envy of their friends and disappointment in their spouses, children and lives. I know I was alone in my car, but in that moment – I felt embarrassed for those callers. And seriously sad. After toggling through the radio stations, I decided it was too early for honky tonk and whiskey or talk of “shakin’ me all night long” and so, I shut it off.

As I continued on, I thought about the phrase the woman stated so confidently:  The grass is always greener on the other side. And as I often do, I analyzed what the heck that phrase actually means and who thought of it. I mean, why is the grass greener on the other side? Am I not watering properly? Using the right fertilizer? Having my neighbor’s dog secretly mess all over my lawn?

Who are these magical, mystery gardeners on the other side? I want to meet them. I feel bad for my neighbors. When they look at our yard, they get totally jipped out of that aha moment.

It made me think of everything in my life and what it would be like if it was completely opposite and “better” or, at least what I’m told would be better. So…that means I’d have to change the following:

  1. Be Single – No thank you. I have married the male version of myself. Why would I be single again when I can get in double the amount of trouble I did pre-him? I would, however, like to give a shout out to the top crazies I’ve dated including: the man who showed up with a thousand flowers one birthday after we’d been broken up. His mother then proceeded to call me and tell me that I’d ruined her son’s life and he was going to pass up college for me. Awesome. Just what I always wanted. I wonder if he’s living in your basement now. Also, a quick “what’s up” to the guy I dated who would show up “randomly” at every place I was at and conjure up different ways to explain how it was fate. I now hate the movie when Harry Met Sally. I’ll never forgive you for taking that from me.
  2. Be Rich – Why would I give up “ballin’ on a budget” as my husband and I say? The less you have, the less you have to worry about. I mean, bills are bills and need paid. I’m not saying that I don’t worry about money. I do sometimes, but I don’t want material things to change the way I look at the world. Things that are free I love are: the beach, fresh air, running, my animals, family, friends and the smell of saltwater. It’s not how much you have – it’s what you have and how much you can give back.  Also, coupon clipping can be fun. I don’t care how much money I ever make. The day I stop getting excited when I find a deal on food or clothes is the day I will no longer have a change jar that I excited to cash in for “real money” or scream when the grocery has buy one, get one! I don’t ever want to know that person.
  3.  Be Like Someone Else – This is something I think everyone thinks about. Maybe not being an identical twin to someone else, but stealing a few attributes – hair, body type, personality, spouse, friends. The thing is, you have to know you’re awesome because you’re you. What makes anyone unique is simply that they are. They are different in their own viewpoints, behaviors, looks, strengths and weaknesses. It wasn’t until I was in my mid-twenties that I started concentrating on what version of me I wanted to become. When you can just accept who you are and try to improve the things that aren’t great – a serious sense of peace overtakes your life and you start to see things that you’ve been missing along the way.

If you’re thinking of what you wish you could change in your life, you’re downplaying the things you would never want to. You’re forgetting the things that you are blessed to have. You’re forgetting that the stick-figure girl with the perfect body who only eats the salad bar for lunch each day will never know the simple pleasure found in a single bit of pie (well deserved, of course). And the perfect Stepford wife/mother would kill to have the free hours you get every night. On the other hand, it’s important to always be pushing yourself. If you are unable to look at your life and realize some things within your control can use improving – then you are complacent. There’s nothing wrong with being complacent if you’re 100 percent happy with status quo. If you aren’t, please dear God – do not call my local radio station to tell the nation your indiscretions. Be organic and different. Make your lawn as green as you can with what you have.

Tips for watering found here.

Put a Lid on It!

I have a confession. I have a horrible, dirty and wasteful habit. It’s embarrassing and a problem. Mostly for others, but who wants to have that stigma following them around? I have no idea why it started, but I feel compelled to share this idiosyncrasy with the world because…well, it’s weird.

Hi. My name is ____ and I am an habitual do-not-put-lids-on-anything-er.

This problem started about a year ago. I denied it, in the beginning, in instances that I brushed off as being results of rushing off to work, being covered up to my elbows in salmonella or having too much to drink the night before.

The thing is, it’s now affecting other genres of my life. Just the toothpaste? Nope. I’ve investigated elsewhere and found lids missing from: contact cases, toothpaste, hair supplies and everything in the shower. Even the $1 travel shampoos. What the heck?

But it doesn’t stop there. I snuck a peek in my refrigerator and found that while I may also have an issue hoarding condiments, I also like to use my refrigerator door as a graveyard for broken or barely there lids.

I remember a few months ago that I dropped a bottle of mustard in our kitchen, only to have it spill its golden guts all over my floor. After cleaning it up, I took its perfectly half-mooned lid and laid it on top of its body. While I’m still making confessions – it no longer had twist-ability capabilities. I fumbled erratically through the sea of lids trying to find a matching one, but there wasn’t one. So, I left it on.

I’ve become numb to its relentless game. Every time I use it, I end up with more mustard than food. I should throw it out – but it’s a perfectly good bottle of deliciousness. So, I keep it. It’s a sick, sick cycle.

I have thought hard about this problem. Why, after about a thousand mornings waking up to a crusty toothpaste top, spilling cat food across my clean counter or having lotion spew across my new bamboo rug (with more crevices than the side of a mountain) can I not stop? I’m addicted.

For a while, I contemplated as to whether or not leaving caps off of things was a very literal interpretation of what I try to entertain in my life – being open, free-spirited, shaped like a bottle?

It’s all very confusing. I have talked to friends and family causally about my problem, but I didn’t think anyone would understand. My husband seeks refuge in our guest bathroom and no longer uses any condiments out of fear other than hot sauce, which is now hidden safely in a small corner in the top shelf.

Therefore, I felt it appropriate to seek help in an unbiased setting with other people who have this problem. After googling around (thanks for making me feel more alone Google – even with my very specific search), I found something. Someone had attempted to start a forum and entitled it: “I Will Put the Lid Back on the Ben and Jerry’s.” They must also feel ashamed by their addiction as they didn’t give their full story.

So, in the hopes of breaking the ice and finding a solution, I decided to kick-start the forum with the following letter:

Dear Ice Cream Lover:

I, too, enjoy ice cream. However, that’s not what I am writing you about. We, obviously, both share an embarrassing problem that hurts ourselves, others and our favorite sweets and bottled-goods alike. I don’t know about you, but I would really like to put an end to this. The gateway to my problem was toothpaste. Can you believe it? How can something like a shining knight that fights cavities and has a delightful aftertaste be so evil? My problem started there and moved its way into my shower and then into my kitchen. Nearly each week, we lose another condiment friend that just never had a chance without a lid. I seriously doubt this problem will change overnight. Maybe if we sponsor each other, we can support each other through this trying time. If you can complete 30 days of putting lids on your B&J, I will send you some broken caps off of my bottles as a memento of where you were and how far you’ve come. And you could send me some ice cream (please use dry ice as I live in a hot climate). This is the start of a beautiful relationship and I feel really good about it.

Thanks,

Lidless

I’ll keep you updated on what I hear back.

No Frame of Reference.

I felt like a mad woman on Sunday. Flipping over chairs, digging through dirty heaps of clothes, exhaustively foraging through our garage like I was the star of Gold Rush. Alas, my search was unsuccessful. On the bright side, I got my workout in for the day.

Later that night, to my dismay, I discovered the individual behind this pandemonium.

“Hunnie, where did those solar lamps go that were in the garage?” I said to my husband as we strolled together during our nightly walk.

“Oh, I threw those away. They sucked and didn’t work anyways.”

I stopped dead in my tracks. I blinked a few times staring at his blank face that read: Why are you freaking out? NOT a big deal, babe.

Yeah, well  Helena Bonham Carter made the worst dress decision of her life at this year’s Golden Globes and I bet he would tell me that wasn’t something to freak out about either. And not in a good way.

In that instant, a part of me reverted back to fifth grade when my best friend and I sat next to each other in English class. Whenever it was someone’s birthday, this particular teacher would pass out oatmeal creme pie cookies. Looking back, this probably wasn’t the proudest moment of my childhood, but we would snag an extra one while our “desk buddies” were out of class for tutoring. I can remember our other classmates pleading for us to share.

“No! This is MINE!” We would forcefully whisper.

After my momentary flashback, I came back to the present. “Why would you throw those away? I bought those with my own money?”  I asked. And it’s true. When we said “I do,” we also vowed that money, or the lack thereof at this point, would never be an issue in our household. We would each have our own stash and both contribute to a shared fund.

I know that once you get married, you share everything.  But at that moment, I felt possessiveness over what I felt was MY property. Not ours.

And I know it sounds silly, childish even - but I’d like someone to tell me there isn’t a gray area when it comes to long-term relationships or marriages. There’s a sudden shift somewhere between feeling so comfortable in your relationship – and in the understanding the two of you have – that you find it inconvenient to ask for permission to throw out old fraternity sweatshirts and your disgusting towels that hardly pass for dog rags, let alone suitable enough  to display. I’ve accepted that you and the mini-beer fridge have an undeniable bond and let you keep it.

At the end of our walk, I turned to my husband and told him that it wasn’t a big deal. Really. In the scheme of things, it’s not. Still, I wanted to illustrate that we will continue to have different things throughout our marriage that one of us will consider trash and the other a keepsake.

My husband and I later laughed together at the mental picture of this, but I told him that what he did was sort of like me busting into his man cave and picking up one of his pricey medical books or collector baseball cards and exclaiming, “These are USELESS!” with no consultation and immediately throwing them away.

As long as neither of us becomes serious hoarders, we should quiet any whisper of a battle and keep the lamps. Statistics show that couples that fight over money at least once a week are 30 percent more likely to get divorced than those who don’t. After searching around, I found a cute article here that illustrates how to clean up, without clearing out, peacefully.

I’m curious to hear from you. In your past or current relationship, what thing did your spouse claim was no longer needed and haphazardly disregarded with no frame of reference?

I Had a Great Post.

I had a great post up as of last night, but felt it might get me into trouble so its been made private. If you want to check it out – I can email it to you!

I hate getting older and following rules…

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