I think I speak for both of us when I say we had a good Christmas. I boggled Corey's mind with the gifts I presented to him in his stocking, for the second year in a row. I spend all year building a list of what to give Corey for Christmas, and since we have kids and spend bazillions on them, we only do stockings for each other. Corey got a stamp with his initial and name so that he can stamp ownership on all his paper products, some beard trimmers, a Captain America Mighty Mugg for his desk, a remote control for his Xbox, a Red Sox hat he's been wanting and a remote control helicopter. I got a blue and white china bowl (the stocking sat in it), some pajama pants, a candle, the first season of Army Wives on DVD, a pink external hard drive and some Philosphy shampoos. We got some good loot from the family too, including Will and Grace The Complete Series for me and Guitar Hero World Tour for Corey.
Next year, I am creating Wilson Christmas Bingo. Every year, we do the same things, say the same things, make the same jokes, my dad tells the same 17 stories......You can go here http://print-bingo.com and make your own bingo cards, and then it will shuffle them and generate different cards for each player.
One year, my grandfather Dixie bought my grandmother Nelle some pearls, which were not protectively removed from their box post-opening. When all the garbage was cleared from the living room, the pearls were thrown out with the tissue and wrapping. Their absence wasn't discovered until after the garbage had been taken for burning. So, every year of my life, my dad says "don't burn the pearls" when we're cleaning the living room after gift opening, so we'll all be careful not to throw a present away. So, Dad saying "don't burn the pearls" will be a bingo square. You get the idea.
Friday, December 26, 2008
What the fa-la-la are we doing?
So, every year since 1994, my dad has dressed us up, taken pictures of us in front of the mantle, marched us to Christmas Eve mass at St. Francis Xavier in Alexandria and then fed us dinner. For the last 12 years, dinner has been at Outback. For the last 13 years, Dad's bestie Mr. Bill joins us for our Christmas Eve festivities.
This year broke tradition a little bit because we went to a different church and my shiny new husband and my feels-so-strange-to-me new name were introduced this year. But, here are the Christmas Eve photos, following the formula for the 14th consecutive year.
This year broke tradition a little bit because we went to a different church and my shiny new husband and my feels-so-strange-to-me new name were introduced this year. But, here are the Christmas Eve photos, following the formula for the 14th consecutive year.
This one was taken at the church right before mass. We forgot to do it at home.
We matched--navy suit with a red tie and me in a red dress.
Cydney continues to be traumatized by her sister getting married. During the part of church where we offer each other peace, I turned to give Corey a kiss and Dad turned to give Mom a kiss, and Cydney declared herself the fifth wheel in her own family.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
I'm having one of those days where I am a danger to myself an others. First, I poked Corey deep in the eye when I was trying to kiss his cheek. Then, I accidently used my fingers to fling rice all over myself at Mis Padres. And oh-what-a-near-fucking-disaster was averted when my sharp-as-nails husband caught the paper on the table before I slid it to the floor with drinks and chips and enchiladas and bean dip as I was emerging from the booth.
Either I wasn't this safety-challenged before the age of 26, or Corey is the challenge of my safety, or I just didn't notice until him.
And NOBODY should bring up the human bobsled or the time I split my pants at the White House, both pre-Corey.
Either I wasn't this safety-challenged before the age of 26, or Corey is the challenge of my safety, or I just didn't notice until him.
And NOBODY should bring up the human bobsled or the time I split my pants at the White House, both pre-Corey.
The motion of the ocean
When I declared to Corey my intention to book us a cruise for our honeymoon, Corey said "Okay, but we have to have a window. I'll get sea sick if I can't see the horizon." So I booked us a room with a view on the upper deck, which is not as upper as the name indicates. Having spent a night aboard a yacht docked in a harbor and enjoyed excellent sleep as the boat rocked me into deep slumber, I considered myself a seasoned vet at sleeping on boats.
Not. so.
I never hurled. But I was very shocked at how sensitive I became to the movement of the boat once we got into open water. The first night on the boat, we went adventuring around the decks, and in my heart of hearts I know that I intended to walk in the direction I was facing, which was forward. I kept going 45 degrees to the left.
Second day was better. Third day was fine. Fourth day was fine. Fourth night I was ready to get the fuck off that boat.
On the fourth night, some shit was going on with our navigation and the mood of the sea, and Corey can explain why if you want him to, but basically, the Carnival Holiday commenced beating us. Actually, just me. Remember when Corey declared his tendency to get sick if he couldn't see the horizon? Turns out he has impeccable sea legs. Ass.
After our evening entertainment, we returned to the room, and I went to flop down on our very large bed, and mid-air, the boat tipped away from me. The bed wasn't there to catch me from flinging myself much further than I intended, which turned out being against the wall on the other side of the bed. I flew into the wall on my back, head first, legs akimbo, in a skirt, with an audible thump. Corey said my eyes and mouth were in perfect O's. (His true description was that I looked like I'd just taken one in the pooper. He's so gross.) He didn't even laugh. I did, but I think it was the shock.
The fifth day and night, we leaned one fucking direction or another the whole damn time, and neither of us could fall asleep, the boat was thrashing us so. I forgot to include this lesson in a previous post.
#13 Willing yourself not to think about movies like Titanic and Poseidon only makes you think about ship-sinking movies where people perish even more.
And y'all thought this post was going to be about the private honeymoon activities of your favorite newlyweds.
Perverts.
Not. so.
I never hurled. But I was very shocked at how sensitive I became to the movement of the boat once we got into open water. The first night on the boat, we went adventuring around the decks, and in my heart of hearts I know that I intended to walk in the direction I was facing, which was forward. I kept going 45 degrees to the left.
Second day was better. Third day was fine. Fourth day was fine. Fourth night I was ready to get the fuck off that boat.
On the fourth night, some shit was going on with our navigation and the mood of the sea, and Corey can explain why if you want him to, but basically, the Carnival Holiday commenced beating us. Actually, just me. Remember when Corey declared his tendency to get sick if he couldn't see the horizon? Turns out he has impeccable sea legs. Ass.
After our evening entertainment, we returned to the room, and I went to flop down on our very large bed, and mid-air, the boat tipped away from me. The bed wasn't there to catch me from flinging myself much further than I intended, which turned out being against the wall on the other side of the bed. I flew into the wall on my back, head first, legs akimbo, in a skirt, with an audible thump. Corey said my eyes and mouth were in perfect O's. (His true description was that I looked like I'd just taken one in the pooper. He's so gross.) He didn't even laugh. I did, but I think it was the shock.
The fifth day and night, we leaned one fucking direction or another the whole damn time, and neither of us could fall asleep, the boat was thrashing us so. I forgot to include this lesson in a previous post.
#13 Willing yourself not to think about movies like Titanic and Poseidon only makes you think about ship-sinking movies where people perish even more.
And y'all thought this post was going to be about the private honeymoon activities of your favorite newlyweds.
Perverts.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Pictures that don't include people we made fun of
"Formal night"
If I was Angelina Jolie, I would hire someone to come and turn my bed down at night and leave me a schedule of the next day's activities, an animal made of a towel and some mints.
Give my shiny new husband a nacho and a cerveza, and he finds his Christmas spirit.
This is Sonny, our dining room waiter, who clearly gets a lot of ass with his fellow crew members.
This is how I feel about Cozumel and shopping, though the food at Senor Frog's was no joke.
This is Corey on Day One of fruity drinks and deck-sitting.
I don't know what you do in Costaguademexarico
We're back, and we promise several posts devoted to our honeymoon aboard the Carnival Holiday, even pictures. In this late hour, I offer you the lessons learned.
#1 Nell and Corey are not what you might call participators. We don't really get down with planned social activities, at the conclusion of which a new country line dance has been added to our repertoire or we have been awarded a medal for winning the Talent Show or the Hairy Chest Contest. We prefer to observe, with crude and offensive commentary.
#2 Old people, and not people who are sensitive about whether they might be old because AARP started sending them stuff, but Really Old People LOVE cruising. Toothless, hairless, armless, legless, deaf, blind, skin that looks like 600-thread-count sheets left in the dryer for four days, oxygen tank in their purse-having individuals who are just too damn old to WALK will still shuffle on a cruise ship and don big flowered bathing suits to sit in their wheelchairs by the pool and drink fruity drinks and smoke big long cigarettes.
#3 There is no age at which plopping down at your dinner table and announcing several times to all within earshot that you are, in fact, knee-walking drunk is acceptable. None. Especially if your occupation as a nurse is mentioned in the same sentence.
#4 Reminders or introductions of what is and is not appropriate conversation at the dinner table should be provided before embarking. This list should include, but should not be limited to: gynecology, meat processing, psycho ex-boyfriends, fondling, one's level of intoxication and the outfits of one's table mates.
#5 No matter how bad you may think you look in your pool outfit, a quick survey will identify 10 people who look worse than you do. A photo-essay devoted to this topic will follow.
#6 Gourmet can be very broadly defined.
#7 When your friends tell you it's The World's Best Idea for you to take the stage and do Patsy Cline proud karaoke-style, it's probably bullshit, and more for their amusement than your talent.
#8 Stormy seas will fuck up your roulette game.
#9 You can totally tell how long someone's been a smoker by counting the vertical lines around their lips. You can also tell what brand someone smokes by the hue of the stain in their mustache.
#10 Mexico sucks. And the diamonds aren't priced as great as they would let you believe.
#11 Having a husband is damn divine when the need arises to tell salespeople/waitstaff/photographers to step the fuck back, Bob Jr.
#12 Ten dollars here and ten dollars there and pretty soon we're talking about serious money.
In spite of, or truthfully thanks to, this list of painful lessons we learned, we had a total blast. Our schedule for five days went something like this: sleep until the steward brings the tray of continental breakfast, eat all of it, get dressed for the pool, schlep to the pool and sit in the sun under the guard of SPF 15, endure the lunch buffet, go back in the sun (Corey only made it through this part with three fruity beverages a day), return to the cabin no later than 3 PM for some napping, wake up at get ready for dinner, wander around the main decks spending frivolously and laughing at people, eat glorified airplane food at the 8:15 dinner seating in the main dining room, wander through the karaoke bar and the lounge where the show is, retire to the cabin for 10 hours of The World's Best Sleep in a dark, rocking cave. Wake up. Repeat. Except for the one day we shopped and ate in Cozumel in lieu of pool-sitting.
We are so lucky that we have found in each other someone to spend the rest of our lives laughing at other people with. We'll make fun of you for damn near anything, unless you are Glenn Davis. (If you are Glenn Davis and you communicate with pointing, signing, acting it out, using the sentences you carry around in your wallet with you so that we know your name and dancing with wild abandon during painful karaoke perfomances, we will make sure your cup is full of Coke and we will take pictures of you hugging and dancing with all the pretty ladies so you can remember your fourth cruise.)
So yeah, we weren't impressed with cruising, but we are fully aware and appreciative of how much fun we have with each other, and how endlessly we can be amused by absolutely nothing. And, blah, blah, we know we're going to hell for making fun of drunks, smokers, the morbidly obese and the near-dead, but that's okay, because we know most of you are going to keep us company down there.
#1 Nell and Corey are not what you might call participators. We don't really get down with planned social activities, at the conclusion of which a new country line dance has been added to our repertoire or we have been awarded a medal for winning the Talent Show or the Hairy Chest Contest. We prefer to observe, with crude and offensive commentary.
#2 Old people, and not people who are sensitive about whether they might be old because AARP started sending them stuff, but Really Old People LOVE cruising. Toothless, hairless, armless, legless, deaf, blind, skin that looks like 600-thread-count sheets left in the dryer for four days, oxygen tank in their purse-having individuals who are just too damn old to WALK will still shuffle on a cruise ship and don big flowered bathing suits to sit in their wheelchairs by the pool and drink fruity drinks and smoke big long cigarettes.
#3 There is no age at which plopping down at your dinner table and announcing several times to all within earshot that you are, in fact, knee-walking drunk is acceptable. None. Especially if your occupation as a nurse is mentioned in the same sentence.
#4 Reminders or introductions of what is and is not appropriate conversation at the dinner table should be provided before embarking. This list should include, but should not be limited to: gynecology, meat processing, psycho ex-boyfriends, fondling, one's level of intoxication and the outfits of one's table mates.
#5 No matter how bad you may think you look in your pool outfit, a quick survey will identify 10 people who look worse than you do. A photo-essay devoted to this topic will follow.
#6 Gourmet can be very broadly defined.
#7 When your friends tell you it's The World's Best Idea for you to take the stage and do Patsy Cline proud karaoke-style, it's probably bullshit, and more for their amusement than your talent.
#8 Stormy seas will fuck up your roulette game.
#9 You can totally tell how long someone's been a smoker by counting the vertical lines around their lips. You can also tell what brand someone smokes by the hue of the stain in their mustache.
#10 Mexico sucks. And the diamonds aren't priced as great as they would let you believe.
#11 Having a husband is damn divine when the need arises to tell salespeople/waitstaff/photographers to step the fuck back, Bob Jr.
#12 Ten dollars here and ten dollars there and pretty soon we're talking about serious money.
In spite of, or truthfully thanks to, this list of painful lessons we learned, we had a total blast. Our schedule for five days went something like this: sleep until the steward brings the tray of continental breakfast, eat all of it, get dressed for the pool, schlep to the pool and sit in the sun under the guard of SPF 15, endure the lunch buffet, go back in the sun (Corey only made it through this part with three fruity beverages a day), return to the cabin no later than 3 PM for some napping, wake up at get ready for dinner, wander around the main decks spending frivolously and laughing at people, eat glorified airplane food at the 8:15 dinner seating in the main dining room, wander through the karaoke bar and the lounge where the show is, retire to the cabin for 10 hours of The World's Best Sleep in a dark, rocking cave. Wake up. Repeat. Except for the one day we shopped and ate in Cozumel in lieu of pool-sitting.
We are so lucky that we have found in each other someone to spend the rest of our lives laughing at other people with. We'll make fun of you for damn near anything, unless you are Glenn Davis. (If you are Glenn Davis and you communicate with pointing, signing, acting it out, using the sentences you carry around in your wallet with you so that we know your name and dancing with wild abandon during painful karaoke perfomances, we will make sure your cup is full of Coke and we will take pictures of you hugging and dancing with all the pretty ladies so you can remember your fourth cruise.)
So yeah, we weren't impressed with cruising, but we are fully aware and appreciative of how much fun we have with each other, and how endlessly we can be amused by absolutely nothing. And, blah, blah, we know we're going to hell for making fun of drunks, smokers, the morbidly obese and the near-dead, but that's okay, because we know most of you are going to keep us company down there.
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Who knew Meatloaf was such a motivator?
Remember in the movie Sixteen Candles, when Molly Ringwald’s character said about waking up on her 16th birthday “I just thought turning 16 would be so major that I would wake up with an improved mental state that would show in my face”?
Yeah, I got married 12 days ago and I don’t feel any different as a married person than I did as a co-habitator. I’m still in love with Corey and I cannot imagine launching into a lifetime partnership with anyone else. What is going from being a girlfriend to a wife supposed to feel like? I’m so pissed if I’m missing part of the experience.
So I cut off all my hair. Really, I vowed this summer that after 15 months of growing it out, I would cut it after the wedding. I dreaded dealing with all that hair in the wind of a cruise ship for six days. And I wanted a new look to go with my new position in life—wife/stepmother clearly equals excellent shoulder-length ‘do, no?
So today I greeted all of my coworkers with the same two questions—do you notice anything different about me? Everybody notices when you’re missing ten inches of hair. The other very noticeable thing about me took a minute…
Here’s the thing. We have the boys this week. And as is scheduled every other week when we have the boys, I take them to school in the morning so that Corey can get to work early enough to leave early in the afternoon to pick them up. Because we are a team like that. But DAMN. We leave by 7 AM. To drive to school. In Gonzales. The other weeks of the month, I am not even stirring at 7 AM. So this is serious devotion to duty, is all I’m saying.
Anyway, this week I have completed a research paper and prepared for and taken two final exams. And worked full days. And done my mommy thing, which includes getting up at 6 AM after staying up studying or writing until 1. (By the way, I tell Corey constantly when we’re both feeling overwhelmed with life, that there are people who are parents ALL the time, so we can certainly be a success at this half that much.) I’m fucking pooped, is all I’m saying.
This morning I got up early, dressed us all, got us all out of the house, spent three hours in an economics final, grabbed some lunch and went to work. In a meeting at 3 PM, my friend Ashley whispered at me from across the room, “what’s up with your shoe?” I spin from the desk to process this inquiry with a visual inspection of my feet, since I am certain I can feel shoes on both feet.
I am not proud to say that with no sleep, deadlines, the pressure of finals while being a full-time employee on one of the two weeks a month I am a full-time mom, the only response I can deliver upon finding two different shoes on my feet is “OH HOLY SHIT.”
Y’all, it was 3 PM. I had gone 9 hours and encountered countless individuals with one black suede flat and one black/white/yellow plaid flat with a bow. I was too tired to be embarrassed. I knew where the matches were and my hair and my clothes were clean.
I have it on good authority that two out of three ain’t bad.
Yeah, I got married 12 days ago and I don’t feel any different as a married person than I did as a co-habitator. I’m still in love with Corey and I cannot imagine launching into a lifetime partnership with anyone else. What is going from being a girlfriend to a wife supposed to feel like? I’m so pissed if I’m missing part of the experience.
So I cut off all my hair. Really, I vowed this summer that after 15 months of growing it out, I would cut it after the wedding. I dreaded dealing with all that hair in the wind of a cruise ship for six days. And I wanted a new look to go with my new position in life—wife/stepmother clearly equals excellent shoulder-length ‘do, no?
So today I greeted all of my coworkers with the same two questions—do you notice anything different about me? Everybody notices when you’re missing ten inches of hair. The other very noticeable thing about me took a minute…
Here’s the thing. We have the boys this week. And as is scheduled every other week when we have the boys, I take them to school in the morning so that Corey can get to work early enough to leave early in the afternoon to pick them up. Because we are a team like that. But DAMN. We leave by 7 AM. To drive to school. In Gonzales. The other weeks of the month, I am not even stirring at 7 AM. So this is serious devotion to duty, is all I’m saying.
Anyway, this week I have completed a research paper and prepared for and taken two final exams. And worked full days. And done my mommy thing, which includes getting up at 6 AM after staying up studying or writing until 1. (By the way, I tell Corey constantly when we’re both feeling overwhelmed with life, that there are people who are parents ALL the time, so we can certainly be a success at this half that much.) I’m fucking pooped, is all I’m saying.
This morning I got up early, dressed us all, got us all out of the house, spent three hours in an economics final, grabbed some lunch and went to work. In a meeting at 3 PM, my friend Ashley whispered at me from across the room, “what’s up with your shoe?” I spin from the desk to process this inquiry with a visual inspection of my feet, since I am certain I can feel shoes on both feet.
I am not proud to say that with no sleep, deadlines, the pressure of finals while being a full-time employee on one of the two weeks a month I am a full-time mom, the only response I can deliver upon finding two different shoes on my feet is “OH HOLY SHIT.”
Y’all, it was 3 PM. I had gone 9 hours and encountered countless individuals with one black suede flat and one black/white/yellow plaid flat with a bow. I was too tired to be embarrassed. I knew where the matches were and my hair and my clothes were clean.
I have it on good authority that two out of three ain’t bad.
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