Introducing...
You know I just love all of you; really I do. And I really value your opinions and comments and I took it to heart when you told me I should leave my blog name alone.
But then the other night Hot Jeff and I were talking DWTS and how nasty The Hoff is and it hit me, I'm The Hen. So Hot Jeff and I started referring to me as The Hen and we got a lot of chuckles out of it. Then...one night I was laying in bed not sleeping and thinking about how I never blog anymore and how I'm a failure as a house wife and how I love Bristol Palin and how I want to go on a survival camping trip and it dawned on me: "The Mother Hen".
How much do you love it? I love it. Bestie Maryanne loves it and I'm hoping my one reader, Emily H loves it. And if anyone else still reads this blog I'm hoping they love it too because regardless I am changing the name.
Welcome to The Mother Hen. Now one more thing on this subject, if you've got a derivative of 'The Mother Hen' like 'Hen Mother' or anything with Hen in it that is clever and playful then leave a comment because I may like that better than "The Mother Hen".
On an unrelated note, Hot Jeff is turning 41 next week. No big deal; he's taking it in stride and actually looking forward to putting 40 behind him because its been the worst year of his life when it comes to physical ailments. Rashes, pneumonia, pulled muscles, back pain, TMJ...the list goes on and on. Poor guy.
Well the other day I was driving home from taking Samuel to school and an old memory came to mind. When I was in high school my best friend Traci and I had a little game we'd play of pointing out old guys that were hot. Tim Allen, George Clooney, George Strait, Tom Hanks, Mr. Butler. You get the idea.
As I was getting ready to text Traci when I realized those guys were the age Jeff is now (maybe even younger). OMG ladies, I am married to an old guy who is hot.
I can hardly believe it myself. I mean I get the hot part because that man is smokin' but seriously, 41? That's kinda old. Like when we watch The Real World, its hittin' me that those slutty girls are young enough to be his daughter (but they wouldn't be because so help me if Emily or Samuel EVER even THINK about going on a MTV or VH1 reality TV show I will give them the smackdown!)
Isn't getting older just the weirdest? I mean I feel totally young. Besides a little junk in my trunk I feel like a cool college kid, or at least that I could hang with cool college kids. For example, Hot Jeff and I are watching baseball and they just showed Nolan Ryan in the stands. THAT GUY LOOKS OLD. I mean remember when he was all young and suave and throwin' heat for Texas? Now he's a poster child for Ben Gay. And have you seen Robert Redford lately? Now THAT was a hot old guy and he's 74 years old. He is like attending the funerals of other old hot guys (Paul Newman).
I've heard when it comes to parenting that the days are long but the years are short. Yep. And I'm going to add that when it comes to life the days are long and the years are short.
My advice: live life to the fullest. Go french kiss your hot old guy and buy an impractical pair of shoes.
Cluck, Cluck.
Showing posts with label I Heart Hot Jeff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I Heart Hot Jeff. Show all posts
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
I can't think of a thing to write about. Not one single thing.
We are home from Montana and I feel all lazy and sloth-like. The kids are in bed and I just want to curl up next to Hot Jeff and read a book and enjoy the feeling of my own bed, my soft sheets and my fat cat lying next to me. Oh, the sweet pleasures of being home.
The kids were amazing on the ride home. It took us just under 16 hours to get home which is so much better than the 18 it took to get out there. We stopped so many times on the way there because of my dysfuntional kidneys and stented bladder. My husband is a saint and didn't make me pee in the container I had brought along even once. He never rolled his eyes when I said I needed to stop and he even encouraged me to drink lots of water as it would aide in my recovery. I adore that man and his endless patience and kindness.
Today was a great day of unwinding, getting the house back in order and catching up on emails and grocery shopping. Now that I'm home I'm hoping my brain will move from not blogging to blogging and once again I will lie awake writing posts in my head and arguing with myself about what to write about next.
I may have to use a prompt tomorrow...I'm just warning you. I saved all the ones from last time I was in a funk so I'm armed!
We are home from Montana and I feel all lazy and sloth-like. The kids are in bed and I just want to curl up next to Hot Jeff and read a book and enjoy the feeling of my own bed, my soft sheets and my fat cat lying next to me. Oh, the sweet pleasures of being home.
The kids were amazing on the ride home. It took us just under 16 hours to get home which is so much better than the 18 it took to get out there. We stopped so many times on the way there because of my dysfuntional kidneys and stented bladder. My husband is a saint and didn't make me pee in the container I had brought along even once. He never rolled his eyes when I said I needed to stop and he even encouraged me to drink lots of water as it would aide in my recovery. I adore that man and his endless patience and kindness.
Today was a great day of unwinding, getting the house back in order and catching up on emails and grocery shopping. Now that I'm home I'm hoping my brain will move from not blogging to blogging and once again I will lie awake writing posts in my head and arguing with myself about what to write about next.
I may have to use a prompt tomorrow...I'm just warning you. I saved all the ones from last time I was in a funk so I'm armed!
Friday, May 21, 2010
FAQ Friday ~ The Story of Us
How did you and Hot Jeff meet?
When this question came up I knew it would be the perfect kick off to FAQ Friday. I'm convinced the only thing women like talking about more than how they met their husband is their childrens' birth stories. Ooh, good idea for another Friday.
Travel back with me to May 1997. OJ Simpson had been found guilty in a civil trial and Princess Diana only had a few short months to live. Turn the radio on and you'd hear Mariah Carey, Hanson and Garth Brooks and Ally McBeal was just starting to heat up TV screens everywhere.
I was 20 years old and wondering what to do with my summer besides take summer courses. My dear friend Jami was getting married to her high school sweetheart, Mark, and then going to work at a remote fishing camp in Alaska. I can't remember if I was immediately turned on to the idea or not but regardless, before it was time to head out I had phone interviewed for a job and would be flying out in a few short weeks.
Mark was a summer fishing guide and worked for this camp the year prior. He was going to take his new bride Jami up with him for a summer adventure and she was going to be working in the kitchen with the camp manager's wife, Miranda. Miranda hired me to work in the kitchen with them despite my cooking knowledge being less than desirable.
(A side note on this kitchen: because the island we were on was so remote all of our stoves and ovens were run by a gigantic propane tank. Our electricity was from a generator and all of our food was flown in on a bypass order every 2 weeks. We made almost everything from scratch--it was amazing and gave me a wonderful foundation of cooking and baking knowledge. Miranda was a wonderful, patient teacher and mine and Jami's friendship blossomed and grew during our 3 months on the Togiak River.)
Mark, Jami, Mark's brother, Paul, and I flew to Anchorage where we would meet up with the rest of the small staff flying in from California, Arizona, Oregon and Idaho. It was in Anchorage that Mark introduced me to Jeff. Jeff was special to Mark as they had been roommates the summer prior; they both were returning to the Togiak for their second season.
To this day I can tell you what Jeff was wearing. Faded blue jeans with well-worn brown Danner boots. He had a bright blue Patagonia fleece over his Simms collared shirt and a baseball cap. His short blond hair barely peeked out from underneath the hat and his face was a golden brown from the Oregon sun. He was 27 and living his dream of fishing in Alaska; the last thing on his mind was romance.
The first two weeks of camp life was without any guests. We literally spent 12 hours a day preparing camp; endless cleaning, hauling out debris the river had washed in, baking and freezing. They were exhausting days and I remember going to my cabin the first night by lantern light and wondering if I had made a dreadful mistake. Loneliness flooded my heart and mind and I missed my Mom and heat.
During those first two weeks, to cut down on washing dishes (because our time needed to be spent elsewhere) Jami and I labeled everyone's cups so we could re-use them at meals. Cleverly, Jami would always set my cup next to Jeff's at breakfast, lunch and dinner. I don't recall telling her that I was attracted to his adorable face and his gentle and kind nature but nevertheless she sat us next to each other for every meal for 14 days.
On the second to last day before guests arrived the camp manager asked Jeff to take me out and show me the river. I hadn't been off the island since my arrival and to see the river that all the guides were talking about would be a huge thrill.
We set off early after breakfast and had a wonderful day. For the first time since meeting one another Jeff turned the flirting on. He was shy, soft-spoken, charming and so dreamy. We flirted and fished all day (I actually have a picture of us taken that day--I'll drum it up and try to post it this weekend) and went back to camp tired and totally crushing on each other.
The next day brought a ton of work as it was the last day before guests arrived. There was hardly any time to breathe let alone turn the charm on. As the day wore on and I didn't see much of him I wondered if I had imagined all the flirting the day before. That night after dinner was cleaned up Jeff asked if I wanted to play the board game Sorry. We took it back to my cabin and played for hours. While playing we talked about our families, our upbringings, school, etc. We laughed and joked and lost complete track of time. When one of us finally did look at a watch we realized it was almost dawn; we would need to say goodnight to get a couple hours of sleep before I needed to be in the kitchen for breakfast prep.
I walked Jeff to the door of my 10x10 cabin and said goodnight. He stepped down on to one of the rickety wooden steps and said, "Can I kiss you, freaky girl?" I stood silenced and stunned. "Did you just call me 'freaky girl'?" I finally questioned. He started laughing and looked down at his boots shaking his head, "I said, 'pretty girl'".
Oh, well then if that's what you said...
He's been kissing me ever since.
Turns out I was a little freaky. But he still thinks I'm pretty.
How did you and Hot Jeff meet?
When this question came up I knew it would be the perfect kick off to FAQ Friday. I'm convinced the only thing women like talking about more than how they met their husband is their childrens' birth stories. Ooh, good idea for another Friday.
Travel back with me to May 1997. OJ Simpson had been found guilty in a civil trial and Princess Diana only had a few short months to live. Turn the radio on and you'd hear Mariah Carey, Hanson and Garth Brooks and Ally McBeal was just starting to heat up TV screens everywhere.
I was 20 years old and wondering what to do with my summer besides take summer courses. My dear friend Jami was getting married to her high school sweetheart, Mark, and then going to work at a remote fishing camp in Alaska. I can't remember if I was immediately turned on to the idea or not but regardless, before it was time to head out I had phone interviewed for a job and would be flying out in a few short weeks.
Mark was a summer fishing guide and worked for this camp the year prior. He was going to take his new bride Jami up with him for a summer adventure and she was going to be working in the kitchen with the camp manager's wife, Miranda. Miranda hired me to work in the kitchen with them despite my cooking knowledge being less than desirable.
(A side note on this kitchen: because the island we were on was so remote all of our stoves and ovens were run by a gigantic propane tank. Our electricity was from a generator and all of our food was flown in on a bypass order every 2 weeks. We made almost everything from scratch--it was amazing and gave me a wonderful foundation of cooking and baking knowledge. Miranda was a wonderful, patient teacher and mine and Jami's friendship blossomed and grew during our 3 months on the Togiak River.)
Mark, Jami, Mark's brother, Paul, and I flew to Anchorage where we would meet up with the rest of the small staff flying in from California, Arizona, Oregon and Idaho. It was in Anchorage that Mark introduced me to Jeff. Jeff was special to Mark as they had been roommates the summer prior; they both were returning to the Togiak for their second season.
To this day I can tell you what Jeff was wearing. Faded blue jeans with well-worn brown Danner boots. He had a bright blue Patagonia fleece over his Simms collared shirt and a baseball cap. His short blond hair barely peeked out from underneath the hat and his face was a golden brown from the Oregon sun. He was 27 and living his dream of fishing in Alaska; the last thing on his mind was romance.
The first two weeks of camp life was without any guests. We literally spent 12 hours a day preparing camp; endless cleaning, hauling out debris the river had washed in, baking and freezing. They were exhausting days and I remember going to my cabin the first night by lantern light and wondering if I had made a dreadful mistake. Loneliness flooded my heart and mind and I missed my Mom and heat.
During those first two weeks, to cut down on washing dishes (because our time needed to be spent elsewhere) Jami and I labeled everyone's cups so we could re-use them at meals. Cleverly, Jami would always set my cup next to Jeff's at breakfast, lunch and dinner. I don't recall telling her that I was attracted to his adorable face and his gentle and kind nature but nevertheless she sat us next to each other for every meal for 14 days.
On the second to last day before guests arrived the camp manager asked Jeff to take me out and show me the river. I hadn't been off the island since my arrival and to see the river that all the guides were talking about would be a huge thrill.
We set off early after breakfast and had a wonderful day. For the first time since meeting one another Jeff turned the flirting on. He was shy, soft-spoken, charming and so dreamy. We flirted and fished all day (I actually have a picture of us taken that day--I'll drum it up and try to post it this weekend) and went back to camp tired and totally crushing on each other.
The next day brought a ton of work as it was the last day before guests arrived. There was hardly any time to breathe let alone turn the charm on. As the day wore on and I didn't see much of him I wondered if I had imagined all the flirting the day before. That night after dinner was cleaned up Jeff asked if I wanted to play the board game Sorry. We took it back to my cabin and played for hours. While playing we talked about our families, our upbringings, school, etc. We laughed and joked and lost complete track of time. When one of us finally did look at a watch we realized it was almost dawn; we would need to say goodnight to get a couple hours of sleep before I needed to be in the kitchen for breakfast prep.
I walked Jeff to the door of my 10x10 cabin and said goodnight. He stepped down on to one of the rickety wooden steps and said, "Can I kiss you, freaky girl?" I stood silenced and stunned. "Did you just call me 'freaky girl'?" I finally questioned. He started laughing and looked down at his boots shaking his head, "I said, 'pretty girl'".
Oh, well then if that's what you said...
He's been kissing me ever since.
Turns out I was a little freaky. But he still thinks I'm pretty.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
You Had Me at Shelves From Scrapwood
Part Two
Ok, so if you read this blog you probably know that Hot Jeff and I are very different people. We are wired really, really differently. And I'm not talking a male-female-he's-from-Mars-I'm-from-Venus different I'm talking like crazy opposites-attract-but-shouldn't-breed different. Hot Jeff is like a warm and gentle Spring rain; I am a torrential downpour. When Hot Jeff tells a joke its quiet and hilarious and if you missed it that is just too bad because he's not going to repeat it; when I tell a joke it is never without an audience and microphone and most likely someone else's material.
Our differences carry in to our parenting. When the kids started to walk Hot Jeff considered putting them in helmets. My approach was a little different and I'm certain they both have heard me say, on numerous occasions, "If you fall off the table and break both of your legs don't come running to me".
Jeff is meticulous and thorough and I'm messy and haphazard. Remember the story about the water getting shut off because I forgot to pay the bill and lost the warning notice? Yeah, that kind of stuff doesn't happen to Hot Jeff. Hot Jeff doesn't lose anything, well unless I throw it away.
So it shouldn't surprise you that when it came to making my garden bed our differences shined through. It started simply with Jeff asking me how big I wanted it. I looked at him cluelessly and said, "I dunno". We got online and found some raised bed ideas and went from there.
Off to Lowes we went. I was super excited to get the dirt so we headed to that end of the store first. I had grabbed a little shopping cart to put my bags in and didn't pay much attention to Jeff's snicker as I headed to the aisle filled with every brand of soil, manure and peat moss you could imagine. I quickly realized why Jeff had giggled when I grabbed my little cart because it would NEVER hold all the dirt I needed. Jeff asked how many bags I would need and I told him 6 bags of soil, 3 bags of steer manure and 3 bags of peat moss.
"How do you know that?" Jeff asked. I looked at him incredulously, "Um because I just do", I replied. Jeff leaned over my growing pile of manure bags and said, "You're only supposed to use 1 bag of these per 100 square feet. Since you have less than 20 square feet you should only use about a 1/4 of the bag and even then that would probably be too much".
My heart started to race. Beads of sweat began to form on my nose. Color rushed to my cheeks. "Well if a little manure is good then a lot is better", I told him indignantly (that's my philosophy on Tylenol too, by the way). "Only if you want your vegetables to taste like crap" he quietly said.
Turns out my Mom was a farmer in her past life and concurred with Hot Jeff and if you use too much manure (which gets really hot in the sun) it will cook your veggies. Blah, blah, blah.
Hot Jeff, realizing I was totally retarded and clueless, took matters in to his own hands, did the math in his head and bought the perfect amount AND BLEND right down to the cubic square foot. He loaded the bags on to the huge rolling-platform looking thing that had mysteriously replaced my little bitty shopping cart.
"Now lets go get screws." he said. "Screws?" I questioned. I would have rounded up whatever spare nails I could have found in the garage and hammered that thing together with a high heeled shoe...not Hot Jeff though. 20 MINUTES we stood in the screw aisle while Hot Jeff fingered every screw in every box. Alas it was time to go pick out wood.
"What kind of wood do you want?" Hot Jeff wanted to know. What kind of wood do I want? Has he not been paying attention? I looked at him blankly, searching my brain for the right answer. I pleaded with the dark recesses of mind to come up with something intelligent that would restore Hot Jeff's confidence in me...my brain remembered another moment such as this.
It was our first summer in Alaska. We had only met a month or so earlier and were still in that cute aren't-you-adorable-stage. We were sitting in the dining tent eating and he was inquiring about my day. I excitedly told him that Jami and I had found a bird's nest near the bathrooms and that there were little birds living in it. "What kind of birds?" Jeff asked. "Baby birds" I answered knowingly.
"Cedar" I blurted out, coming back from my reverie. Jeff nodded, "I think so too". Relief.
The rest of the story is filled with boring measurements. A lot of boring measurements and a level. Yes, I said a level. Hot Jeff used a level to place my garden bed on the ground. How friggin' awesome is he? Thankfully I didn't even have to ask him why he was wasting time with a level; he must have seen the glassy look in my eyes because he said, "We don't want your water pooling up". Oh yeah. Duh.
I'm fairly certain Hot Jeff has a secret college degree in raised garden bed building. How else would he know about wood screws?
The finished raised bed. Isn't it lovely? Insert Stevie Wonder song.
Part Two
Ok, so if you read this blog you probably know that Hot Jeff and I are very different people. We are wired really, really differently. And I'm not talking a male-female-he's-from-Mars-I'm-from-Venus different I'm talking like crazy opposites-attract-but-shouldn't-breed different. Hot Jeff is like a warm and gentle Spring rain; I am a torrential downpour. When Hot Jeff tells a joke its quiet and hilarious and if you missed it that is just too bad because he's not going to repeat it; when I tell a joke it is never without an audience and microphone and most likely someone else's material.
Our differences carry in to our parenting. When the kids started to walk Hot Jeff considered putting them in helmets. My approach was a little different and I'm certain they both have heard me say, on numerous occasions, "If you fall off the table and break both of your legs don't come running to me".
Jeff is meticulous and thorough and I'm messy and haphazard. Remember the story about the water getting shut off because I forgot to pay the bill and lost the warning notice? Yeah, that kind of stuff doesn't happen to Hot Jeff. Hot Jeff doesn't lose anything, well unless I throw it away.
So it shouldn't surprise you that when it came to making my garden bed our differences shined through. It started simply with Jeff asking me how big I wanted it. I looked at him cluelessly and said, "I dunno". We got online and found some raised bed ideas and went from there.
Off to Lowes we went. I was super excited to get the dirt so we headed to that end of the store first. I had grabbed a little shopping cart to put my bags in and didn't pay much attention to Jeff's snicker as I headed to the aisle filled with every brand of soil, manure and peat moss you could imagine. I quickly realized why Jeff had giggled when I grabbed my little cart because it would NEVER hold all the dirt I needed. Jeff asked how many bags I would need and I told him 6 bags of soil, 3 bags of steer manure and 3 bags of peat moss.
"How do you know that?" Jeff asked. I looked at him incredulously, "Um because I just do", I replied. Jeff leaned over my growing pile of manure bags and said, "You're only supposed to use 1 bag of these per 100 square feet. Since you have less than 20 square feet you should only use about a 1/4 of the bag and even then that would probably be too much".
My heart started to race. Beads of sweat began to form on my nose. Color rushed to my cheeks. "Well if a little manure is good then a lot is better", I told him indignantly (that's my philosophy on Tylenol too, by the way). "Only if you want your vegetables to taste like crap" he quietly said.
Turns out my Mom was a farmer in her past life and concurred with Hot Jeff and if you use too much manure (which gets really hot in the sun) it will cook your veggies. Blah, blah, blah.
Hot Jeff, realizing I was totally retarded and clueless, took matters in to his own hands, did the math in his head and bought the perfect amount AND BLEND right down to the cubic square foot. He loaded the bags on to the huge rolling-platform looking thing that had mysteriously replaced my little bitty shopping cart.
"Now lets go get screws." he said. "Screws?" I questioned. I would have rounded up whatever spare nails I could have found in the garage and hammered that thing together with a high heeled shoe...not Hot Jeff though. 20 MINUTES we stood in the screw aisle while Hot Jeff fingered every screw in every box. Alas it was time to go pick out wood.
"What kind of wood do you want?" Hot Jeff wanted to know. What kind of wood do I want? Has he not been paying attention? I looked at him blankly, searching my brain for the right answer. I pleaded with the dark recesses of mind to come up with something intelligent that would restore Hot Jeff's confidence in me...my brain remembered another moment such as this.
It was our first summer in Alaska. We had only met a month or so earlier and were still in that cute aren't-you-adorable-stage. We were sitting in the dining tent eating and he was inquiring about my day. I excitedly told him that Jami and I had found a bird's nest near the bathrooms and that there were little birds living in it. "What kind of birds?" Jeff asked. "Baby birds" I answered knowingly.
"Cedar" I blurted out, coming back from my reverie. Jeff nodded, "I think so too". Relief.
The rest of the story is filled with boring measurements. A lot of boring measurements and a level. Yes, I said a level. Hot Jeff used a level to place my garden bed on the ground. How friggin' awesome is he? Thankfully I didn't even have to ask him why he was wasting time with a level; he must have seen the glassy look in my eyes because he said, "We don't want your water pooling up". Oh yeah. Duh.
I'm fairly certain Hot Jeff has a secret college degree in raised garden bed building. How else would he know about wood screws?
The finished raised bed. Isn't it lovely? Insert Stevie Wonder song.
You. Are. Wel. Come.
Hot Jeff got a little shy with all you women fawning over him and asked that I remove his hotness from the blog. I know, I'm not quite sure what's gotten in to him either. I couldn't just leave you all empty handed though so here's the next best thing to Hot Jeff without a shirt. MATTHEW MCCONAUGHEY without a shirt! Hooie.
Friday, March 19, 2010
You Had Me at Shelves from Scrapwood
Part 1
Way back in the day when Hot Jeff and I were just two young kids livin' on love up in Alaska...
Is that seriously not the best starting sentence ever? If there are awards for the best starting sentences for blog posts I'm pretty sure that one just won me the top prize.
Anyway, when Hot Jeff and I were working in Alaska on the remotest of remote islands at a sport fishing lodge (I know, right?) we lived in a 10x10 plywood box (I am not lying) that had no plumbing, one small space heater and electricity that was sourced from a generator. To make matters worse it didn't have any closets. Hot Jeff, always the gentleman, searched around and found some scrap wood lying around the island from various finished projects and built me some shelves that I could stack clothes, shelve my beloved books and use for whatever my little heart desired. And let me tell you, when you're living in a 10x10 box on a remote island in the middle of a river in Alaska its those "little" things that make a girl happy beyond measure.
My Hot Jeff isn't handy. He doesn't enjoy building things, he doesn't love the smell of sawdust and it took him just shy of a decade to finish our bonus room. He is uber talented in many areas and when it comes to around-the-house type stuff he's my yard/landscaping and painting hero but remodeling rooms and putting in flooring and all that other DIY crap he finds pretty uninteresting and unappealing.
That's why his offer to build my raised bed was so sweet.
And the fact that today was a State employee mandated furlough day AND he is studying for that pesky "little" CPA exam AND he doesn't like building stuff yet this afternoon he suggested we go to Lowes and pick out wood and he spent the afternoon building my beautiful raised bed garden.
And that is why this 3x8 bed is so much more than just a raised bed for gardening. It is a tender gift from my sweet husband who knows exactly what my love language is.
Hot Jeff gettin' his sexy on and checking out his materials.
The raised bed coming right along. And I am sorry ladies, I tried and tried to get him to take his shirt off. It was like 50 degrees in the backyard this afternoon and Hot Jeff was taking his project too seriously to indulge me and my fantasies. I know, I'm disappointed too. I'll go back through last summer's photographic archives and see what I can find for you.
Part 1
Way back in the day when Hot Jeff and I were just two young kids livin' on love up in Alaska...
Is that seriously not the best starting sentence ever? If there are awards for the best starting sentences for blog posts I'm pretty sure that one just won me the top prize.
Anyway, when Hot Jeff and I were working in Alaska on the remotest of remote islands at a sport fishing lodge (I know, right?) we lived in a 10x10 plywood box (I am not lying) that had no plumbing, one small space heater and electricity that was sourced from a generator. To make matters worse it didn't have any closets. Hot Jeff, always the gentleman, searched around and found some scrap wood lying around the island from various finished projects and built me some shelves that I could stack clothes, shelve my beloved books and use for whatever my little heart desired. And let me tell you, when you're living in a 10x10 box on a remote island in the middle of a river in Alaska its those "little" things that make a girl happy beyond measure.
My Hot Jeff isn't handy. He doesn't enjoy building things, he doesn't love the smell of sawdust and it took him just shy of a decade to finish our bonus room. He is uber talented in many areas and when it comes to around-the-house type stuff he's my yard/landscaping and painting hero but remodeling rooms and putting in flooring and all that other DIY crap he finds pretty uninteresting and unappealing.
That's why his offer to build my raised bed was so sweet.
And the fact that today was a State employee mandated furlough day AND he is studying for that pesky "little" CPA exam AND he doesn't like building stuff yet this afternoon he suggested we go to Lowes and pick out wood and he spent the afternoon building my beautiful raised bed garden.
And that is why this 3x8 bed is so much more than just a raised bed for gardening. It is a tender gift from my sweet husband who knows exactly what my love language is.
Hot Jeff gettin' his sexy on and checking out his materials.
The raised bed coming right along. And I am sorry ladies, I tried and tried to get him to take his shirt off. It was like 50 degrees in the backyard this afternoon and Hot Jeff was taking his project too seriously to indulge me and my fantasies. I know, I'm disappointed too. I'll go back through last summer's photographic archives and see what I can find for you.Friday, December 4, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Today has the potential to kill my husband. I have called my State Farm agent and made sure his life insurance is up to date and paid because, today has the potential to kill my husband.
I married in to a long line of Beaver believing crazies. And to you non-Oregonians the Beaver is the Oregon State University mascot and the animal to which we have placed all our hopes and dreams on today.
Today is the 113th Civil War; the rival game between the Beavers (good guys) and the Ducks (bad guys). Any Civil War game gets Hot Jeff's blood pumping but this one is special. This one is for roses. Yep, the winner of this game goes to the Rose Bowl in Pasadena. No BCS baloney, no selection Sunday, no waiting...the winner just goes to the Rose Bowl and plays on New Years Day. Giddyup.
We've been season ticket holders for umpteen years and we love going to the games and cheering on our boys in black and orange but this year the game is being played at the University of Oregon and Hot Jeff has vowed to never step foot on their campus (he plugs his nose when he drives through the town) so alas we are watching the game on TV. And since we've gone all Little House on the Prairie we are going to watch it with the other Henderson crazies up at Jeff's sister's house.
So yes, today has the potential to kill my husband. He may either die of joy or die of disappointment. If he keeps up the pace he's gone all week leading up to the game he may die before it even gets started out of sheer giddiness. I made a conscious decision to stop praying for football 4 years ago; not because I thought it was wrong but because I thought it was pointless since God is a Beaver fan. Anyway, I digress, I don't pray for football but I will be praying for Hot Jeff because seriously that man is just one field goal attempt away from a heart attack.
Go Beavs.
I married in to a long line of Beaver believing crazies. And to you non-Oregonians the Beaver is the Oregon State University mascot and the animal to which we have placed all our hopes and dreams on today.
Today is the 113th Civil War; the rival game between the Beavers (good guys) and the Ducks (bad guys). Any Civil War game gets Hot Jeff's blood pumping but this one is special. This one is for roses. Yep, the winner of this game goes to the Rose Bowl in Pasadena. No BCS baloney, no selection Sunday, no waiting...the winner just goes to the Rose Bowl and plays on New Years Day. Giddyup.
We've been season ticket holders for umpteen years and we love going to the games and cheering on our boys in black and orange but this year the game is being played at the University of Oregon and Hot Jeff has vowed to never step foot on their campus (he plugs his nose when he drives through the town) so alas we are watching the game on TV. And since we've gone all Little House on the Prairie we are going to watch it with the other Henderson crazies up at Jeff's sister's house.
So yes, today has the potential to kill my husband. He may either die of joy or die of disappointment. If he keeps up the pace he's gone all week leading up to the game he may die before it even gets started out of sheer giddiness. I made a conscious decision to stop praying for football 4 years ago; not because I thought it was wrong but because I thought it was pointless since God is a Beaver fan. Anyway, I digress, I don't pray for football but I will be praying for Hot Jeff because seriously that man is just one field goal attempt away from a heart attack.
Go Beavs.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
NOT a Retraction
I had planned on writing about my New Testament Christmas pledge and something cool I read about in Matthew this week but have to write something else thanks to Hot Jeff.
So apparently Jeff's youth is not the only thing that left town when he turned 40 last month. Apparently Jeff's sense of humor packed up and headed somewhere Tropic right along with his 30s because last night after he read my HILARIOUS post about my virgin hair he basically, in not as few as words, called me racist. That's right: racist. He likened me to Don Imus. Now I may be a lot of things (crass, irreverent, painfully charming, disarmingly beautiful) but I am not racist and I certainly am not Don IMUS.
Jeff said I may have "crossed a line" with the whole nappy-hair-talking-in-Ebonics stuff and that if I had said that in the "workplace" I probably would have lost my job. Ok, seriously Jeff: LOOSEN UP. 1) Hot Jeff is just jealous because while he may be very hot he has very straight, thin hair. And it is beginning to gray. 2) A little controversy WOULD BE AWESOME for my blog's notoriety. Will someone PLEASE get offended about something I write and call the Today show and have Matt Lauer interview me. Can you imagine the hits I would get on this thing? Advertisers would be knocking down my door and I couldroll in the money donate the money to women with nappy hair poor kids.
In my interview with Matt Lauer I would say I am NOT a racist and that was simply poking fun at myself. I never meant to imply that people with nappy hair speak in Ebonics nor do I think people with nappy hair smoke marijuana, medically or non-medically. I would ask all the nappy haired,marijuana smoking, Ebonic speaking blog followers of mine who decided they would never read another written word of mine to come back, come back please. I would also tell all the non-virgin hairs who left hurt and wounded to come back and that they always have a place at my table. Well, maybe not at my table, no one wants to risk getting dirty hair in their food, but always a place at my blog. Ah, crap I did it again. I just implied that if your hair isn't a virgin it is dirty. I just can't win.
Please note, for the record, I labeled this blog post under the "Things I Like" category. That's because I like people who speak Ebonics and drink 40s and smoke marijuana. Come on, don't leave mad!
I had planned on writing about my New Testament Christmas pledge and something cool I read about in Matthew this week but have to write something else thanks to Hot Jeff.
So apparently Jeff's youth is not the only thing that left town when he turned 40 last month. Apparently Jeff's sense of humor packed up and headed somewhere Tropic right along with his 30s because last night after he read my HILARIOUS post about my virgin hair he basically, in not as few as words, called me racist. That's right: racist. He likened me to Don Imus. Now I may be a lot of things (crass, irreverent, painfully charming, disarmingly beautiful) but I am not racist and I certainly am not Don IMUS.
Jeff said I may have "crossed a line" with the whole nappy-hair-talking-in-Ebonics stuff and that if I had said that in the "workplace" I probably would have lost my job. Ok, seriously Jeff: LOOSEN UP. 1) Hot Jeff is just jealous because while he may be very hot he has very straight, thin hair. And it is beginning to gray. 2) A little controversy WOULD BE AWESOME for my blog's notoriety. Will someone PLEASE get offended about something I write and call the Today show and have Matt Lauer interview me. Can you imagine the hits I would get on this thing? Advertisers would be knocking down my door and I could
In my interview with Matt Lauer I would say I am NOT a racist and that was simply poking fun at myself. I never meant to imply that people with nappy hair speak in Ebonics nor do I think people with nappy hair smoke marijuana, medically or non-medically. I would ask all the nappy haired,marijuana smoking, Ebonic speaking blog followers of mine who decided they would never read another written word of mine to come back, come back please. I would also tell all the non-virgin hairs who left hurt and wounded to come back and that they always have a place at my table. Well, maybe not at my table, no one wants to risk getting dirty hair in their food, but always a place at my blog. Ah, crap I did it again. I just implied that if your hair isn't a virgin it is dirty. I just can't win.
Please note, for the record, I labeled this blog post under the "Things I Like" category. That's because I like people who speak Ebonics and drink 40s and smoke marijuana. Come on, don't leave mad!
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
How We Celebrated
One of my all time favorite TV moments is from The Bachelor. Yes, I said The Bachelor. Andrew Firestone, heir to the vast Firestone fortune, was this particular season's bachelor and he was on one of the early dates with one of the women who get cut super early and then cry on national television because they thought they really had a connection with him after spending 45 minutes in a crowded room watching him look at other women's breasts. They were doing that get-to-know-you thing and he asks her what her favorite restaurant is and I kid you not she replies, "Olive Garden" and then he gives her this you-did-not-just-say-that-to-Andrew-Firestone-look and THEN she says, "What? You don't like Italian food?" And it is, and forever will be, one of my all time favorite TV moments and it probably goes without saying but she got cut that night. And seriously, just writing that and remembering that made me laugh so hard I snorted.
Yesterday I called Jeff AT WORK to ask what he would like for his birthday dinner. And being the sweetheart that he is he says, "whatever is easiest for you". So I press him and press him again and finally he says, "tacos" which I knew is what he really wanted because he loves tacos and he always asks for tacos on his birthday. Which I suppose begs the question of why I bothered to ask him in the first place. I guess I just wanted him to know I was thinking about his birthday dinner a whole day early. Which makes the following even more unbelievable.
At 4:00, precisely when Jeff was getting off work and heading home for his delicious birthday dinner that I had not even begun to prepare, he called. And I said, "I'm sorry but I haven't started dinner yet!" And then I gave a REALLY GOOD excuse: "I've been working all afternoon on your birthday cake and now my wrist hurts". Tip: All good excuses involve you doing something nice for someone and now being in pain as a result. And then, to add insult to injury to my pathetic excuse of wife-dom I said, "We can have leftover spaghetti or go out. I'll even let you choose". I will pause and give you a moment to choke.
Precious Hot Jeff, who by the way, is broke out literally from his head to his toes because of an allergic reaction to a new medication and is pretty much miserable from the itching and burning, chose the Olive Garden as it is quasi-sophisticated enough for a birthday dinner yet the kids could have macaroni and cheese. Someone please call the Pope because this man deserves Sainthood.
Here we all are, after dinner and back home celebrating Daddy's birthday! Before you go wondering why I'm such a crappy wife and didn't throw him a big bash let me explain. Jeff told me like 6 years ago if I even THOUGHT about throwing him a 40th birthday party or any other th party he would NEVER throw me another party for as long as I live. I'll let you in a little secret: you can get me to do anything for you by threatening me with not throwing me a party (I love a party in my honor) or by telling me you won't cry at my funeral.
40 DOES rock. Just ask Hot Jeff. This is the birthday cake that will make my right wrist require a cortisone shot and the reason why I didn't make my darling husband a birthday dinner of tacos.
Damn you electric guitar cake and your perfectly piped icing.
I just love that Emily looks so flippin' hilarious in this picture. It is also, coincidentally a picture of my 3 FAVORITE people in the whole wide world!
One of my all time favorite TV moments is from The Bachelor. Yes, I said The Bachelor. Andrew Firestone, heir to the vast Firestone fortune, was this particular season's bachelor and he was on one of the early dates with one of the women who get cut super early and then cry on national television because they thought they really had a connection with him after spending 45 minutes in a crowded room watching him look at other women's breasts. They were doing that get-to-know-you thing and he asks her what her favorite restaurant is and I kid you not she replies, "Olive Garden" and then he gives her this you-did-not-just-say-that-to-Andrew-Firestone-look and THEN she says, "What? You don't like Italian food?" And it is, and forever will be, one of my all time favorite TV moments and it probably goes without saying but she got cut that night. And seriously, just writing that and remembering that made me laugh so hard I snorted.
Yesterday I called Jeff AT WORK to ask what he would like for his birthday dinner. And being the sweetheart that he is he says, "whatever is easiest for you". So I press him and press him again and finally he says, "tacos" which I knew is what he really wanted because he loves tacos and he always asks for tacos on his birthday. Which I suppose begs the question of why I bothered to ask him in the first place. I guess I just wanted him to know I was thinking about his birthday dinner a whole day early. Which makes the following even more unbelievable.
At 4:00, precisely when Jeff was getting off work and heading home for his delicious birthday dinner that I had not even begun to prepare, he called. And I said, "I'm sorry but I haven't started dinner yet!" And then I gave a REALLY GOOD excuse: "I've been working all afternoon on your birthday cake and now my wrist hurts". Tip: All good excuses involve you doing something nice for someone and now being in pain as a result. And then, to add insult to injury to my pathetic excuse of wife-dom I said, "We can have leftover spaghetti or go out. I'll even let you choose". I will pause and give you a moment to choke.
Precious Hot Jeff, who by the way, is broke out literally from his head to his toes because of an allergic reaction to a new medication and is pretty much miserable from the itching and burning, chose the Olive Garden as it is quasi-sophisticated enough for a birthday dinner yet the kids could have macaroni and cheese. Someone please call the Pope because this man deserves Sainthood.
Here we all are, after dinner and back home celebrating Daddy's birthday! Before you go wondering why I'm such a crappy wife and didn't throw him a big bash let me explain. Jeff told me like 6 years ago if I even THOUGHT about throwing him a 40th birthday party or any other th party he would NEVER throw me another party for as long as I live. I'll let you in a little secret: you can get me to do anything for you by threatening me with not throwing me a party (I love a party in my honor) or by telling me you won't cry at my funeral.
40 DOES rock. Just ask Hot Jeff. This is the birthday cake that will make my right wrist require a cortisone shot and the reason why I didn't make my darling husband a birthday dinner of tacos. Damn you electric guitar cake and your perfectly piped icing.
I just love that Emily looks so flippin' hilarious in this picture. It is also, coincidentally a picture of my 3 FAVORITE people in the whole wide world!Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Happy 40th Babe!
Today is Hot Jeff's birthday and not just any birthday but his 40th birthday! Remember when 40 sounded old? 40 no longer scares me; when I look at Jeff and see his health, vibrancy, maturity I think 40 rocks! To honor Jeff on his birthday I am making a list of reasons why I love him. Feel free to make a gagging gesture and roll your eyes but its my blog and that's how I roll!
1. He's dead sexy.
2. He loves Jesus.
3. He's a great daddy.
4. He's loyal.
5. He makes me laugh. Really hard. All the time.
6. He works so hard so that I can stay home with the midgets.
7. He's a great balance to me.
8. He thinks I'm funny. And for the record I love anybody who thinks I'm funny.
9. He genuinely loves the Niles clan.
10. He unloads the dishwasher.
11. He's generous.
12. He's always trying to better himself.
13. He prays with his kids.
14. He reads books to his kids every night.
15. He's a partner.
16. He's spontaneous.
17. He's fiercely protective over me and the midgets.
18. The kids and I are his favorite people and he tells us that regularly.
19. He learns from his mistakes.
20. He's not afraid to cry.
I love you, Jeff. Here's to 40 more!
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Hot Jeff's Best Quote EVER
I have started this post over 3 times now because I can't find the perfect way to start it. There is really no "perfect" way to start other than just saying it: in 1989 Hot Jeff was in a Bon Jovi video.
Ok ladies, gather yourselves and come on back.
I don't exactly remember when or how Hot Jeff told me this but I know it had to be a while ago because it took me hours of scouring the internet to find a VHS copy and I spent a small fortune buying it and then having it shipped to me from some unofficial Bon Jovi fan site on the East Coast and now you can find a copy of it in a matter of seconds and pay more to ship it than to buy it. Or...you can just see it on YouTube or Singing Fool. Now, just wait...don't get all antsy, I will post the link in a minute. First, you must see this, the still frame:
I have started this post over 3 times now because I can't find the perfect way to start it. There is really no "perfect" way to start other than just saying it: in 1989 Hot Jeff was in a Bon Jovi video.
Ok ladies, gather yourselves and come on back.
I don't exactly remember when or how Hot Jeff told me this but I know it had to be a while ago because it took me hours of scouring the internet to find a VHS copy and I spent a small fortune buying it and then having it shipped to me from some unofficial Bon Jovi fan site on the East Coast and now you can find a copy of it in a matter of seconds and pay more to ship it than to buy it. Or...you can just see it on YouTube or Singing Fool. Now, just wait...don't get all antsy, I will post the link in a minute. First, you must see this, the still frame:
Um, yes, that is Jeff on the right. And yes, he is shirtless. And yes, he has a mullet.
So the other night we were laying in bed watching "The Office" on Ruby and after it was over we were looking at some funny stuff on YouTube. That's when Hot Jeff pulled up the infamous Bon Jovi video that we hadn't seen in years and years and that's when he said, (you've waited so patiently, just one second more...here it comes...) "How many senior tax auditors do you think there are out there that have been in a Bon Jovi video and made a movie with Kevin Bacon all in the same year?"
And at that very moment all I could do was snort but if I could have uttered words they would have been these, "If being an unrecognizable extra in a bar scene is 'making a movie with Kevin Bacon' then yes, 1989 was a very big year for you".
Here's the link, you sorry sack of groupies you. http://www.singingfool.com/Title.aspx?publishedid=307217 In the left corner there is a counter, Jeff's "scene" are seconds 35-40; that what's-his-name-Jon pretty much hogs the rest of the video.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
A Letter to My Husband
Dearest Jeffrey,
Today I was in a cafe and saw a couple eating breakfast. They were our parents' age and sat in silence. Time had aged their skin and hair and I could tell this eating routine was one they had settled in to years ago.
Certainly their days once must have been like ours are now: eating out is an adventure with young babies at our sides and macaroni and cheese being thrown on the floor. Maybe it was during those years that they began slipping away from each other.
I remember when Samuel was born and everyone told us our marriage would fall to the wayside because we would be so focused on "the baby". We defied them all as we got stronger and fell more in love as we saw this new side of each other emerge: Mother. Father. And through these changing years I have found that you, you my beloved, are easy to love. It isn't work to be married to you, I don't have to grit my teeth to dream of our future together.
If I could write a poem I would write the most elegant poem there is and it would spill over with my love for you. If I could write a song it would be the most lyrical song there is and I would hum it's tune all day; my adoration put to music. If I could paint a picture the colors and artistry would shout that I am yours and you are mine and it would be hung in museums all over the world; my declaration on canvas. Instead, I give you this promise:
Unlike some, our love will only grow. Years and time will only strengthen our bond. Someday we will slow dance in our kitchen and sing the songs of old lovers. You will borrow my glasses and I will wear your slippers. At night we will roll to the middle of the bed and whisper sacred memories, silver head to silver head. We will laugh when we think of the vows we made by candlelight so many years ago; at the time we had no idea what we were saying but our hearts will have quiet understanding as we have lived our covenant.
I am eternally yours,
Jen
Monday, July 27, 2009
Montana Bound
Could Hot Jeff be any more perfect? Last night when he came to bed and found me crying and writing over Gigi he said, "You should fly out there. Get online right now and see what the tickets cost to be there for her birthday". So I did and they were $588 a piece! So we laid in bed in silence for about 30 seconds when he said, "I have some vacation time and have been wanting to take a road trip with the kids. Lets leave on Tuesday".
So we're leaving in the still-dark morning and driving 15 hours (without kids so most likely 17 with kids) to Montana to spend Gigi's 84th birthday with her. We called her this morning to tell her. I had Samuel tell her and she got so excited she actually giggled. Then she cried a little bit. Then she giggled a little bit more.
The car is just gassed and loaded and I just got back from Walmart to get a whole boat load of snacks and water. I've got the portable DVD player packed and don't think the irony of the family who just went all Little House on the Prairie on you and is now packing a portable DVD player and like 72 hours worth of Bob the Builder, The Wiggles and Pixar movies is lost on me. Yeah, its a little disturbing but so is leaving your kids along I-90 because you can't stand their screaming anymore. 6 of 1; half dozen of another I suppose...
Would you please pray for us? I would love if you would pray blessings and safety over our trip, peace and comfort for Samuel & Roo and energy and patience for Hot Jeff and me. Please pray our time with my Mom and Gigi is rich.
I'll be blogging about our trip while I'm there and will certainly have some fun this-crap-only-happens-to-us stories.
Could Hot Jeff be any more perfect? Last night when he came to bed and found me crying and writing over Gigi he said, "You should fly out there. Get online right now and see what the tickets cost to be there for her birthday". So I did and they were $588 a piece! So we laid in bed in silence for about 30 seconds when he said, "I have some vacation time and have been wanting to take a road trip with the kids. Lets leave on Tuesday".
So we're leaving in the still-dark morning and driving 15 hours (without kids so most likely 17 with kids) to Montana to spend Gigi's 84th birthday with her. We called her this morning to tell her. I had Samuel tell her and she got so excited she actually giggled. Then she cried a little bit. Then she giggled a little bit more.
The car is just gassed and loaded and I just got back from Walmart to get a whole boat load of snacks and water. I've got the portable DVD player packed and don't think the irony of the family who just went all Little House on the Prairie on you and is now packing a portable DVD player and like 72 hours worth of Bob the Builder, The Wiggles and Pixar movies is lost on me. Yeah, its a little disturbing but so is leaving your kids along I-90 because you can't stand their screaming anymore. 6 of 1; half dozen of another I suppose...
Would you please pray for us? I would love if you would pray blessings and safety over our trip, peace and comfort for Samuel & Roo and energy and patience for Hot Jeff and me. Please pray our time with my Mom and Gigi is rich.
I'll be blogging about our trip while I'm there and will certainly have some fun this-crap-only-happens-to-us stories.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
I would never speak bad of Hot Jeff, especially not on the internet for goodness sakes, but we did have a really funny conversation a couple of nights ago.
Here's the transcript:
Jen: I'm going up to take a shower; can you boil some pasta so its ready and we can eat when I get out?
HJ: Yes. What do I do?
Jen: Um, really?
HJ: Yeah, what do you want me to do?
Jen: I want you to bring this water to a boil and then put the pasta in it. Boil it until the noodles are al dente and then drain and put a little olive oil on them.
HJ: Ok, so I put the noodles in when the water boils....How do I know when they are done?
Jen: I'll set a timer and when it goes off pull one out and eat it and see if its tender.
HJ: Why olive oil?
This is where I decided to go get that shower in. There's no punch line to this story; I was just dumbfounded by it and wanted to share it all with you.
Here's the transcript:
Jen: I'm going up to take a shower; can you boil some pasta so its ready and we can eat when I get out?
HJ: Yes. What do I do?
Jen: Um, really?
HJ: Yeah, what do you want me to do?
Jen: I want you to bring this water to a boil and then put the pasta in it. Boil it until the noodles are al dente and then drain and put a little olive oil on them.
HJ: Ok, so I put the noodles in when the water boils....How do I know when they are done?
Jen: I'll set a timer and when it goes off pull one out and eat it and see if its tender.
HJ: Why olive oil?
This is where I decided to go get that shower in. There's no punch line to this story; I was just dumbfounded by it and wanted to share it all with you.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
The High Ball Screen
For all you ladies out there who were hoping for a chance to have a baby with Hot Jeff, you're outta luck. Hot Jeff had the "big snip" today and his baby makin' days are oh-ver.
Hot Jeff has a lot of great qualities; one of mention is his clever thinking. After we decided last December to get the vasectomy he decided to do it in March on this specific weekend as it is when March Madness starts. Thursday marks the opening day of the opening two rounds in which 48 basketball games will be played. 48! If you're going to have to be laid up on the couch for a few days why not do it watching something you love and would otherwise have to take vacation time to watch. Well played Hot Jeff, well played.
In addition to being very clever, Hot Jeff is also Chuck Norris like in his pain tolerance. The man drove himself home. You heard here first folks: he drove himself home. It really is too bad he's not going to have more offspring because he is supremely clever and strong.
Below is a picture of Hot Jeff post-op. He's got his bracket and his remote...he's a happy camper.
I love you Hot Jeff!
For all you ladies out there who were hoping for a chance to have a baby with Hot Jeff, you're outta luck. Hot Jeff had the "big snip" today and his baby makin' days are oh-ver.
Hot Jeff has a lot of great qualities; one of mention is his clever thinking. After we decided last December to get the vasectomy he decided to do it in March on this specific weekend as it is when March Madness starts. Thursday marks the opening day of the opening two rounds in which 48 basketball games will be played. 48! If you're going to have to be laid up on the couch for a few days why not do it watching something you love and would otherwise have to take vacation time to watch. Well played Hot Jeff, well played.
In addition to being very clever, Hot Jeff is also Chuck Norris like in his pain tolerance. The man drove himself home. You heard here first folks: he drove himself home. It really is too bad he's not going to have more offspring because he is supremely clever and strong.
Below is a picture of Hot Jeff post-op. He's got his bracket and his remote...he's a happy camper.
I love you Hot Jeff!Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Hot Jeff's "Other Woman"
I've known about her for a little over a week now. I knew she was thin, sleek, and didn't weigh very much. I knew she was easy and fast and her drive was hard. I knew that in April Hot Jeff would start spending all his spare time and weekends with her and I knew she was single and lookin' for a home to wreck.
Here's what I didn't know...I didn't know she'd come knocking at my door at 8:30 this morning looking like a million bucks and flashing her red hot smile. How dare she come to my home when I was in my pajamas and hadn't had my second cup of coffee yet?
Here's what else I didn't know...I didn't know I would love her. I took one look at her and knew why Jeff had chosen her. She was sleek, charming and oh so...portable. Oh I tried to stop, I tried to tell her, "No, this isn't right...Jeff needs you. I have a PC whom I'm compatible with, whom I've shared hours and memories with. Stop. Stop looking at me like that." She sat there quietly, looking at me with those penetrating, almost invisible web cam eyes. I knew she had read my soul.
Jeff does need her. The Becker course starts in just a few short weeks and he will need her speed, reliability and...oh it kills me...portability. I have fought the urge to hold her, caress her, buy her a matching case with my initials monogrammed on it...for now.
I've named her Ruby. Like the great Kenny Rogers song, "Ruby, Don't Take Your Love to Town" she is a firecracker whose passion I can't contain. And, well, she is after all...red.
You've painted up your lips
I've known about her for a little over a week now. I knew she was thin, sleek, and didn't weigh very much. I knew she was easy and fast and her drive was hard. I knew that in April Hot Jeff would start spending all his spare time and weekends with her and I knew she was single and lookin' for a home to wreck.
Here's what I didn't know...I didn't know she'd come knocking at my door at 8:30 this morning looking like a million bucks and flashing her red hot smile. How dare she come to my home when I was in my pajamas and hadn't had my second cup of coffee yet?
Here's what else I didn't know...I didn't know I would love her. I took one look at her and knew why Jeff had chosen her. She was sleek, charming and oh so...portable. Oh I tried to stop, I tried to tell her, "No, this isn't right...Jeff needs you. I have a PC whom I'm compatible with, whom I've shared hours and memories with. Stop. Stop looking at me like that." She sat there quietly, looking at me with those penetrating, almost invisible web cam eyes. I knew she had read my soul.
Jeff does need her. The Becker course starts in just a few short weeks and he will need her speed, reliability and...oh it kills me...portability. I have fought the urge to hold her, caress her, buy her a matching case with my initials monogrammed on it...for now.
I've named her Ruby. Like the great Kenny Rogers song, "Ruby, Don't Take Your Love to Town" she is a firecracker whose passion I can't contain. And, well, she is after all...red.
You've painted up your lipsAnd rolled and curled your tinted hair
Ruby are you contemplating
Going out somewhere
The shadow on the wall
Tells me the sun is going down
Oh Ruby...
Don't take your love to town
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