Are You Being Served?

So it's almost 10 at night. I was about to turn off the computer when someone pounded on the front door and rang the doorbell. We don't get many visitors this late at night. I asked Bryan to answer it. Turns out it was a man from the constable's office. He was looking for one of the guys that used to live here. We told him that we moved in a few weeks ago and didn't know the former tenants but recommended that he call the management company. He thanked us and left.

Seriously, what kind of stuff went on here before we moved in?

I'm Getting Nothing For Christmas

Now that we're having Christmas here I'm scrambling to figure out dinner for that night. Bryan said he wanted it to be different than Thanksgiving so we're having a roast instead of turkey. The only other things I know I want are cranberries (homemade, sweetened with honey so I can eat them) and pumpkin pie (same deal) which we also had for Thanksgiving. They're my favorites so Bryan will have to put up with repetition. Otherwise I've got nothing.

What other Christmas foods are there? I need ideas!

All I Want For Christmas

Idyllic Christmas scene

For the many people the ideal Christmas consists of the following:

• Cold weather
• Family
• Snow
  
• A delectable feast
• A Winter Wonderland
• Christmas carols
• Blizzard-like conditions
• Presents
  
• Frostbite setting in from trekking into the frigid air to buy said presents
• A jolly fat man in a red suit
• Did I mention snow?

I, however, am dreaming of a warm Christmas. You know, the kind where if you get a trampoline on Christmas morning, you can spend Christmas day using it in the backyard. This is the kind of warm holiday I had growing up and boy do I miss it.

My hometown.

We had been planning to go to Southern California for Christmas, but due to a number of circumstances, including the weather deciding to dump snow on Las Vegas (a sign of the Apocalypse, no?), we are staying in Utah. I'm trying not to be too sad about it. After all, I get to have a Norman Rockwell, picture perfect, snowy white Christmas. Lots of people, including my sister-in-law, would love this. But me? I'd like to wear flip-flops on the 25th.

Picky

I'm picky. I always have been. I think I may be the pickiest eater of all the kids in my family. In my defense, my dad is quite the experimental chef. His creations were either incredible or inedible. I think the pickiness was a form of self-preservation.

I was told my freshman year of college that I was too picky about guys. Someone asked me what was on my "list". You know, that list of qualities that almost every girl has in mind for her future husband to have. My mom's list had three things: he had to be older, taller, and a spiritual giant. Check, check, and check. My list was considerably longer. I had the spiritual giant thing on my list too, but I also wanted him to be able to sing with me and have intellectual conversations with me and make me laugh, and basically adore me. After rattling off my list one night my friend told me that I would never find someone with all of those characteristics and that I should lower my expectations. I ignored her. Enter Bryan two years later. Guess who met every item on my list? That's right, he did.

The picky problem reared it's head again today. I need clothes. I mean, I really need clothes. I don't need to be cutting edge in my fashion choices, I just don't want to look like a bag lady. I finally got some jeans last week that fit, (pregnancy does weird things to your shape, but that's a subject for another post) but I still need some shirts and a few new skirts. We had some gift cards so Bryan, Peter, Cooper, and I spent five hours at the mall today looking through store after store. After all that I came home with one skirt. That's all. I was just too picky to buy anything else.

Of course, being picky does have it's perks. Mostly the awesome husband part.

Sweet Big Brother

Peter: (Pointing at Cooper) He's a baby.

Me: Yes he is.

Peter: I like his little face.

Getting Some Grandma Time

Active Sleeper

He moves in his sleep. Can you tell?

Gifts From the Previous Tenants

The Saturday before we moved into our new apartment Bryan and I came and cleaned. The kitchen was pretty dirty, so that got the most attention. Next came the bathrooms. We vacuumed, changed light bulbs, and swept. The one thing that didn't get done was mopping the floors. Oh well, I thought, that can wait a little bit.

But then it was hard to find the floor to mop underneath all the boxes. After almost two weeks we finally uncovered the floor enough to mop it. I have one thing to say to all of the people that walked on my floor before it was mopped: I'm so very sorry. The floor was, well, filthy. It's a dark, stone-looking linoleum, so I couldn't really tell just how gross it was. It took me an hour and a half to mop the kitchen (which I had actually done the night before Thanksgiving), the dining room (the biggest offender), and both bathrooms. I was ready to drop by the time I finished. It was worth it though. The floors are so nice now. Our feet don't stick to them at all. Nice, eh?

On a side note, we found out that a number of single guys lived here before us, which kind of explains the less than sanitary state of the house. It does not explain however the lacy magenta thong Bryan found in the top of our closet. (Shudder) I made him wash his hands after he threw them away. So gross.

Oops

So, funny story. Including drafts I have 100 posts, but actual published items, this is number 97. So much for that whole 100th post thing.

I really need more sleep...

Unpacking

How do people blog while they're moving? These are skills which I do not possess.

Also, we have a lot of stuff.

And I love my garage.

The End.