The Green Card Interview

Today we had a teleconference with our immigration lawer’s legal assistant. She was prepping us for our Green Card interview. She ran through the list of all the forms we were required to bring with us, many of the questions we might be asked in the interview, and telling us to bring “extra” stuff to prove that we are married. She suggested wedding photos, letters we’ve written to eachother, bills that show we live at the same address etc. She was trying to find the words to describe other things we could bring in – when she exclaimed: “Oh! I remember you guys – You guys have a blog!

Yes, yes we do.

We had a “wedding planner” fourm set up for all of the planning, and now we have dink(y) and w98

After we could stop laughing enough to act like adults, she continued to tell us that most of the officers like to break monotony in their day by hearing stories about honeymoons, seeing vacation photos, hearing annectdotes just to liven it up.

Should I print out the “Bridezilla Meltdowns” category and take it with me to the interview?

I Have Pink Hair! Ha!

 I hemmed and hawed for years, then I finally did it.

I have pink hair. The husband, he has not disowned me! We’ll see about the boss tomorrow morning.

UPDATE! When I checked DH’s site this morning, he had updated my avatar… its pretty accurate.

And no, the boss didn’t fire me either.

Pink Hair

Pink Hair. If I want Pink Hair does not mean I'm Staid!

I want to be perfectly clear. Staid is a of settled or sedate character; not flighty or capricious.


“Characterized by sedate dignity and often a strait-laced sense of propriety; sober.”

I drank more at Blogher than I did in seven total years of college, and my blogher peeps think I’m “staid!”

I’m not staid! Really, I just have a giant stick up my hmm-hmm. Not that that’s any better… but still.

I’ve always had this false sense of delayed gratification. This isn’t so bad when we’re talking about saving for a house, and paying off the car loan. Its become a way of life. I got through grad school on a wing and a prayer. But, after years of living off ramen noodles and peanut butter, I can’t break it!!!

Nah – Let’s not go to Rome for our honeymoon, we could do it for our ten-year anniversary.
I wish I could take my favorite teenagers to the water park, ::sigh::
Oh, Honey, we don’t need cable tv.
I wish I wasn’t too old to buy a pair of Heely’s
I wish I could have pink streaks in my hair…
DH is very supportive of all my wacky ideas. When I whine that I wanna go to a water park, he says “lets go!” Even Heelys. He walks me around the parking lot holding me up so I don’t fall, just like my uncle Gil did when I was five years old.

I’ve been on a thing lately. Why do I need validation and approval before I can do something self-indulgent and wacky once in a while? I am an adult. I have a paycheck. I’m out of debt. I’m a dink. What is my problem!?

MiniMartha has to tell me to click the send button when I put bras in the shopping cart at Vict*riasSecr*

I have to use a little kid’s birthday party as an excuse to buy Paint-by-Number posters.

I “ask” DH if I can have pink hair, only because I know he’d never say no – and then I have to ask my hairstylist if she will do it!? I’m paying her and I have to have her permission to have pink hair? What the??

I’ve been looking for an excuse to make Shrinky-Dinks for over a decade. Does anyone know where I can order them online??

Merging Lives ~ Merging Lifestyles

We’re merging lives, we’re merging lifestyles. Still working out what brand of toothpaste to buy and which night is laundry night.

A foriegn object was introduced into our home. Its an inconsistant and sneaky little contraption called a “snooze button.”

At first, it was a cute little novelty. The alarm goes off at 5:30, and we rolled out of bed 37 minutes later.

Then late nights at work happend. Aweful commutes. Season-premiers on T.V. Stress from friends. Late night discussions.
blink, blink, yawn: “What time is it?”
“Little after 6.”
“Darn. I really like our comfie bed.”
blink, blink, yawn: “What time is it?”
“OK, I really gotta get in the shower.”
blink, blink, yawn: “What time is it?”
“Ugh, I guess I’ll skip breakfast.”
blink, blink, yawn: “What time is it?”
“Ack! Good thing I showered last night!!”
blink, blink, yawn: “What time is it?”
“Quarter to seven.”
“ARE YOU KIDDING! I was supposed to get up 45 minutes ago! I’m SO late for work! Why didnt the alarm go off???”
“I woke up and turned it off.”
“WHYYYYYY would you do that!!?”
“I was a wake.”
“But… but… but…”

I think the “Our Alarm Clock” experiment was a failure. I’m installing “His” and “Hers” as soon as I get home tonight.

See, snooze buttonsreally are a bad idea!!

Pod People

I’m too cheap to keep up the times. I’ve survived most of the way through 2005 just fine with my 13″ tv, vcr, single-disk dvd player, and cellphone (not camera phone, not blackberry, not pda, or newfangled walkman/cellphone combo). Get this people, I commute home, I DRIVE AROUND CALIFORNIA while I listen to the fm radio in the car.

And then I did it. I was packing for the honeymoon and I dropped my (mother’s) cordless radio headset on the cement floor of the garage. Suuuure! I can still jog without my headphones. I’ll still ride my bike. I’ll just go to the gym, there’s music there! I’ll have no problem getting motivated to vacuum. I’ll start doing those Pilates tapes again…

Ha! 2 dress sizes later… I’m waiting in sneakers and shorts for DH to come home from work so I can swipe his MP3 player and blitz out the door to escape on my jog. After a week of this DH starts commenting on the need for duplicate technology.

Introducing, the newest member of our family. Our little bundle of joy: Ipod Shuffle Douglas.

He asked a friend to recommend some jogging music to have loaded on the ipod when he presented it to me. The sick part is that I skipped past the dance/trance ultra trendy shakeyabooty music to listen to Wake Me Up Before You Go Go.

If you ever catch me trying to pretend that I think I’m cool: whack me over the head with a frying pan!

Of course this brings a whole new list of things to fight about during marriage counseling: “He tried to recategorize my MP3’s! He thinks there’s something wrong with filing MP3’s by the year that I downloaded them! It’s my turn to load the Ipod!”

I Pod, Do you Pod?

Type A Personality

Ok, yes, I am the first to admit that I’m just a little (no comments from the peanut gallery, please) Type A Personality. This is a fact of life. I deal with change by searching for (obsessing over) a solution, setting (obsessing over) a goal, and then work hard to (obsess over) achieving that goal. Of course, this is a very good way (the only way) to get anything done. Its a system that works very well for me.

So. I survived graduate school. I survived planning a wedding. I survived getting married. I survived my first purchase of Lemon Pledge. I survived moving in with a man who thinks beige is a color, and worse, likes it! I am woman, hear me roar! I can conquer anything.

Except for the little changes that creep up on you and then WHAP you on the head.

We registered for the most cutest set of everyday dishes. The perfect dishes. Not only does every piece in the 44 piece set match each other, get this, they match my perfect little teapot that I adore. Our thoughtful friends brought us these fabulous dishes. I kept clearing away boxes so that the next box to be unpacked would be the fabulous dish set. They are plain, they are understated, and, so help me, they will match with every tablecloth I’ll ever be in the mood to buy, every day for as long as we both shall live!

Can you see it coming? Do you see the warning signs? I certainly didn’t see it coming, but here it is!!!

I’ve become the woman who not only owns lemon Pledge, but I own lemon Pledge and I obsess over dishes!

My dearest husband hauled the enormous box of fabulous dishes across the parking lot and up the stairs. I waited and waited until I couldn’t stand it, then I started hunting through the forest of boxes for the fabulous dishes. When I found it, I wiped the drool from my chin and cracked open the fabulous box of dishes. I pulled out the perfect little coffee cups and fondled them as I lifted them to their special place in the cabinet. I pulled out the soup bowls and gently blew the cardboard dust off of them as I placed them on the counter. I sang a little song and danced a little dance as I pulled out all forty-four dishes, one at a time, and welcomed them to our lovely home.

(Look at me! I’m getting better; I can separate a pre-rant into pseudo-paragraphs.)

One by one, I placed each fabulous 11″ dinner plate on the counter and separated a special place for them in the cupboard. With all of my I-have-a-desk-job girly might, I hoisted all of the dinner plates up into the cabinet. I inhaled and blinked, preparing to take in the wonder of the fabulous dishes settled in to their new home in our kitchen.

And then I saw it.


The most horrible sight I had ever laid eyes on.

The dishes were WARPED!!

My precious!!

All of my dreams of domestic bliss had just vanished before my eyes. Every single soup bowl, salad plate, and dinner plate was as straight as Liberace(I’m so upset about these dishes that I spelled ‘Liberace’ right on the first try). It was like someone gave a kindergarten class shots of Redbull and tequila and then told them to go play in the dish factory! The dinner plates were giving me vertigo because they were at eye level!
I was so traumatized that I had to go lay down (ok, I’m exaggerating), but my poor husband had to pack every dish back into that box and remove them from our home before their disease infected our silverware and bake ware!

He loves me, he is so sweet. He took them back, and exchanged them for another box. Got that box home and guess what? That set of dishes was as warped as The Fly! Did I mention that my husband loves me? He took that horrid set back to the store too.

So it was time for drastic measures. I went to a department store. A department store!! I purchased a nicer set of fewer dishes for more money at a department store! I hauled them up the stairs, cracked open the box, wiped the drool from my chin, and can you guess?


It is officially clear that my husband would go to the end of the earth for me! He packed up a 3rd set of dishes. Does anybody know if IKEA is hiring?

I’m ready to break out the china and use it every day. For what Ian’s family paid for the magnificent china settings, those had BETTER be straight or I may need to be committed.

My sweet husband who loves me and forgives me and adores me (did I mention he forgives me) asked that we not use the china every day. I will buy straight dishes! I am woman, hear me roar!


Laundry Blues

Okay, so I get the ’til you die’ part, and I was prepared for the ‘respect your man’ part, and I was getting used to the part where I should attempt to concoct a healthy dinner at least once a month.

I’ve accepted the fact that I now own lemon Pledge and obsess over dishes.

A couple girlfriends tried to hint around about the realities of sex with a husband. I’m finding out more than I ever wanted to know about birth control.

But I was NOT, I mean I was really NOT prepared for the Laundry-Quadrupling-Phenomenon!

I always thought that laundry could be explained by simple math. The more you wear, the more you wash. In math; One plus One equals Two. I did get that far in algebra!

I’m absolutely amazed to discover that in Laundry the rules all change. When you marry, one person’s amount of laundry plus another person’s amount of laundry does not equal double the laundry, it equals QUADRUPLE the amount of laundry!

I was unaware that there is some complicated exponential equation and scientific phenomenon that occurs when combining two people’s t-shirts into one trip to the laundry room.

Any suggestions as to what that formula is? I would really like to know!

    I Mini-geek, take you Geek to be my lawfully wedded husband.
    To love, honor, and launder,
    In sickness and in health,
    For richer or for poorer,
    In low bandwidth and in high,
    ’til sixty-four, and every day for as long as we both shall live.

How To Make Me Happy – Wedding Edition

how to make me happy - wedding edition

Eww, i have to live with a *Boy*

1. Print 5 drafts of a shower invitation – to make sure I like my choices.
2. Take up finger painting to cure boredom while assembling the ceremony programs for my wedding.
3. Wash two weeks of my really really smelly laundry – just to be nice.
4. Call a babysitter for your 1-year-old just because I need you on my wedding day.
5. Send back that cute little RSVP card the same week you receive it.
6. Teach me a cool come-back for not letting people bug me for our honeymoon location.

    “Its in the vault.”

7. Reschedule your 75th birthday limo-ride so that you can come to my wedding.

MiniMartha ~ Christmas In July

Christmas in July

Its that time. the invitations are out – the United States Postal Service is now burdoned with the task of bringing us wedding gifts. so far, we’ve received some impressively packed servingware. MiniMartha keeps telling me how lovely it will be to have all of those things when i “entertain” because that’s what married women do – they entertain. now, i’m looking at this and should be thinking about all the parties and the breakfasts and the kitchen conversations that will happen every time i pull out these gifts. i’m supposed to be anticipating the memories and the christmases, making “tea wafers”, eating cookie dough out of the bowl after i tell my daughter not to do it, and looking my husband on our umpteenth anniversary and saying “Dang, you’re old!”

All i can think – in my “7 weeks and counting” frame of mind is: “this means i’m going to have a kitchen, and kitchen cupboards, and shelfpaper and lemon Pledge to dust the cupoards.”

    - do i really wanna be that girl?

Girl? Woman? Let me try that on: the wo-man with the lemon Pledge. and 3 sets of silverware and the linen closet full of outdated pillowcases. and a cupboard stocked with 18 jars of BestFoods mayo because that’s the stuff my husband likes. O dear LORD in heaven -help me!

    I’m turning into my mother!

Quick! someone shoot me before i become a subscriber to TVGuide and PEOPLE magazine!

Budget Bride Blog: Moving, Marriage, Morning Sickness and Mortality

Budget Bride Blog: Moving, Marriage, Morning Sickness and Mortality

You ever have that dream? The one where you’re screaming and nobody can hear you? The one where you’re eloquent thoughts are in English – but the only words coming out of your mouth are in Bork? The one where *the* wedding checklist grabs the back end of a pencil and starts erasing itself?

I had my first offficial (public) Bridezilla Meltdown today. My Darling Fiance graciously completed the items on his honeydew list – and then went looking for a few more items to check off *the* list.

He called to confirm that the dinnerware was ordered – and was told that it wasn’t- only a quote was given. So he ordered, forked over some plastic, and then called to tell me that the price had been raised.

(blink, dumb stare) Um. OK. DF sounded like the extra 40 bucks ($.05 per item) wasn’t really that bad.

A few hours later, it occured to me that every book in the Budget Bride section of Barnes and Noble talks about “The Wedding Industry” like hippies talk about “The Man.” Author after author was bent on the idea that “TWI” doesn’t deal with repeat customers. Most people get married (or at least throw a big wedding) only once in their life. So, according to these authors, TWI can gouge brides and get away with it.

I heard all sorts of helpful tips like “ask for quotes for ‘parties,’ not for ‘weddings,’ because florists, bakers, photographers, and site coordinators are in the habbit of charging a Sucker Tax as soon as they hear the ‘w’ word.”

I began to wonder if maybe my DF let the ‘w’ word slip, and that perhaps the $.05 was a Sucker Tax. I distinctly remember spending 20 minutes on the phone with a pad and paper writing out all of the items that I was renting as I CONFIRMED them, scheduling a pick-up date, and double checking the final price.

I was annoyed enough to summon the gusto required to play hardball if I had to. The same lovely man who CONFIRMED my order for teapots, plates, glasses, and sliverware asssured me that he only gave me a quote back in April before the prices were raised and that since DF had just CONFIRMED the order yesterday – that yesterday’s prices were applicable.

      I informed him that I very well DID CONFIRM the order in April
      I informed him that I had to RECONFIRM in late April – because the staff at his company kept losing my file and had to create a new file every time I called
      I informed him that my fiance was merely investigating because the company had lost my file more than once and had failed to send us a contract or invoice
    I informed him that to date – the company website lists the old price that I was originally quoted

And then he began to argue with me.

He tried to tell me that I didn’t confirm anything, that it was only a quote, so he had to reissue my DF a new quote yesterday (yesterday, he told DF that he couldn’t honor the old price because the difference would come out of his pocket), that it didnt matter if the advertised price on the company website (today) was lower – that the price was what it was and if I didn’t like it I could go somewhere else.

You know what celery sounds like when you bend it in half? – Yeah.

Unfortunately – I could not go somewhere else, because this is the only party rental supply in the area that stocks teapots. I knew I was right, I had CONFIRMED the order, and this would not be the second (or the third) time that this company had lost my file. You know, the file that had MY CONFIRMATION IN IT.

There are 4 life events that are considered to be most stressful in a persons life. Thank the LORD i am not pregnant, or dying right now. If i was, i’d definately be wearing a nice white coat on my wedding day.

For ten minutes he argued with me, I accused him of baiting and switching, he put me on hold, he argued with me, he put me on hold, he argued with me, I threatened to call the Better Business Bureau, he put me on hold.

And then I got to talk to (we’ll call him Boris – since i don’t know anyone who I would offend by using the alias Boris) Boris. Boris asked me to explain what was going on.

Poor Boris.
I told him about the changed price. Boris told me that honoring the original price was up to the owner. The broken celery stalk in my head took control of my mouth. I told him about the plethera of repeated conversations and sitting on hold while his staff searched for missing files. Boris looked in the computer, and magically, my original CONFIRMED order appeared! All 1,112 pieces of china and silverware appeared with my name, address, and credit card information, pick up and drop off dates.

Boris immediately stated that he would honor the original price as quoted in the confirmed contract that was in the computer at his fingertips.

“‘He’ would? I thought the owner had to do that?”
“Yes, I am the owner. We just don’t like to tell people that over the phone.” Boris told me with a smile in his voice.

Hmmmmmmm. I wonder why?