Yo. It’s been awhile.
I’ll be honest, I just haven’t felt like writing. It just so happens that funks continue and they ain’t all that easy to break out of. Write that one down.
But a decision has been made. And moved forward on. And life is weird and happy and strangely good. And also scary. Really scary. Think your scariest monster-under-the-bed moment scary and you’ll get the idea.
Because we haven’t shared all of the details with those closest to us yet (or really anybody except our immediate families, for that matter) I will spare you the details for now. But just know that a house is in the mix and we are excited and I nearly vomit everyday thinking about paying a mortgage. Why is that so freaking terrifying?!?!?! It’s just money, right?
I probably should apologize for neglecting this blog, especially since this whole writing thing started out as a project for my sexy husband when I found out that he is genuinely bummed that I don’t believe in scrapbooking. Me = not creative. But I guess he knew that before we sealed the marriage deal so no backing out now, Ryan!
Forgive the tangents. I’m sitting on the couch on a Friday night second guessing our decision and hoping that writing things out with a more than slightly sarcastic tone will make me feel better.
For the record, it is. Kinda.
Background: I can safely say that one of my very favorite people in the Bay Area is a certain Peyton Jones. She gets me. She makes me laugh. And she is super model pretty without acting like she knows it. Basically her husband Blake scored, big time. A few weeks ago Peyton and I decided that we needed to step up our San Francisco game and take our honeys out for a night on the town. So we hit up the less than virtuous show Beach Blanket Babylon and laughed until I developed a six pack. Seriously so much laughing.
If you are in the area and don’t mind a little crass/potty-mouth humor, hit it up. And maybe grab some fabulous pasta before; after all the show is in the Italian district. Afterwards head over the hipster side of town (aka the Mission/SoMa) and grab some creme brûlée from The Creme Brûlée Cart. While I didn’t partake myself, I hear it’s basically what the celestial kingdom is made of.
On your way back to the East Bay stop at Treasure Island, act like a couple of teenagers and engage in PDA with your spouse in front of the new Bay Bridge. Admire the light show and take 500 pictures hoping that just one of them is Instagram worthy. (Side note: when it is rainy and windy none of those carefully posed pics will make the cut. But you won’t really care anyway.)
Then laugh all the way home and send prayers of thanks to the Heavens that you have such good friends.
P.S. While we were out we drove past the Opera House and saw all these gentleman and ladies in white-tie digs. Floor-length ball gowns, furs, ropes of diamonds, tuxedos with tails…you get the idea. Right there on the spot I decided that I am not allowed to die until I get Ryan into a tux and rent a dress and go to the opera. I have a feeling I’ll cry because its so beautiful and Ryan will snore because he is so bored. But that is one opportunity in life that I am NOT going to miss out on. So let it be written, so let it be done.