Summer Travels

So how about that summer?


I struggle to even call it summer because when you work full-time and don’t have kids, the extent of summer is lighter traffic during your commute, and also the pool is open.

We did manage to squeeze quite a bit of travel into the past 3 months, so this will be my quick bullet point list of where we went and how much we ate while we were there.


A week after our amazing, epic and life-changing excursion to Europe, hubs was shipped to Omaha for work for two months.  Two months!  He got to come home for one weekend in the middle of it, and I cashed in the last of my skymiles to fly up and see him 3 weeks in, because Ben & Jerry’s and Two Buck Chuck can only quell your loneliness for so long.  It was a dark time.

To my surprise, Omaha was surprisingly charming!  Granted, they have the worst weather combination in the universe: scorching hot summers and epically cold winters.  The timing for hubs’s work trip couldn’t have been better though, as both the college world series AND the Olympic swim trials were both going on while he was there, so he had plenty of entertainment.  And the weekend I visited, Taste of Omaha was going on, and we also went to the zoo and stalked Warren Buffett.  Good times were had by all.  Although not good enough to merit staying permanently, as hubs’s company begged him to do.  No dice, company!

(Omaha sign, white tiger at the Omaha Zoo, a tribute to Chef Boyardee)


By the time July rolled around, it was time to celebrate our 2 year wedding anniversary.  We originally planned to go to Maine to eat lobster and sight see, but those plans were abandoned when I got pitiful and used up all my miles.  So instead we opted to drive the 3 hours up to Asheville, North Carolina.  THE FOOD WAS INCREDIBLE.  We were there for less than 48 hours, but we managed to eat at Tupelo Honey Cafe twice.  Word for the wise: They bring you biscuits, jam and tupelo honey AFTER you order your food.  You will have to roll yourself home Violet-Beauregard-style if you order anything besides an entree.  It was delicious and I will never forget it.

Also, Asheville, you have so many young, attractive hippies.  And also so much beer.  We stayed at Hotel Indigo which is mere blocks away from all there is to see and do in Asheville.  I may or may not have picked it out based on the fact that the cast of the Hunger Games stayed there while filming the first movie.  We spent a day at the Biltmore, which was redonk.  It was like Downton Abbey but in the Appalachian Mountains and on crack.  It’s crazy expensive so google around for coupon codes if you plan to visit.  I made up the price of the ticket by fully exploiting the wine tasting portion of the day.  They make about 30 wines and I tried every. single. one.

(the Biltmore, a glass of Bordeaux, the patio at Asheville Brewing Co.)


I’m not sure if this counts as travel, since hubs is from Savannah and my in-laws still live there, but we took a weekend visit while hubs’s sister and her 3 kids were in town.  Fried scallops, hush puppies and low country boil were consumed.  Margaritas were had on the beach at Tybee Island.  Sweet Melissa’s pizza was eaten at 2:00 a.m.  If you need a killer small business idea, start a 24 hour pizza-by-the-slice restaurant in a party town, but maybe name it something that doesn’t make pervy men giggle.

I also peer-pressured my father-in-law into busting out his Margaritaville machine which had been collecting dust since Christmas.  He whipped up some pina coladas for us but mostly me, and my mother-in-law said she had never seen me giggle so much.  Mission accomplished?  Most importantly, we spent a lot of time with 3 of our nephews, the oldest of which will tell blackmail-quality stories about his mom for hours on end, and the youngest of which is going through a boob-punching phase.  It was a special weekend.

(Sweet Melissa’s, low country boil, Tybee Island)


This past February, we experienced The Greatest Loss Of Our Time when two of our best friends moved out to California.  Jerks.  We flew out to visit them over Labor Day weekend, and had the most amazing time seeing the middle of California in all its glory.  We flew into LAX, had lunch in Santa Monica, dinner in Visalia (where they live), and then woke up bright and early to watch the Georgia/Buffalo game, which started at 9 a.m. pacific time.  We also made it out to the beach for a night, staying in Pismo Beach, partying in San Luis Obispo, and breakfasting in Avila Beach.  We swung through Paso Robles wine country on the way back, where our friends revealed that they are secret ballers who are VIPs at a winery with a code and a gate for private tastings.

Hubs loves the weather on the coast of California like I love Cheez Its, which is to say, a lot.  The fact that it was August and in the low 50’s by 9 p.m. gave him a serious hankering to also relocate to the west coast.  Our friends may have wined and dined us into submission, which sounds suggestive, but is true.  I am not typically a crier but I quietly sobbed after they dropped us back off at the airport, though hubs doesn’t like to feel feelings and kept trying to distract me with questions like “don’t you miss Buster?” and “are you wearing tights as pants?” (They were leggings and it was LA and my shirt covered my butt so don’t judge).

(Paso Robles, Irish coffee, a sign in a garden in a winery)

For the next 3 months, the only travel we’ll be doing is to-and-from Georgia Tech for tailgating and football.  We have 4 home games in a row in September.  Whoever made that schedule needs to be punched in the face.  One the plus side, hot dogs and beer before noon are totally acceptable for all Saturdays this month, so I’ll allow it.

Happy fall!


You Are Not Craving A Salad

Realtalk: Every time I hear someone say that they are “craving a salad”, I want to punch them in the face.

Who craves a salad?!?  Seriously!  My cravings include things like potato chips, cake with caramel frosting, pad thai, french fries, and various other things that are terrible for you.  In the months leading up to my wedding, when my diet mainly consisted of fruits and vegetables, I dreamed daily of eating Arby’s fries with cheese sauce.  They’re so gross, and yet, I wanted them.  So.  Freaking.  Badly.

So when I hear one of my health-conscious friends say, “Do you want to go to XYZ for lunch?  I’m really craving a salad today,” I want to be like, HOLD THE PHONE, CRAZY LADY!

Do women say these things to help them convince themselves that they want a salad, and therefore it won’t feel like a chore when they make the healthy choice to eat one?  Or are there really people out there who think, yes, I am craving some flavorless lettuce topped with cold, sterile veggies, cheese that’s been processed into an oblivion, maybe some meat grilled to bland perfection, and dressing made of God knows what, which will be on the side, of course!

No.  Don’t get me wrong, I LIKE salad.  I think it’s very healthy to incorporate it into your daily meal routine.  And I will often eat one, because it’s the right thing to do.  But to say I’m ever craving one is like saying that Blake Lively is craving Ryan Reynolds.  It’s just not true, because you know she would rather have Leonardo DiCaprio.  And I would rather have nachos.

Get Away From Me, Cat With Two Faces!

One time, when I was in high school, someone at our church brought a litter of kittens to the youth building.  I was holding what I thought was a sweet, innocent little kitty, petting it and whispering sweet nothings into its little kitty ear, telling it things like you don’t look like you would bite me, I bet you like to snuggle, so what if my dad is deathly allergic, maybe I can sneak you into my house and we can be best buddies.

When I was done smothering snuggling said kitten, I peeled it and it’s tiny claws away from my shirt to hand it off to someone else, but the kitten was not ready to let go and it STUCK ITS CLAW INTO MY NECK.

Granted, there was no blood, but that kitten had its claw stuck in the skin on my neck for a solid 30 seconds before someone graciously pulled the damn thing out of me.  Thus, I am scarred for life.  Which is why this is pretty much my worst nightmare.

Fun Fact Friday: The Only Joke I Know

Fun fact of the day: Smokey the Bear’s original name was supposed to be “Hotfoot Teddy”.

I only have space in my head for one joke at a time.  Kind of like how in Sunday school growing up, I could only remember one bible verse at a time.  As soon as I memorized a new one, the previous one was gone from existence, as far as my brain was concerned.  I can remember specific stories from the bible, although some of them are admittedly fuzzy.  But as far as ver batim verses go, I am out of luck.  Which is just one of the reasons that I would be a terrible lawyer.  See also: anxiety over public speaking, being terrified of confrontation, not looking good in a suit, etc. etc. the list goes on.

Which brings me to the only joke I know (right now).  Disclaimer: I do not endorse this joke.  I don’t choose which jokes I can remember, they choose me.

Why doesn’t Smokey the Bear have kids?  … Because every time his wife gets hot, he beats her with a shovel.

You’re welcome.

It’s Not The Primer, It’s You

Last night I decided to spruce up a wall sconce, from Pier 1, which previously sat on the floor of our old apartment for YEARS before we got the guts to hang it on an actual wall with actual wall anchors at our actual house.  It was black iron, seen below, but it felt harsh against the muddy gray walls of our dining room (the color is Behr Squirrel, if paint colors are your thing), so I wanted to lighten it up and make the sconce more exciting.

First, I primed it with a white Krylon indoor/outdoor spray primer.  This is where I almost gave up and threw the sconce away.  Spray paint comes with what appears to be a little plug where the paint comes out, like krazy glue, or so I thought.  I took out the plug, and when I started to spray, it came out in big fat drops.  I did two pathetic coats before it occurred to me to put the plug back in.  Then, the primer came out in a wide, smooth stream, and I felt like an idiot.  Also, I got paint all over my hands, which doesn’t happen if you use this stuff correctly.  Oh well.  You live and you learn.

After two coats of primer, I sprayed on another two coats of Krylon indoor/outdoor spray paint in Satin Meringue, the palest yellow available at our local Home Depot.  It was supposed to only take 1 minute to dry between coats, but I let it sit for a while longer, because of my primer misstep.  Also, it still smelled really strongly of spray paint, and I wanted to limit the number of brain cells I was certainly losing.

Here’s the after:

I think I like it?  Eventually, it’ll jive more with the overall color scheme of the ground floor of our house, which is dictated by the obnoxious yellow tile in our bathrooms that is not in bad enough shape to merit tearing it out just yet.  I’m kind of glad that the color scheme decision is partially made for me up front, because if it were up to me, I’d have the whole house gray, floor to ceiling.

Update 12/22: I realized the other day that this wall sconce is the same wall sconce that is in Penny’s bedroom on The Big Bang Theory.  I guess they painted theirs white.  They probably weren’t idiots when priming it either.