Pensacola, Pensacola, Here We Cooooooome

it finally happened.  after months of prodding, guilting, and possibly some crying, hubs finally relented and took me to the beach this weekend.  and oh, what a weekend it was!

we made the 6 hour drive from atlanta to pensacola beach on thursday after work.  here i am getting jazzed for the car ride, because typically 4 hours is my whiney limit.  but i did okay this time!  i wore this obnoxious shirt so hubs wouldn’t lose me in any alabama gas stations.


i continue to be horrified by hubs’s taste in car ride candy.  i am a reese’s pieces girl myself.


we stayed at the holiday inn express, because all of the rooms have oceanfront balconies, and also hubs had enough points to make our 3 night stay completely free.  free is my favorite.

my point-and-shoot camera died a slow, jerky death upon our arrival, so all of these pictures are iphone pictures, and possibly not of the best quality?  that being said, here is the moon over the ocean!


we checked in at about 11:00 p.m. central time, and wanted to go out to get a celebratory beverage.  the only place open was one of the top 5 sketchiest bars i have ever been to, called sandshaker lounge & package.  emphasis on the “& package”.  that should tell you everything you need to know.

hubs and i had a round of beer, and then when he went back for seconds, this happened:

hubs: what do you want to drink this time?
me: i’ll take another blue moon.
hubs: okay i’ll get you a bushwacker.
me: so, just to reiterate, i want a blue moon.
hubs: bushwacker it is!

(5 minutes later, hubs sets down my not-blue-moon)


hubs: i’m so sorry.
me: don’t apologize, you knew what i wanted.
hubs: no, i am REALLY SORRY about this drink.  i think it’s the worst drink i’ve ever had.
me: well what does it taste like?
hubs: dishwater…dirty dishwater.

and you know what you guys?  it totally did taste like dirty dishwater.  and i drank hubs’s beer and he drank the bushwacker, and all was right with the world.


the next morning, we ate the free hotel breakfast (toast w/ peanut butter and banana slices, oh yes), and then did some shopping, mostly at circle K to stock up on beach suppiles.  and by beach supplies, i mean booze.  specifically, this booze.  it hit the spot.


we spent most of friday beaching, beveraging, and have a damn good time.  we rented one of those 2 person wooden beach chairs, and if you were situated just so, you could close your eyes and pretend like you were in maui instead.  sort of.

then we did early bird dinner at pegleg pete’s which i neglected to photograph?  probably because i was famished.  we came back to the hotel and fell asleep on accident, and then woke up at 9:30 and scrambled to go back out, as adults do.

our hotel was less than a mile from all of the big restaurants on pensacola beach, but in between us and the food was jimmy buffett’s margaritaville hotel, which we may have walked to on more than one occasion for a real margarita.  the hotel was nice!  way nicer than i would’ve thought.  if we go back, we would maybe stay here instead?  tbd.

on our walk from margaritaville to second dinner at flounder’s late friday night, we stumbled upon this sign that totally made my night.


and then we went to flounder’s and had a diesel fuel, which is supposed to be lethal, and while it did taste good, it did not knock me on my ass, so i was slightly disappointed.  but their chowder was delicious.


also, worth noting, i am not on drugs in this picture.  the flash was bright and i was fighting the urge to give the stink-eye to the girl at the table behind us who kept squawking “HATERS!!” throughout dinner.  i think she liked the diesel fuels?

on saturday we paid the $1.25 fee to walk to the end of the world’s longest pier* and watch about 200 shirtless men fish.  it was okay.



this was taken from the end of the pier.  the closer hotel is margaritaville, and the other one is our HIE, for reference.



we also partook in a few frozen drinks from bamboo willie’s, which is just like wet willie’s, but with redeemable bushwackers.  and an electric lemonade that i didn’t totally hate.


and then we had more beach time, followed by more napping.  my two favorite activities of all time.

we capped off our weekend with dinner at crabs! we got ’em.  we ate some oysters and watched a hermit crab race, and had more delicious drinks.  and then we were too tired from all the beach time to do anything else notable.  so we were vegetables for the rest of the night.


on sunday morning we got up, regretfully packed our belongings, and headed back to atlanta on what would become a 6 hour rain-soaked car ride.

overall it was amazing to get away, even for just a short 2 days.  it is always good to spend some quality time with each other and away from the hubbub of our daily lives.  additionally, i may have tipsily told hubs he could buy a big green egg if he takes me to new york later this summer, so there may be more travel in our future yet.  we will see!


*unverified and probably not true.


men are afraid of eyebrows: an observation

you know what i have noticed? hubs is terrified of me changing my eyebrows in any way shape or form. my eyebrows are normal: not too thin, not too bushy, nothing special going on between my eyes and my hairline. but twice in recent history has hubs shown concern for any sort of eyebrow experimentation. two earth-shattering conversations, for your reading pleasure.


[on filling in my eyebrows with eyebrow filler or whatever it’s called]

me: sara colored in her eyebrows, and they look really good, i was thinking-
hubs: please don’t do that to your eyebrows.
me: what, fill them in?
hubs: yeah.
me: do you even know what that means?
hubs: no, but please don’t do it.
me: i wouldn’t make them like crazy black caterpillar eyebrows or anything, i just-
me: …okay.

[on trimming my eyebrows with scissors, as women do]

me: i think i need to have erin teach me how to trim my eyebrows, they’re not bushy but i’m afraid the hairs are getting too long.
hubs: no your eyebrows are fine.
me: how would you know? you’re a boy.
hubs: you don’t need to trim them, they’re fine the way they are.
me: but what if they’re too lo-
me: …okay.

what i’m realizing now is that it’s probably my mistake for mentioning my eyebrows to my husband in the first place? because he was probably picturing a worst-case-scenario when i brought them up:


or do you think my husband just has this other-worldly sense for when eyebrows need or don’t need work? marriage, am i right?

don’t blow it

i am not sure if this is the correct way to use pinterest or not, but when i’m having a bad day at work, i like to click on the “humor” section to get a few giggles and make my day a little bit brighter, by seeing things like this:


or this:


or maybe this:


saving that last one for our future child’s first halloween costume.  god i love pinterest.

so yesterday, as i browsed the humor section, i came across something labeled “16 ways i blew my marriage”, and i thought, that does not belong here.  but i was intrigued, so i clicked on it to see what it could possibly be about.

in short, it is an article written by a man who has been divorced twice, listing out all of the things he would have done differently in marriage to keep it from ending in divorce.  there’s also a part 2, which brings the total number of ways to mess up your marriage to 32.  awesome!


[SNL skit here, for reference.]

it is full of some simple tips like “don’t stop holding her hand” and “don’t poop with the bathroom door open”, and some maybe not so obvious ones, such as “don’t encourage each other to skip working out” and “don’t make her do the gross and scary things” (like kill bugs and unclog drains).

some of the tips may apply to you, and some may not, but it’s definitely an interesting and honest list, and i wish there was a version written by a woman so that we could read both sides of the marriage story.


i sent the links to hubs, not as a “hey don’t mess up our marriage” but as more of a “hey i thought this list was interesting please don’t hate me”.  his response was something along the lines of “why do you hate me so much” (which is actually more of a term of endearment in our relationship, but that is another story for another day).

here is the thing.  i am happily married.  like, my husband is my best friend and marrying him is the only thing i have never had to doubt or analyze in my entire life.  he is the one.  we will be together forever.  he will never get away (muahahaha…).


that being said, being that i am a child of divorce, i am not naive about marriage.  i do not assume that it will be easy, that our marriage will always work with ease, and that life will never throw us a situation that we can’t handle.  i assume that it’s going to be hard and that it will take work to have a successful marriage.  but i know that we will make it for the long haul together, and articles like this one are just tools we can use to strengthen things now.  can’t hurt!

here are the links to his articles if you would like to read for yourself:

part 1:

part 2:

and now that i have reached my semi-serious post quota for the month of march, i will leave you with this:


oh snap!

happy anna howard shaw day [UPDATE]

i have never been a big fan of valentine’s day, even now, when i have someone to spend it with.  i don’t know that i ever had disdain for today, but i didn’t magically come to love it once i was off the market.  it’s just a day.


truth be told, my husband used to send flowers to my office every valentine’s day, until we got engaged.  that year, i wasn’t feeling well and decided to leave work early, but sent a quick note to future-hubs (past hubs?) to ask him if i’d be missing anything if i went home before 5:00.  he was confused.  so i gently reminded him that he always sends me flowers on valentine’s day, and his response was something like, “oh that was before we got engaged.  you said yes.  pressure’s off!”

well you know what honey?  that goes both ways.  it didn’t even occur to me to shave my legs this morning.  happy valentine’s day!


(p.s. i love my husband like crazy and he randomly brought home flowers 2 weeks ago, though they died pretty quickly after that because i put them in a vase and then stuck them under a lamp, but it’s the thought that counts.  he is the best.)


these just arrived at my office, and i am a terrible person.  they ever look like buster!  hubs sure knows the way to my heart.


brb gotta go home and shave my legs.

Foster Failure

In the dog fostering world, there is a term called “foster failure”, where you take in a dog temporarily, but you love it sooooooo much that you decide to adopt it and keep it forever.  Last week, I brought home our 2nd foster dog, and it was an almost-immediate foster failure.  But not that kind.  The what-the-cluck-was-I-thinking kind.

The new dog was promising.  She was quiet and sweet, but also about twice as big as I thought she would be.  And she was supposedly housetrained.  NOT SO MUCH.

Less than an hour after bringing her home, hubs and I sat down for a brief dinner together, and in my attempt to convince him that foster dogs could be awesome and low maintenance, I let her roam the downstairs unattended for approximately 180 seconds.

Upon returning to the living room, I realized that THERE WAS DOG PISS EVERYWHERE.  On the hardwoods.  On Buster’s doggie bed.  The foster dog was mid-squat behind an armchair when I dragged her outside to do her business, the whole time thinking shitshitshit, hubs is going to kill me.

When I brought the dog back in, I started to tidy up, when I noticed a giant, splattery puddle on our couch.  Panic struck.

The couch in our living room is the ONLY piece of furniture that hubs and I have bought together.  It is holy.  It is sacred.  And it has NEVER been soiled.  Not by Buster, not by a rogue glass of red wine, not even by a chocolate chip cookie that my little brother left for dead directly on the cream-colored upholstery.

Knowing full well that a dog peeing on the couch is a dealbreaker, I started to cry as I walked back into the kitchen to tell hubs about the disaster area in the next room.  I prefaced it with, “please don’t yell at me,” and he didn’t.  I think he could sense my devastation, so he non-judgmentally helped me clean up as I cursed myself for bringing the damn dog into our house in the first place.  Before we could make much progress, she jumped up on the other end of the couch and peed a second time.  Insert F-bombs here.

It sucked.  So.  Badly.  We stuck the dog in her crate and started to blot away.  Luckily, my neat-freak friend has one of those steam vacs that is perfect for such occasions, so we borrowed it the next day, and all appeared right with the world.

Except for the foster dog.  I took her back to the vet the next morning.  And then I wrote myself an email reminding myself how much she sucked and how terrible of an idea it was to foster a dog at our house.  I copied hubs, so he could forward it back to me in case I come down with puppy amnesia and mention fostering a dog again anytime in the future.  He immediately sent it back to me, with the subject, “Too soon?”  It wasn’t.

Don’t get me wrong, I still think that fostering dogs is a wonderful thing to do for all of the poor animals that are given a rough start in life and need the helping hand of a human to find their way again.  It just won’t be a hand from this human.

Twisted Sista

I saw this hair tutorial on, and decided to give it a whirl this morning before work.  And wouldn’t you know, I am capable of doing something to my hair that doesn’t involve verbally abusing it:

I even got a compliment on it from a woman at my office that I’ve never exchanged words with before.  Although she wanted to know how it was done so she could do it to her daughter’s hair, but…still.  Small victories!

Here’s another view:

Please pardon the awkward photos.  I was trying to hold the camera low enough so the guy who sits behind me wouldn’t realize that I was taking pictures of myself at work.

Hubs affectionately calls this hairdo my “Jheri Curl”.  He was trying to make me feel insecure about it so I would keep messing with it and then he’d be able to leave the house before me this morning.  It’s a fun little game we like to play, titled “Are You Really Going To Work Looking Like That?”  It’s all about the love at our house.