Moving on....Over

Remember when I first got married and I openly complained about the shoe box that I agreed to live in for "six months" while we looked for something to buy? Well -- almost two years later, we DID buy. Apparently my idea of a dream house doesn't quite mesh with RP's idea of a dream investment.

On the bright side, I'm happy to say that I no longer live in said shoe box.

However, this move was more... well... lateral than I would have preferred.

Last week, RP and I moved into our his dream tri-plex. In RP's defense, the building does reside a cool 800 feet from the Pacific Ocean -- which would be even more awesome if I ever had the time to make it to the beach.

I guess there's something to be said for salty evening breezes and the mental knowledge that  it's right around the corner.

Moving proved to be a grand adventure in and of itself -- what with it being sandwiched between my busiest week at work all year and our departure for the Himalayas. Luckily, our new ward is awesome and turned out in droves to help us out of one shoe-box and into a larger dump (thus making my humiliation complete).

Just a couple highlights of moving out:

I was able to find this gem from RP's past. I never mentioned that my husband was analytical, did I? (Please keep in mind that RP and I didn't meet until 2009.)

As well as this guy:

You can't say he wasn't trying.

Now that we've moved in, the real work begins. After new carpet installation, two toilet seats, two professional cleaners and three days of painting, I'm becoming convinced that I will never, ever, be bored again.

So long, Nordstrom. Hello, Home Depot.

The nice part about all this is I now feel that I'll be completely at home in Nepali tea houses over the next few weeks. 

Hello, homeownership. You and RP will get along nicely.  

Note: Yes, I have posted zero pictures. I will post these when I feel that I can emotionally handle actually taking pictures of the place.

Giving Thanks (Remotely)

I need to set the record straight.

I'm very thankful for RP.

That said, I was not thankful with RP this Thanksgiving, as this southward-wandering spouse of mine spent the better part of last week in Baja, Mexico, doing what he loves best:

Avoiding his wife and shacking up with men.

Alright, alright, surfing is what RP loves best and that's what he got to be thankful for (sans turkey) last week.

Truth be told, RP's Latin trek was my doing, as I knew if he fled the country I'd be free to hop a plane northward and spend some much-needed holiday time with the Radfords -- because in case you've forgotten, I'm sacrificing some primo yuletide-cheer time to the Himalayas.

And I did just that. Plus, since my flight arrived around 5 pm on Thursday, I got to enjoy all of the gorging without any of the prep-work. Eat your heart out, Little Red Hen.

That said, I did manage to tote a gluten-free, sugar-free, all-natural pumpkin pie through two airports, two airplanes, and one TSA check-point. And yes, I tried it first, to make sure it was worthy of the effort escorting it to Washington (It was.).

The highlights of the holidays include seeing three darling nephews and one beee-youuu-tiii-fulll red-headed niece. I was so taken by her I bought her a new Christmas dress forthwith, which is what you do when you're infatuated with someone (are you reading this, RP?).

Four days, three sub-freezing runs, one movie, one birthday, and a whole lot of turkey later, I came home to see my RP, who survived both the Mexican terrain and the time away from his beloved (football).  

Now I have exactly 19 days to pack in the Christmas cheer before I leave the Christian world (and my ability to shower and drink from the tap) for Mother Everest.

So are the days of our lives.

I'm beginning to think there's a reason they call it "fall."

Don't worry; I'm not here to complain. But now that I've made the appropriate disclaimer, I'm going to go ahead and do just that. So far this Autumn thing just isn't turning out so hot (and the fact that it still IS hot around here is just adding insult to injury).

It all began (as these things always do) with a rabbit.

And it ended with for a rabbit. Yes, our time with the long-eared Sadie Doe was sweet, but in the end, RP couldn't reconcile himself with the fact that she was not a canine. Now Sadie resides in Fountain Valley, having lived nine months a half-mile from the beach and never once seeing the ocean.

It's a tragic tale.

But we managed to get one last family shot, before she hopped out of our lives forever and into the arms of a good home girl from Craig's List who didn't appear to harbor plans on eating her.

With the Prices down one furball and two long ears, we decided to make the most of our weekends. Especially since we were also simultaneously released from our babysitting job church calling with the four year olds. So we set off for the trees -- the Sequoias, to be exact.

Things were cold. Marshmallows improved matters marginally.

RP was the picture of chivalry, though. He not only built me a fire to keep me from taking the car and leaving him in the sub-30 degree nights, but also made me a "heat rock" to put in my sleeping bag. The rock worked magnificently until I started smelling burning towel/bag/flesh and realized that RP was secretly trying to roast me to death in my sleep.

I'm just relieved I saved Sadie in time. Who knows what else this madman is capable of.

Even in the beautiful Giant Forest with no radio or cell reception, we still couldn't escape all the election talk.

Speaking of elections, RP and I did our civil duty and made a date night of voting. Since that involved ten "propositions," it ended up being a super sexy evening.

Until we actually saw the results.

There were tears. And the eating of way too many sugar-free, gluten-free peanut butter cookies (the downfall of America as we know it is no reason to abandon your health).

Nonetheless, we move on: through the loss of presidential hopefuls, ballot propositions, body heat, and pet rabbits. Since primo pie-making time is imminent, I still have something left to live for. Salvation, thy name is pumpkin.

Thirty, Flirty, and Tiring

This weekend I did one of those things that has previously always seemed distant and out of reach -- like having a baby or reading the Twilight series without retching.

I turned 30.

I'd been dreading this day for a while (as had RP), but turning 30 turned out to be pretty innocuous, aside from caloric overload and surprise-induced high blood pressure.

RP planned my very own “day of fun” in San Diego on Saturday to commemorate my second 29^th birthday.  It started with a 10:45 am movie, which made it seem like I was turning 69. On the bright side, I had no idea how cheap movies are when you see them before noon.

After the movie, we headed off to Rubicon in Mission Beach for my favorite calorie-overloaded salad and a chance to see what beach-dwelling 20-somethings look like in bikinis.

Which almost ruined the salad for me.

Then we headed over to Old Town, mostly because I wanted to tour the Whaley House, but also because it was so appropriately named.

The most haunted house in America was spooky, but I enjoyed every minute, mostly because the Victorian garb and lack of plumbing made me feel super young and hip.

Since RP is such a good boy, he took off for Priesthood session, but not before he took me for froyo and diet coke, wherein we had this conversation:

RP: “Let’s get you some froyo.”

KP: “And a diet coke!”

RP: “Didn’t you have two at the movies?”

KP: “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY.”

RP: “I just thought –“

KP: “IT’S MY BIRTHDAY AND I CAN HAVE AS MANY DIET COKES AS I WANT!”

RP: “What’s your excuse the other 364 days of the year?”

After killing a couple hours shopping for needless home goods with Julia, RP and I were scheduled for a special sushi dinner downtown. But we never made it; it seems RP had a few little tricks up his little sleeve.

Julia called to tell me she’d forgotten to give me my present. She was surprised at how quickly I agreed to come back to her house, but that was because she underestimated how much I like presents.

Lo and behold, RP had organized a little surprise for me. And it happened to include my favorite people:

A little birthday barbecue and soiree followed, which made me realize that, old or not, I have the best friends in the world.

In fact, the party was so lovely that we barely made it home in time to open presents and eat our homemade sugar-free, low carb chocolate birthday cake on my actual birthday. RP did a fantastic job, showering me with pretty things including a Missoni scarf, which also helped him to learn WHAT Missoni is.

Maybe 29 Part II won’t be so bad.

It should also be noted that my coworkers didn't neglect my birthday either. Yes, that is a decorated file cabinet in our department as well as some "homemade" birthday gifts: a stuffed bald eagle (what girl DOESN'T need on in her closet?) and a VOIP handset (with a bow). 

The Highest Prices

I don't want to brag here, but this weekend, RP and I were way, way, above you. In fact, we were the highest "thing" in the continental United States -- for all of about five minutes -- on Sunday.

Yes, we got high -- high on life like they encourage in middle school (Thanks, DARE.).

However, this little jaunt to Mt. Whitney wasn't all fun and games. In fact, there were a few low points for us Prices. One of those was my dead toenail and two were our attitudes by Sunday afternoon.

This whole climbing mountains thing was RP's idea, truth be told, but since it remains my idea to spend the holidays in the frozen Himalayas, I figured I owed it to RP to give up my usual weekend full of the gym, grocery stores, primary, and my couch.

We both regretted that decision.

Ok, it wasn't so bad. In fact, during the 15 minutes we spent at the 14,50- foot summit, the views were so spectacular (and the air was so thin and I was so dizzy) that we almost overlooked the fact that we had to somehow get off the mountain.

A few other points of the trip made it worth it, like watching RP cook ME dinner for a change -- and eating my first potato in about a decade (not that you could really call that garlic-spiced powder "potatoes"). RP even washed the dishes (mostly because I refused to leave the tent).

I got fully reacquainted with my trusted sleeping bag once the sun went down and the 12,000-foot mountain air attacked.

In the pre-dawn hours near the summit, looking down on the head-lamped hikers at camp was like seeingWhoville from the top of Mt. Crumpit. This was highly appropriate since I'm pretty sure my quads grew three sizes that day.

I have to say we were pretty impressed with our own performance -- we made it up to summit in 7.5 hours, and back down in 5, which is pretty good time considering that some people actually, like, train for this.

Plus, Mt. Whitney is the ultimate bonding experience. In fact, a mile from the summit, we had this conversation:

RP: "Honey, I think we're going to make it."

KP: "We're getting close."

RP: "If I collapse here, I want you to go on to the summit without me."

KP: "Oh honey."

RP: "... yeah?"

KP: "I absolutely will."

and this one:

RP: "I'm sick of these switchbacks."

KP: "I'm sick of the cliffs getting steeper and higher. I hate heights."

RP: "We should have tied our bodies together."

KP: "Why in the world would we do that?"

RP: "Because if I'm going to die I'd prefer that you die too."

Luckily, we both made it -- and brought back some video evidence:

Now, aside from a lost toenail, backpack-indented bruises along my shoulders and hips, and a dozen or so blisters, we're no worse for the wear.

I think RP summed it up best when we finally reached the end of the trail:

RP: "We did it honey!"

KP: "We did!"

RP: "Let's never, ever do that again."

As you wish, RP.

Hell Week Wrap-Up

They say that buying a first home as a couple is an exciting time.

I say it's complete and utter torture.

But maybe that's because our first home isn't exactly picket fences and dutch front doors -- it's more carports and on-site laundry.

That said, I'm pleased to announce that after eight (yes EIGHT) LONG months of trying to buy our little beach triplex, we FINALLY closed.

Walt Disney was right -- Dreams DO come true (at least for RP).

But I can't complain, since RP has promised that said investment will make me rich and with my phenomenal acting skills I'm almost positive I could keep it in the divorce.

Just kidding.

Here's RP happily signing his life away:

And me, at our post-closing dinner, after the xanax kicked in and the salsa/Diet Coke began flowing.

With the stress of the closing done, we relaxed. To the point that we were oblivious to the strategic escape of one long-eared member of the Price household. We woke this morning to find our house sans two long ears and one cotton tail. Luckily, Sadie's hunger for freedom doesn't compare with her hunger for vegetables, and RP found her basking blissfully in the tomato garden. RP hid his disappointment in finding her surprisingly well.

Luckily, the week is ending on a fantastic note -- as I snuck out of work to endulge my childhood fascination with space and drove to Disneyland to see the Endeavour make its final flight.

This excitement of seeing this beauty may only be surpassed when I get home to find THIS beauty waiting in the mail:

Hell week, you didn't turn out half-bad.

Fall Weddings Bring California Prices

It's no great secret that the months of September through December are pretty much the only thing that gets me through the other eight. I'm a pretty big fan of Autumn. I love the changing light, the cooler air (in other parts of the country), the endless options for pumpkin desserts. I even love football season -- although it usually means I fall one more rung on RP's list of priorities (current standings: 1. football 2. surfing. 3. beach triplexes. 4. KP).

Just kidding. Mostly.

This week, I loved fall because I got to spend a bit of it in Utah. Since it'd been a good year since I'd visited the beehive state, I was due for some quality time with some of the world's greatest people. With RP's BFF (sorry, that was a lot of acronyms) getting married, I not only had a few extra hours sans husband to catch up with MY BFF, but I also got some much-needed catch-up time with some of my favorite Prices.

The weekend started with a six-mile run workout with my cute sis-in-law Jessica Saturday morning, wherein we realized that we liked chatting more than we liked running.

Then I got to head downtown for lunch with my bestie. The food at Blue Lemon was second to my long-anticipated meeting of little Miss Delilah -- who was as delightful as she was cute.

After lunch, RP and I were all about romance. Well, not our own. Nearly late for the wedding as-is, we stopped by WalMart to pick up some snacks and goodies to give the new couple a honeymoon basket. Wherein I realized why I don't go to Walmart:

WalMart Checker: "Someone's having a romantic night tonight!"

KP: "(laughs) Not us!"

WalMart Checker: "Your daughter?"

KP: "..........no............"

I'm not sure what's worse about this conversation -- the fact that I look old enough to have an adult daughter or the fact that she would obviously be the person to whom I'm giving honeymoon supplies. Maybe she just thought I was hoping to make the cast of Teen Moms.

After that harrowing experience, we made it to the wedding (and I was classy enough to leave my cane and dentures at home).

RP tried not to steal the show. But I can't say he succeeded:

After this kind of frivolity, luckily we were left to simply enjoy some family time -- and three (yes THREE) football games. What with BYU and USC bringing on the disappointment, I pled with the universe on behalf of the Eagles. Luckily, the Universe took pity, and now Philadelphia is 2-0 and RP has yet to kill himself.

We love you, Utah. Now if only you lived in California.