The iMonster

As you might recall, when RP turned the ripe age of 35, I gave him a shiny new toy: the iPad 3. This was for three reasons: 1. I thought he could use it for work. 2. I'm an awesome wife. 3. I wanted an iPad 3.

What I didn't know at the time was that I was creating an iMonster.

Just this weekend, RP's new iPad was the source of many "character-bearing" experiences.  

Take his recent affinity for playing "Family Feud (in church, in bed, at the beach, etc.)." Just yesterday, we had the following conversations:

RP: "Honey! Family Feud is asking for 5 reasons someone wouldn't want to be married to me."

KP: "To you specifically?"

RP: "Well, the player."

KP: "Umm... I feel like I'm being set up."

RP: "No! That's the real question!"

.......

RP: "Ugh."

.......

RP: "I ran out of time. I can't think of any reasons someone wouldn't want to be married to me."

An hour later....

RP: "What are six things a woman would rather be than beautiful?"

KP: "U----"

RP: (Immediately) "Skinny."

RP: "Sexy."

RP: "Rich?"

30 seconds later...

RP: "Oh, 'kind' and 'smart.' I wouldn't have thought of those."

And lest we leave all our fun to Family Feud, I also caught RP using his iPad during church, whilst I led 9 children in coloring pictures of Jesus. So engrossed was he in taking self-portraits via Photobooth that he neglected to notice me filming him:



Thanks again, Steve Jobs.

California (b)Ad-Venture

Call me Snow White, because I have my very own Grumpy on my hands. Or at least I did Saturday, when RP and I visited the happiest place on Earth's illegitimate half-brother, California Adventure.

In truth, RP was a great sport, but if there's one thing that amusement parks have taught this couple this year, it's that we're OLD.

We lasted 3 1/2 hours, one of which was spent entirely waiting in line for a corn dog and then devouring said delicacy.

Lucky for me, our spirits were still high when we made it onto Tower of Terror, my personal favorite. Sadly, our spirits were far too low (and the crowds to heavy, and our feet too sore, and a wife too hungry) to make it on Soarin' Over California, RP's personal favorite.

Sorry RP.

Some of the highlights of the day included:

- Our willingness to wait twice as long for corn dogs as we would for rides
- RP looking glumly at my open camera lens and saying "I'm a 35 year-old man at an amusement park. Do you really need to document it?"
- Getting leather shoes and a leather purse DRENCHED on the river rapids ride (That purse was Sara Berman. I hope you're happy Mr. Disney.).
- Leaving so early there wasn't even anyone to charge us for parking as we exited
- Me quietly stating, "This is fun, but so is Costco. And a Costco pass is only 50 bucks a year."

Guess we're not so adventurous after all.

Mountain Snobbery

Having lived both in Utah and in Idaho (shhh... don’t tell anyone), I love a good trip to the mountains.

Unfortunately, RP doesn’t. 

Well, that’s not entirely true. As previously stated, the man is determined to one day be a subject of a Krakauer survival story. That said, he does not appreciate “not-quite-mountain” trips.

And that’s what he considers Big Bear Lake, California.

As made apparent by our weekend trip there.

In case you were wondering, Big Bear sports a beautiful lake, darling town, and all kinds of trout fishing.

This did not please RP. Much as I tried to console him with mountain hikes and trout fishing, he still had his (numerous) complaints. For instance:

KP: “Honey, you should bring your fishing gear. I hear there are tons of trout in the lake.”

RP: “Yeah, but they’re all farm-raised and dumped into the lake.  And you can’t fly fish on a lake, so I’d have to bring a spinner.”

KP: “It’ll be nice to get into the mountains though.”

RP: “Eh, yeah, I guess. It’s like 6,000 feet but it’s more desert than mountains. It’s not like it’s Wyoming.”

KP: “I hope there are some good hikes. I found a 6-mile loop with views of the lake.”

RP: “It’ll probably be pretty hot. It is the desert. And I bet those trails are really easy.”

KP: “Well, at least we’ll have a nice little cabin to relax in.”

RP: “Yeah, but I’d rather be in a real cabin. That’s just a house in town, not a mountain cabin in the middle of nowhere.”

Despite the many clouds RP found within my silver linings, I had a lovely time with our friends this weekend. 

We managed to hike, visit the shops, eat ourselves silly, play a few board games, and spend some much-needed time outside Orange County.

We even had the luxury of a giant jetted Jacuzzi tub in the middle of the kitchen (don’t be jealous).

So, despite the frequent insults to RP’s mountaineering pride, I’d give the quaint little lake town two thumbs up.

So there.

Home Sweet San Clemente



When I moved to California three years ago, I had nothing but ten bucks and a dream to my name.

That’s actually not true. I had a job that was transferring me to San Diego and a moving truck full of stuff to take with me. But still, I like to think it was an adventure.

But I didn’t really think I’d stick around this long.

Then RP happened.

And now I’m buying a house in sleepy little San Clemente (well, as sleepy as coastal Orange County gets).

And even though I complain about California – like traffic, income tax, and our choice of governors – I can’t really complain about my neighborhood. After taking a very rudimentary photography class on Saturday, RP and I took a little walk around the neighborhood to practice.

It’s not so bad around here.

Old Men Rule

Confession: I’ve been kissing a 35 year-old.

THIS one, to be more specific.

There are few things I like better than celebrating birth – mine, for the most part, but RP’s comes in at a close second. And since I’ve spent the last four weeks unable to exercise and officially off narcotic drugs, there is very little else in my life to celebrate.

In his own celebration, RP left me last weekend for a little boys’ jaunt down to Mexico. Since I am currently barred from swimming, surfing, and even hot-tubbing, Mexico held little appeal for me aside from marzipan candy and delicious vanilla extract.

So I stayed home and watched Mad Men rested.

And whipped up this little confection.

RP had it for dinner Sunday, along with my sad version of German Rouladen.

He also ate it for breakfast Monday.

And then as a midnight snack.

He likes chocolate cake.

I can’t blame him; the mere bite I had raised my blood sugar to levels not surpassed since 1999.

Even though I could celebrate RP all day long, let’s bring this post back around to ME –or, rather, my oral health.  I was awkward enough as a pre-teen, so I skipped out on the whole braces phase (even though I creatively utilized paperclips to “pretend” now and again).

That said, at 29, I’m entering the world of orthodontics. This means that not only am I barred from eating anything except during my highly regulated Invisalign breaks, I also get to be that awkward chick brushing her teeth in the office bathroom at least twice a day. Not to mention I slur my speech like Lindsay Lohan at a Sunday brunch.

It’sh thuff.

And take douchebag-like car photos of myself to see how noticeable it really is:

By my calculations, in 18 months my self-esteem will have fallen to Colombian-prostitute levels. But by that point I’ll have perfect teeth and weigh approximately 87 pounds.

I’m on board.