Marriage (And Other Mysteries)

Like any good writer (or prosecutor, for that matter), I should start at the beginning. Like for instance, explain the name and purpose of this blog - without which explanation you might assume from the title, "Prices in High Places," that I am referring to:

a. our geographic location
b. our ritzy lifestyle
c. our penchant for smoking dope

Thankfully (a. and c.), and unfortunately (b.), I refer to none of the above. In fact, we live in San Clemente, two blocks from the Pacific Ocean - so you can imagine I don't suffer from altitude sickness. And in case you think we're living la vida glam, see the photo display to follow. Furthermore, while I can't say as much for our backyard neighbors, the only weed in my life is currently overgrowing our back patio.

"High places," then, can refer to my search for the higher life - and yes, that sometimes means "la vida glam," but generally I'd settle for a great lemon cake recipe, a rockin' pilates class or the discovery of a really good Fro Yo place.

For now, let me sum up my married life a few lines:

• On March 5 I married Rick Price (heretofore referred to as RP, Ricardo, Price, or the old ball 'n chain). It was consensual.

• On March 8 I moved into a modest (yes, that's a euphemism) one-bedroom with the aforementioned groom.

• On March 11 we shopped for furniture (yet to be delivered, but I've been told empty promises are integral to married life).

• On March 16 we filled out NCAA brackets. It was our first family activity.

• On March 18 I felt great about my bracket.

• On March 19 I fell ill. My husband did the laundry and made me dinner. He remarked that folding my underwear was like folding baby clothes, which helped my self-esteem. Dinner was air-popped popcorn with a strange cocoa-splenda-soy milk syrup poured on top which reduced the popcorn to nearly nothing. It was delicious.

• On March 20 my husband began saying suspicious things about babies. It was my first marital panic attack.

• On March 23 I came home to an ant-infested kitchen. My husband found me crying on the (furniture-less) living room floor upon his arrival home. He combated said ants with a fogger, stating that generally you're supposed to evacuate, but we could just go to bed.

• On March 24 I felt terrible about my bracket.

• On March 25 I changed my name to Kristen Radford Price. In case you find this feminist, the truth is I've always wanted to say "Rad is my middle name."

• Later on March 25 I decided it was time for us to start a blog, like all the respectable couples we know. RP has yet to find out.
  

And now we've come full-circle.