A guy's apartment

Having dated my fair share of guys in college, I know that not all of them treat their apartments the same, but on the standard day you can find a sinkful of dishes, a threatening note about how dishes are like girlfriends, do your own, and some leftovers sitting on the stove with a floor that is sticky to the feet and a fridge that has some unmentionable things growing in there.

Just a snap shot.

That was totally our little house today. Minus the friendly reminder note. The only difference beyond that was the left-over rice that had been sitting on the stove for two days was not burnt to the bottom of the pan. I sprayed the whole thing down with 409, my BEST FRIEND in the cleaning department and started wiping. I use that guy for everything. Now that you can get high in the kitchen because of the 409 fumes I am starting on the bathroom, that I won't even mention for fear of losing readers. Since I have so many readers.

The floors everywhere are in desperate need of some tlc. Spring is not helping me keep my house clean. Number one, because of spring's tantrums, there are not only flip-flops and work shoes and regular shoes sprawled near the door, but winter boots and rain boots and high heels to keep my pants from dragging in the water, which I absolutely hate. Multiply that by two and you've got A LOT of shoes. And then, number 2, because the grass is now being cut, clippings velcro themselves to our shoes and it's just a huge mess. Number 3, there's a garden out there now that needs my attention and I can't spend my days off cleaning. I gotta be outside making our little home look good on the outside and making sure that my plants aren't being eaten alive by bugs and getting the water they need and all that.

And the living room. Ummm... whoever said 'eating only in the kitchen' was a genius. There are crumbs of everything that goes into Handsome Husband's stomach scattered all over the floor, and probably between the couch cushions. Everything is a little dusty and I've still gotta work through the kitchen and bathroom's floor before I can think about vacuuming. 'Cause there's nothing so annoying as cleaning one floor and then having stuff stick to you feet and transfer itself to the next room.

Basically, I have created a guy's apartment out of my little home and that will change, today.

New boots

I think everyone gets excited when they get a package in the mail. It's just that little bit of goodness that can make a bad day incredible and can change a good day into an over the top tell-everyone-about-it kind of day. There's something amazing about brown in the shape of a box that makes it a miracle rather than a piece of a recycled tree. And whatever it is holding, it's gotta be good. No one bothers sending bills in boxes. Only the good stuff comes in boxes.

Our doorbell rang yesterday while I was cleaning the kitchen, errrr, taking a nap. The UPS has this nasty habit of doorbell ditching and so I left it as I heard pitter patter steps run back down the walk, nearly tripping on all the plates and holders of flowers I have splayed all over the porch, keeping them out of the direct rain and hail we've been getting recently. It was just one of those days, obviously, since I was napping instead of doing the dishes. Who does that? Dishes are such joyous company. And, let's face it, sometimes the couch can be grumpy. Not allowing a person a comfortable position no matter how hard they're putting effort into it. There's no meeting halfway on those days. It was one of those days.

Handsome Husband came home for lunch, but, psyche, it was home for good! Work was really slow and he volunteered to go first since I had the day off. He wanted to spend time with me.

I told him all about my day in all of two sentences and ended with, "and there's a package at the door." Neither one of us were expecting anything. We don't do much shopping on line and there aren't any huge holidays coming up, so our dear mothers wouldn't be sending any kind of care packages.

Steven grabbed the package from it's certain disintegration of being left on the porch. "It's my boots!" Now, this is truly a surprise because we went two weeks without buying groceries so that he could order those boots and have them by July. Yes. We got super creative in our meal preparation and I usually went hungry because I couldn't stomach some of our creations so that we could order those boots RIGHT THEN so that they would be here that much sooner, since they were going to take so long to get to us. July. They are here in May.

It really wasn't that bad, though. I mean... it was a good stretch for us to test our food supply and see that it is really not fit for consumption, LOL. Overall, it was an interesting experience, but not something I am about to do again. It was strengthening. Empowering even. That's right. We can go two weeks without getting more than the basics of milk and an extra bag of cereal. We are that awesome.

Grabbing the first sharp object he can find, that box comes apart in 3 slashes and he's taking out these leather bound pieces of awesomeness. They really did look good, for boots. He's lacing them up and cannot stop talking about them. How something can come out of a box two seconds before and roll a 10 minute conversation with no interruption is beyond me. I hear all about them and all about how awesome they are and all about how they're the best thing to happen to boot-kind and all about how they are going to make his work so much better and all about how they're so classy. Uhu. Work boots classy. I know. Crazy.

Of course, this meant that we had to go do something equally awesome to celebrate their arrival. So we got all dressed up, Steven suggesting I wear a skirt to match his awesome shoes. I only laughed and told him that they weren't that good. I would wear heels with jeans, but no skirt. And what do you know? The lift on those boots is so good that even with me in heels, he was still just a hair taller. He felt pretty awesome. Those boots were pretty awesome, as he kept telling me the whole night through as we went out to dinner twice, a matinée showing of Rio (soooo good!) and wandered around the mall holding hands.

I know, it sounds crazy, as I was just telling you that we went two weeks without buying groceries hardly a month ago. But it happens when the girl has got a craving for some Panda Express and HAS TO eat before the movie and the boy has a craving for Chik Fillet and can wait until afterwards.

We ended the night by cuddling on the couch, Steven wiping down his precious boots with bees wax and me trying to sleep on his moving shoulder as he wiped and double wiped those things down.

We've got them fooled

There is often once a week where Steven will drop me off at work and will later come pick me up. We only have one car right now and on his days off he feels that he needs to do important things, like run errands, instead of staying at home cleaning house as I always do on my days off.

A 30 minute commute is unheard of in these parts where everything is so close together and bound by a strip of freeway that cuts time in thirds so everyone knows me as the foreign girl, as I live so far away from the central location of Sugar House. When they see Steven drop me off valet style at the door or pick me up later that day by coming into the store to find me 'cause I am usually a few minutes late helping someone find that perfect shade of paint to fill up that ding on the back of their car, they think we are sooooo in love and sooooo cute together.

BAH! They don't really know that it's because of the fact that we only have one car and that with a 8 hour shift it's hard to wait for that one car to get back home to run errands with. But we really are in love. And we really do enjoy spending time together, especially in the car. Just something kind of nostalgic about it all, as it was a road trip that caused us to fall in love in the first place and another road trip that caused us to actually think about being together forever. Road trips are magical.

Utah has got one thing right

Growing up among the mud puddles and liquid sunshine where you can tell which way is north or south by the moss growing on the trees instead of east or west by the looming Utah mountains I have a great appreciation for my liberal, tree-loving, hippie state of Oregon.

We would come to Utah during our summer vacation every year to spend time with my grandma and cousins and it was always an awesome time of playing in out-door pools and snipe hunting when the kiddies had gone to bed in air that you could barely feel on your skin it was such the perfect temperature. Then I went to Snow College and Utah was no longer the 'vacation spot.' It turned into a huge bowl of sugar. Mormon sugar. There just wasn't enough opposition, ya know what I mean? Everyone was so prepared for the second coming, their moms sent them with 72 hours kits, they knew their ancestors by first, middle and last names from the handcart companies and believed Utah to be Zion, therefore a blessed land. Uhum. Ok, so maybe that's not all true... but you know what I am saying.

Well, the fact that I had to wear lotion every second of the day so that my skin didn't spill my intestines all over the sidewalk didn't help matters much and Utah is fine for a vacation, but it will never be 'home.' Even now, with our cute little duplex in Farmington and our new friends and our wonderful church callings that keep us involved in the ward, this is not home. We both love our overcast days too much.

But Utah does have one thing right. Cafe Rio. That place is A-M-A-Z-I-N-G! I can honestly say that I have never had anything but their taco salad, but that alone keeps me going back. And keeps my mouth watering for tomatillo dressing. At $10 a person, it's a little spendy, but definitely worth it. But when you can make your own version for $5 why not? I was craving it like crazy today and so I just marched over to the store and bought some cilantro and a tomatillo and blended myself up some dressing. I drenched my rice, black beans, lettuce and tomatoes in the stuff and I don't think I took one breath through the whole meal. It is that good. In fact, I vaguely remember moistness on my chin has I shoveled the good stuff in, too busy to have time to wipe my mouth. If you haven't had Cafe Rio than you have not lived, and having not lived, you would not be able to die and go to heaven while eating the deliciousness of it all.

Betcha can't hit me

After driving Steven to work and heaving heavy sighs at the traffic in front of me I was finally taking the exit to my source of income and saw something that made my anger at slow-Utah-drivers-in-the-rain melt away into a bubbly blob of sunshine and good will towards man.

"Bet you can't hit me with a quarter" Yeah. This homeless guy has got some spunk. He was a little younger, probably just a year or so older than me, and I gave him a friendly wave and a thumbs up on his ingenious twist on the usual, "vet, homeless, will work, God bless." He caught my enthusiasm and winked back at me. It was our secret. He done good.

quadruple burger

Last night was kind of an odd one for us. It's not unusual that I have a closing shift at the craft store, but it is unusual that I don't have the car as my own. It was handsome husband's day off yesterday and he felt he needed the car all day. Consequently he had to take me to work at 2 and then pick me up again at 9:30. He really had done a lot and had been busy running errands all day so that when he came to get me we were both pretty hungry.

I have a problem about eating at work. Or maybe it stems from my grocery shopping. Either way, we don't have much 'take with you' kind of foods. We've got breakfast cereal and dinner stuff, but not too much in between. I never have been a very good lunch eater, ask my mom, I was her nightmare in high school. I am sure she had visions of me passing out by way of famish every day after lunch hour. I just have a hard time with lunch foods, with sandwiches in particular. Therefore handsome husband has to put his own hands in the fridge and cupboards and put some high-sensored feelers out for lunch foods to take with him. As for me, I go without. I know, don't give me a lecture, I know all about it. I also know all about skipping breakfast, another one of my traits. So you can save it.

Anyways, back to my story. We were both hungry and Steven was telling me about his day, which was a rather distracting process so we missed our I-15 exit. We quickly took the first exit which led us down-town salt lake. And what do you know? There was a Wendy's. I have been craving their new sea-salt fries that are cut with a little bit of the peel still on them deep-fried golden and soft. I am a sucker for potatoes. As most Nancy Drews would be able to conclude by my past post.

We pull up to the window and it takes a little while to order, 'cause let's face it, I am a McDonalds lover of all things fake. Especially the meat that reminds me of the cardboard play stuff I used to have a kid. I know. Don't judge. I don't frequent any other fast-food joint as much as I frequent McDonalds, and even there I always get the same thing. So put in a new environment, expected to just 'order' is quite the decision for me. 'Cause let's face it, not all hamburgers are created equal.

The new guy at the drive-through window saw his chance to do a great selling technique on us when we asked what was on the 'regular hamburger.' He proceeded to tell us not only what was on the regular hamburger, but the double, the triple, and everything with cheese in between. Under my breath I asked if they had a quadruple burger that perhaps he was missing. 'Cause seriously, at the end of a 5 minute list, you don't expect it to stop at triple. By this time you're into the rhythm of it all and want it to keep going to an octuple burger. (that's probably not the right word. Math was never my strong subject) That's all handsome husband heard in that 'under my breath question' and proceeded to order me a quadruple burger. I thought it was for him, until he asked what else I wanted. I was horror stricken. What was I going to do with 4 beef patties and a truckload of garden on top? If this were McDonalds it would be no catastrophe. Their thinner-than-the-eye-can-see and thinner-than-the-tongue-can-taste patties would stack up as 4 no problem to create one regular patty and the garden on top would be small. But Wendy's. No. They cut no corners. Literally.

This was a problem. I had to act fast. We changed our order, but like I said, the drive-through guy was new and never could get that luminous quadruple burger erased from the screen. We had to re-order our order at the paying window when he had someone there to show him how to erase and add and all that. It was a learning experience for us all.

And, may I add, that I still love McDonalds. That double patty was too big for me and I only ate half and all the 'extra stuff' on it was distracting. My all-time favorite will forever be a McDonalds regular hamburger with extra ketchup. I love the diced up onions and the added tang of a little mustard with a couple of pickles thrown on. That there is a good hamburger, nothing distracting about it. Unless it's the wrong season for pickles and the edges are a little chewy. They should really consider slicing their pickes with stripes.

Jo-Jos or bust was a bust

Sometimes a person just needs to carb load. Sometimes a person just craves a seasoned potato dipped in some creamy ranch. And sometimes this craving comes at 10 o'clock at night after watching a movie.

Being the awesome jo-jo hunters that we are, we brainstormed the sketchiest place in Farmington. 'Cause everyone knows that the best jo-jos comes from the shadiest of places. The places where music is playing outside for the enjoyment of those pumping gas, or really for those groups of people who don't fit anywhere else and have to congregate under the eaves of the local pump station. And consequently are the sole reason the place doesn't shut down completely because of their addiction to sipping on rockstars and monsters while lighting a ciggy.

Now, you wonder, is there such a place in Farmington? A country town where sycamore trees reach their branches from the sides of the streets, stretching and meeting in a canopy over the yellow, double-lined tranquility of main. Where side streets have no painted lines and are wide enough for two horse-drawn carriages. Could there be jo-jos in a place like this?

Yes.

We reached the top-stop and didn't waste any time searching the 20x30 ft establishment but went directly to the sleep-deprived tenant. Just looking at him for the 15 seconds we were there it was obvious that he was working 2 jobs, had a wife and a few kids who barely knew him as their father due to him keeping bread in their bellies. But he understood our jo-jo situation. Bless his heart.

We had been correct in our assumption, this local location had jo-jos, but only from 7am-3pm. Not good enough. We needed them now. We checked two other gas stations, neither of them carried them, ever, and the grocery store, which was nearing closing time, and had everything put away. Terrible, terrible, terrible.

After we giggled about the grocery store receipt printer farting out our receipt for soda and chips we got another red box movie and called it a well-done night. Our jo-jo cravings will have to come earlier in the day if we're to find what we need.