Naked and Afraid: A Honeymoon Story

Ok, perverts.  You read the title, clicked eagerly, and here you are at yet another one of my lengthy blogs.  I didn't fool you; Naked and Afraid has a lot to do with our honeymoon, just not what you were expecting.

Part 1: Coco Cabana

Finally, a day just to swim.

We got married on Sunday, and were coming home on Tuesday.  I'm not a fan of "walking the strip" and seeing Joe's Crocs melt on the sidewalk our last day there, so I suggested several days prior that we should "go big, or go home" because afterall, wasn't this our Honeymoon.? The times that Joe and I go on vacation, we usually do something "big" to remember the event.  In Seattle, we went on a night cruise.  In Oakland, we went to an A's game.  It was time to bring out the big guns.

If you recall on my wedding post, I was sobbing to my mother that all I wanted to do was go swimming.  So, you guessed it, we rented a cabana totally Real Housewives style at our hotel for our last day, and that marks as one of the best days I've ever had to date.  I could swim and swim until my heart was content and pretend that I didn't live off of a teacher's salary.

There were two types of cabanas: those for two people and those for eight.  Since Joe's friends and siblings were still in town, we decided to rent the cabana for eight people which came with our own outdoor sitting room, a television, a fridge (fully stocked), a patio, and a pool.  Isn't that what everyone does on their honeymoon: rent a pool to swim with your siblings?

I was the first one there, and was completely soaking in the life of luxury that I will probably never live again.  We ate, we swam, we danced to ridiculous music on the television because we could, we ate all of the free treats, and truly had a ball.

My favorite part of the whole day was when Joe and I started giving out demerits.  Since we invested both a lot of time and money into this day, we wanted everyone to act appropriately.  I think Joe's sister, Nikki, got two demerits, Tommy, his brother, got one, and even his friend, Peter, got one.  And then I started threatening people that if they didn't know how to behave at "our pool," they would have to go to the G.P. pool.  G.P.= General Population pool where the minions (those without a cabana) had to swim amongst the poopy diapers and hairy drains.

I think by the end. each person had threatened at least one other person that they had to go to G.P.  People would just stare at us, and we would laugh and laugh.  Ahhhh, a day to remember..Champi style.

Here are some pictures to capture the event.

Our pool overlooking the G.P. pool.  Suckers.

I had to take a little nap to get my money's worth.

 
Part 2: Naked and Afraid

After our twelve-hour swimming "honeymoon," we had to get back to Utah to plan for the reception.  Several guests were coming from out of town, and there was still much to be done.  Our reception was on Friday, so we decided, that following Sunday, we would spend the night at the Zermatt Resort in Midway, Utah.

On our drive, we realized it was the first time since about ten days prior, that it was just us.  We needed a break, and I was incredibly thankful that we didn't have cell phone service.  We spent the day in Park City, and arrived at Zermatt Sunday night.  It is the one place in Utah that reminds me of Germany.

 

Sadly, we were both exhausted, so we decided to order room service, and of course, I changed into my pajamas.  As I was flipping around television stations, I found the most intriguing show on the Discovery Channel: Naked and Afraid.  It is where two strangers, a male and a female, are dropped off in some remote location in the world, naked, and forced to survive without anything for twenty-one days.  We watched a full episode as we ate our room service, and suddenly, a commercial broke in that said, "You are now watching the Naked and Afraid marathon."  I started squealing like it was the cabana all over again!  Joe insisted that we "explore," so I found myself back in my swimming suit, swimming with a bunch of annoying kids with every pool toy imagineable.  I kept looking at the clock, hoping that Joe's "exploration" would only take an hour, so I would get to see a new episode.  And of course, it worked!

We ended up watching the rest of the marathon that lasted oh, until about 1 a.m, and we came home early the next day because Joe had to work that afternoon.




This was the border in our room.  When I was in Germany, I had something similar, so I had to take a picture.



Just when I thought I needed a midnight snack, Zermatt delivered a nice treat to go along with our marathon.  I, of course, ate one and a half, and Joe just ate a half.

 

Between swimming with the siblings and watching a marathon on the Discovery Channel this is not the typical honeymoon. But then again, I don't think there is anything typical about us.



Fred on Finance

Growing up, I was told never to discuss three things: finance, religion, and politics.  For the most part, I don't unless asked, and I never discuss specifics.  Sometimes, those people with the loudest voice have the least amount to say whether it's due to pure ignorance or lack of experience. But for today's quick lesson with Fred on Finance, I don't possess either.

I am a money person.  I always have been, and I always will be.  Strangers, students, family, and friends, come to Joe and I for money-specific questions.  Some listen, some don't, but it is flattering none-the-less that people ask us for advice.  It's telling us that we are doing something right, and sometimes that acknowledgement is what keeps us pressing forward.

We don't have a lot of money, so how can we advise people on how to manage their own?  It's simple.  The money we do have we are smart with.

When I was eighteen and a freshman in college, I decided to strike upon my independence and move out.  But there was one catch: I had to do this entirely on my own.  I didn't want to borrow money and I didn't want a co-signer on my apartment.  So amidst going to college full-time on scholarship, I also got a full-time job that gave students tuition reimbursement.  In short, I was paid to go to school, and I used that money for my rent and utilities, all without a co-signer.

For the next seven years, I lived in apartments by myself and with roommates.  I managed the little money I had successfully and although some months were slimmer than others, I always had a roof over my head and something to eat.  Even if it was Ramen noodles...again.

And then I entered into a relationship that was abusive emotionally as well as financially.  Everything that I had worked for was gone with a few simple swipes of a credit card by an unauthorized user.  I lost friendships, I lost my apartment, and I lost myself.

So I sucked it up.  I moved home at twenty-five.  Could there be anything more humiliating?  I had debt exceeding $30,000, I was a third year school teacher making $30,000 annually, and I had big ideas to attend graduate school.  There was nowhere to go but up. 

The debt consolidation loans and bankruptcy advice letters started arriving in the mail.  I was the perfect candidate for bankruptcy because it wasn't my fault, right?  Wrong.  No, I didn't authorize the user to use my credit card, however, I firmly believe in tough love.  If I can't be tough with myself, and pay the consequences for my own actions, I couldn't look myself in the mirror ever again.  I didn't want to give up that easily.  I had to make it, and I had to do it all by myself.

So I got another job.  I started in the summer as a bartender full-time, and worked 25 hours a week once school started.  My day began at 5:30 am, where I was at school at 7, since I was the SBO advisor. I would handle all my extra-curriculars until 4:30, change my teacher clothes into my black and dreary bartender uniform in the faculty bathroom, and be ready to start my bartending shift at 5:30 and get home at 12:30 a.m.  Then, rinse and repeat for the next several months.

During the few hours I would set aside for sleep, I would stay awake calculating in my head how long I would have until this terrible debt would be paid off.  I never came to a conclusion other than I had to do it in a year's time.  That is, if it didn't kill me first.

And then a year came.  My last payment, and then cancellation of the evil credit card was made exactly to the date that I had set for myself.  I still have that credit card and I carry it around with me to remind me that I am in control and I will never reach that point again.

So no, I am not a financial advisor.  I have no awards in money managing or foreign bank accounts (save that for Mr. Romney).  But what I do have is a horrific experience that hopefully will prevent others from being in the same situation.

***

 

Cut or eliminate your entertainment budget.  When someone comes to us for advice, the first question I ask is, "how much do you spend going out?"  This includes everything from fast food to movies.  And you guessed it, sometimes I'm told that this happens several times a week!  Eating at home saves tons of money!  Renting movies or watching the television that you are already paying for saves even more!  And that whole excuse of "I have to get out of the house!"  Guess how many things are out of your house and entirely free?  I grew up in a family that only went out to eat on special occasions.  I am proud to say that is still the case.  In fact, I can count how many times I go to a restaurant and a movie each year on my hands!  I guess I see it if you are always going out and always doing something expensive, then your expectations will keep getting higher and higher.  Joe and I look at these times as a rare treat.  We order whatever we want on the menu and appreciate it more because it doesn't occur that frequently.  For one entire year when we were dating, we both cashed in all of our coins.  Between the two of us, we had several hundreds of dollars.  That was our entertainment fund for the year, and once it was gone, it was gone. 

 

Cash only.  If you like sleep as much as I do, then staying up worrying about how you're going to pay off your credit card is not an option.  Buy what you NEED with the money you HAVE.  If your only answer is to put it on a credit card, then don't buy it in the first place.  Joe and I have one credit card between us that wasn't touched until our wedding came.  We paid for the first half of our wedding through cash (the wedding, hotel, and dinner in Vegas) and the second half is on the credit card (reception in Utah).  This is our entire focus and we will not be going on any lavish vacations (which we always paid cash for) until it's paid off.  The only good balance on a credit card is one that begins and ends with a zero.

 

Bills first.  Bills are a priority.  It's hard for me to take someone seriously when they are always going out but yet whining that they don't have any money in their account to pay their gas bill.  My good friend, Jo, who is an expert at finances, pays more on her utilities every month so that when Christmas comes, she doesn't have to make a payment.  If you plan on going on vacation, always pay your bills ahead of time, so you have money to spend on your vacation and you don't have to worry about your electricity being shut off while you're gone!

 

Don't borrow from family/friends.  My motto (kind of going along with the tough-love approach) "I will give you a place to stay or food to eat, but don't ever, ever ask us for money."  I firmly believe that once money starts exchanging hands, the relationship changes, and generally for the worst.  Don't be in a place that you have to ask someone for money.  It's not fair to put them in that situation.  Why should they have to suffer because you can't manage your money?  If you have a bigger heart than me (or at least one that isn't iced over) and you decide to "loan" someone money, consider it a gift.  The chances of you getting it back in a timely matter with the relationship still intact are slim to none.  And besides, if you've seen Judge Judy, you probably won't get it back either because the Plaintiff will say "but I thought it was a gift."

 

Coupons are money.  So you're too lazy to cut out free money on Sunday morning?  Sucks for your wallet.  Between newspapers, online, and mail inserts, there are coupons for nearly everything!  Joe and I use coupons for things that we want instead of what we need.  We NEED milk but we WANT ice cream.  Well guess what, unless there is a coupon for the icecream, we don't buy it. 

 

Separate accounts.  Financial distress is the number one reason couples get divorced.  Person A spends tons of money and Person B has no idea.  When Person B finally takes a look at the finances they get upset and yell at Person A who claims that Person B should have communicated with them the financial situtation in the first place.  The end result?  Divorce and usually a Lifetime movie.  Joe and I have four accounts.  We both have our own checking accounts.  We have one savings and one bills account.  I don't have access to his checking.  He doesn't have access to mine.  Neither one of us touch our savings unless it's to put money in.  We both pay our bills equally.  Once the bills are taken care of, we do whatever we want with the money we earned, or just keep it in our checking.  He doesn't get mad at me for buying an eighth or ninth Christmas tree, I won't get mad at him for taking a picture with Stan Lee at Comicon.  Why?  Because we took care of our bills ahead of time.

 

Live within your means.  A great quote I got from one of my former officers, Courtney, shared, "We buy things we don't need, with money we don't have, to impress people we don't like."  Why do people buy a gigantic house that they are never home to enjoy because they have to work extra hard to afford the mortgage?  Those same people blab about how wonderful their house is, but generally, people are never invited over.  Why?  Because they have no furniture!  Good grief! My house is called Lil Beans for a reason...it's little!  We love having people over to sit on our little furniture, and it even looks extra shiny because dun, dun, dun, it's paid for.

 

Pray for the best, plan for the worst.  Joe and I spent our 4th of July, two days before we left for our wedding in Vegas, in a house that was 96 degrees.  Why?  Our central air pump failed.  When fit hits the shan, can you pay for it?  The wedding was our priority, not the stupid air conditioner.  We paid cash, got it fixed, and were able to concentrate on the most important day of our lives.

 

If you don't learn how to manage money effectively, it will manage you.  Put on your big boy/girl pants and take care of business. Ready?  Go!

 

 

 

 

 



 

You Can't Growl in High School

One of the best teachers I know is female, 5ft, 90 lbs, and has been teaching for over forty-five years.  I am privileged to be able to call her my mentor through WSU.  I was instantly drawn to her because she is everything that great teaching is--love and passion for the students as well as the subject.  She has taught over 10,000 kids in her career and has no immediate plans of calling it quits.  I usually just sit in awe of her as we talk about what we are fixing for dinner, or what flowers to plant in direct sunlight, but one particular story caught my attention and reminded me that no matter how many degrees we have or how long we've been teaching, our students are full of surprises.

My mentor was given a class of nearly all boys, most of which were on a 4th grade reading level.  These were seniors who had been in and out of juvenile detention and needed a remedial English class to graduate.  She had struggled with them since the very first day of school, but one particular day, she was sent over the edge.  The principal called her down to the office to tell her that her mother had passed away.  Why this news was unbearable, she immediately thought that she left this "special" class unattended, so she quickly went back to her classroom.  Upon entering her classroom, she noticed two things on her blackboard: the "B" word and snot smeared all over.  She didn't lose her cool.  She told the students that she was going out into the hall to compose herself and when she returned, her blackboard better be clean and they better be ready to learn.  Two minutes later, when she walked back in, they were.  Since then, these students have grown to be fabulously successful adults (now in their fifties) because she was one of the first adults to believe in them.  She was their favorite teacher, and they were her favorite students.  This class meets at least once a year to catch up and laugh about the chalkboard incident. And as you probably guessed, their favorite teacher is always in attendance.

This is my ninth year teaching.  There are so many great teachers at our school doing fabulous things with their students, I am constantly learning from them.  But one thing in particular that I feel that my peers learn from me is my classroom management.  I'm little, I look like a student, I'm female, and when I started teaching, I was barely twenty-four years old.  Everyone warned me that these kids would and could walk all over me if I let them.  I took those words, accepted the challenge, and made it my mission to control my classroom seamlessly. 

Sure, there were bumps along the way.  Some classes are better than others, some years are just more successful for reasons unknown.  I had the right attitude to begin this year, but as Week 2 draws to a close, I quickly learned that my so-called "right attitude" was not going to be enough.

On Day 3, I was pulling up my personal profile to see how many sick days and personal days I'd acquired.  By Day 4, I was on to my second seating chart for nearly all of my classes, and to end Day 5, I had seriously convinced myself that I was coming down with something, anything to keep me home for the next 175 days.

I knew my days of second chances were numbered.  If I didn't get them this week, they would successfully overturn my classroom and I would have the "B" word and snot across my board this time.  I spent my long weekend memorizing all of their names, I created a third seating chart, and I had a new lesson plan that didn't require movement or talking to each other (we weren't to that level yet).

And so Tuesday came.  They walked in to another new seating chart.  This time I wasn't bluffing.  There were no promises or rewards or bribes.  This was it.  Take it or leave it.  The students were fine and receptive, but would it last?  Then Wednesday came.  It was picture day, or as I like to call it, field trip day.  Taking a large group of students away from the classroom and keeping track of them outside the normal parameters = field trip.  I begged them to behave, prepped them for five minutes on what to anticipate, and hoped that none of my peers would see my out of control classes and think less of me.  Picture day came and went, and everything went smoothly as if it was my ninth year teaching, and I had a handle on things.

And then there was today.  Another picture day, this time with more challenging students.  I went through nearly the same process: begging, prepping, and praying, and it worked.  My plan had worked!  Maybe it was my third seating chart.  Maybe it was because when I was prepping them, I called them each by their name.  Maybe they felt sorry for me.  Regardless, I was thanking every Saint there was that I had my classes back and for good this time.

But there's always one.  Similar to my mentor's class, it has its share of challenges and to put it simply, they weren't buying what I was selling, they wouldn't even take it for free.  As I was talking to them about pictures, some were wandering around the room, some were chatting, and others, well, were growling.  In my nine years of teaching, I have never had growling before.  So  I stopped, raised my voice a little higher, and simply stated, "You can't growl in high school."  There was silence.  So I continued.  "You can't growl, or talk over adults, or be disrespectful to your peers, or walk around the room when you feel like it in high school."  And I continued.  "You will be graduating in three years, and you can't do any of those things when you go to college or get a job either.  You have to stop now." 

They all went back to their seats, the growling ceased, the papers stopped crumpling, and collectively I heard, "Ok, Fred." 

And so we walked down the hall, all silent, all respectful.  They got their pictures taken and they even (shocker) returned to class.  As I was walking back with some of my growlers, my former students, juniors, came up to greet me.  "Hi Fred!" they said.  "Are we still your favorite?"  I stopped, looked at the juniors, who I adored, looked at my new students who I still wasn't so sure about, and responded, "You're on my list, but for right now, these guys are my favorite," and I motioned to my new students.  The entire trip up the stairs was silent, but as we reached the classroom, one of them had the guts and asked, "Are we really your favorite, or were you just saying that?"  "I never lie," I flatly responded, and then they all sat there patiently in their seats exactly how I wanted them to the first week of school.

Who knows, maybe in forty-five years, we will all be sitting around laughing about how you can't growl in high school.

lil beans Compound: A Birthday Celebration

At the corner of Indiana and Emery, in Salt Lake City, stands lil beans Compound.  lil beans received her name from Joe, who cleverly calls me lil bean, and I added in the "Compound" because there are five buildings on this property all of course, lil bean size. 

lil beans Compound is 117 years old, built the same year that Utah became a state.  It's small, it's quirky, it has some old parts, some renovations, and is where I will call home for many years to come.  This week is special to me for two reasons: it's our one month anniversary since Joe and I have been married, and it's the one year anniversary that lil beans Compound became my own.

Now that I have done what I believe to be the three major stressors in a person's life: Master's, marriage, and first-time home-buying, first-time home buying takes the cake as the most stressed out I've ever been in my whole life.  And for those who know me, I stress a lot, and have kidney stones passing at regular intervals to prove it. I had a great experience with my realtor, it was just the wait, the dude selling the house, his realtor, the mortgage company, all the nonsense that told me that this home is it...forever!  I even told Joe that I want to be buried in the back yard or in the basement that few know we have.  He says when I stop saying that line with such conviction, he will know we can discuss moving. 

I imagine sometimes of the family who lived here in 1896.  Did they utilize the rooms the same way I did?  Was it a family?  How many kids did they have?  I have taken what is known as the "birthing room" (a room dedicated to childbirth and sick family members) and turned in into a closet.  I keep that door closed at all times.  In my creative mind, I've imagined a woman "ghost" that lives in there and this house used to be hers.  She's keeping an eye on the place, sort of speak, and approves.  (The above part is where Joe said I'm losing my mind.  So I tested it out on some of his friends.  They said that they think there are good ghosts that live in old houses too, which is why I'm not deleting this part from my submission because if you think I'm crazy, then I'll drag his friends along with me).

lil beans Compound has not been all unicorns and fairy dust, however.  We've had two leaks into the basement and as Joe would call it, "The Great Flood of 2013" when the pipes in his "man den" burst due to cold weather.  We have lost tons of our trees this summer, and every morning, I go outside to see what is on the ground. We've also had some real characters do real crazy things in front of our house including, but not limited to: collapsing and getting run over, bleeding in my flower bed from being run over, she-male prostitutes walking by every night in a loin cloth at 12:30 a.m., and landlord wrestling with her sister tenant.  Many people would say, "why would you live here then?"  I am not terrified living here as I was towards the end of living in my Bountiful townhouse.  And in some way, I feel like I'm free here...Davis County just did not work out for me.  I love the diversity, being so close to downtown, doing yard work, living across from a beautiful park, paying less than I did renting, Minnie...I love it all. 

So Happy Birthday, lil beans Compound! You don't look a day over 117!



This is the second time in a year that lil beans has been completely redecorated. She's been so good to me, I think she deserves a new outfit or two every now and again. Enjoy!

 

Outside/Flowers

 

 



Joe's "Man Den."  I don't have a key.

 

Living Room/Dining Room

 

Yellow Bedroom/Teal Bedroom

 



Bathrooms/Closet

Kitchen/Joe standing in kitchen (haha)

Family Room (my biggest challenge)

 

Some of the trees we lost this summer due to microbursts.

 

 

My favorite neighbor, is "Minnie."  Minnie's real name is Lilly.  Minnie/Lilly is actualyl a male dog!  His/her owner, Thanh, pronounced Tawn, lives across the street from us and went to Vietnam this past year for three months, in which I established a relationship with Minnie.  Every morning, Minnie sits by the fence as I leave for school, and like clockwork, she goes back to the fence around 3 p.m. and sits there until I get home.  She responds more to Minnie than Lilly now, but Thanh says it's ok.  He/she is the best dog and I look forward to seeing her every day!  Thanh has twelve fruit trees and a beautiful vegetable garden.  She told us that it is all ours, since she just likes to watch it grow, and we are nice to her.  Every Monday, we go over and pick, pick, pick.  I am so thankful for Minnie and Thanh!  Minnie is my last picture.

 

She's right behind the blue dish looking right at me.







When in Rome: Our Wedding Day

If 365 days worth of planning didn't suffice, it was too late now.  In twenty-four hours, I would be married.  Joe went to Vegas a day early to spend time with his best friend and Brooklyn hipster, Justin, while I drove down with my mom on Saturday.  We carried in my dress, my bouquet, Joe's tux, everything into our suite that I had booked in January.  But I still felt like I was on vacation, not that I was about to get married. I was certainly itching to play a slot machine, but we had things to do like get our marriage license and view the venue...some vacation this was turning out to be.

Road trip.

Still not getting to play a slot machine, we went and got our marriage license.  I couldn't stop laughing at the questionable courthouse and that their hours are 24/7, 365 days a year.  I wanted it to feel special, but instead, I felt like I was ordering an extra-value meal.  My mom insisted that we take a picture, to capture the moment that we shared with dozens of other couples at 8 p.m. on Saturday, July 6, so here it is:



Oh boy, aren't we thrilled?

 The following morning, I woke up to thunder and lightening...in Las Vegas in July. Our room was right above the pools, so I just sat and watched it pour into the swimming pool.  I knew that if my mom or Joe's mom were awake, they were freaking out thinking of all of the things to say to calm me down about the rain.  Strangely enough, I heard a dozen years ago that rain brings good luck on a wedding day.  It rained on my high school graduation, my masters graduation, and now my wedding day.  I was pleased.  Besides, my wedding was indoors.

Joe and I went and had breakfast with my dad and his best friend Joel.  It was as sketchy as a casino could get, but they did offer one thing: free, celebration champagne.  I am not a drinker, but the mere mention of free and celebration in the same sentence got my attention.  The four of us clinked our glasses and cheered to a wonderful wedding day.  I drank the whole glass immediately and Joe and my dad looked at me in pure shock and horror.  The breakfast was buffet, so we all took turns getting up and getting our breakfast. On one of the rounds, I asked Joe if I could have his champagne and he said yes, he was drinking orange juice anyway.  Two glasses down.

And then the waiter came.  "Can I get anyone more celebration champagne?" he asked.  Just as my dad and Joe simultaneously nodded no, I came back with, "Oh yes, please!"  I was getting "the look" at this point, but I now had more champagne, so why did I care?  As the breakfast went on, they were all chatting about the rest of the day, how exciting it all was, who knows.  I was in the process of lining up all of my empty glasses of champagne in a straight row preparing it for a possible Facebook picture.  "Just one more glass," I whispered to Joe.  And so, he was able to get my fifth and final glass of champagne.

As we departed from breakfast, Joe said out of all the crazy things he imagined I'd do on the day of our wedding, drinking five glasses of champagne wasn't on the list.  I wasn't drunk, let me immediately throw that out there.  I find that to be classless and tacky, especially on your own wedding day.  I was however, completely relaxed which usually doesn't describe me in the slightest.  So thank you, sketchy casino buffet for your free celebration champagne!  Joe and I departed ways, and it was mere hours before we say "I do."

Once I got back to the hotel room, I couldn't believe how tired I was.  I started curling my hair, which, I really should have started the night before, and quickly grew disinterested.  I called my mom and told her I was going to come visit her in her room. 

As soon as she answered the door, I burst into tears.  "What is wrong?" she asked.  "I don't want anyone to look at me or give me attention.  I just want it to be a normal day.  I want to...I JUST WANT TO GO SWIMMING!" I opened my mascara-filled eyes and my mom was speechless. I wasn't scared of marriage or more specifically, marrying Joe.  The thought of walking down the aisle with all of the attention on me was enough to get the waterworks going for the next hour.  Do I think I would have freaked out if I didn't have any champagne?  Yes.  I think it just intensified it.  And why did I want to go swimming so bad?

So two hours before the limo was scheduled to pick us up, my mom was wiping away my tears, persuading me to get ready, begging me to take sips of Coca-Cola, and not get into my swimsuit.  I went back to the room, and looked at my frizzy hair.  It didn't look half bad...right?  I then started putting on my make-up like I do on any other day.  But in the end, I washed 90% of it off.  Whether I was tired, or nervous, or hot, I was not going to look like a Vegas show-girl.  I wanted to be natural, so I went with the very little make-up/too tired or nervous to care approach and who knows, maybe my swimsuit would fit underneath my dress just for good measure.

I've seen many wedding shows where immediately the bride has to use the bathroom right after she put on her 75 lb. gown.  That wasn't going to happen to me, so I went the bathroom.  As I tried to open the door to let my mom in, I couldn't.  This fancy hotel had even fancier locks and I couldn't open the door.  I called my mom over and was reaching my tiny fingers under the door.  "This isn't a joke," my mom said.  "Not today, Kristin." 

"Mom, I promise.  I'm locked in.  I'm not joking this time!"  And then silence.  I knew my mom was grabbing her chest thinking about how I don't have my dress on and the limo driver would be here any minute.  And then I began laughing hysterically.  "I hope you aren't joking," my mom said.  I wasn't, but what else was I going to do but laugh?  So I sat on the ground in my fancy robe, sliding my fingers every which way to try and get the door to open, laughing so hard I was crying.  I finally started throwing myself at the door (because that would really help), and then suddenly, it just unlocked.  When I saw my mom, she was both laughing and crying, and her face was all red.  "Were you just messing with me?" she asked.  "No, I promise."  I think after thirty-two years of jokes, she finally believed me.

My dress went on pretty quick, so we waited for my limo driver, Lorenzo, to come and get us.  He had only called me about five times to give me an update that he was running late.  I did get a kick out of the whole "late" thing, because I am never late, and I do everything possible to make sure everyone else around me at the time will not be late either.  This will be the first and last time people will be waiting on me. 

When Lorenzo was waiting downstairs, I knew that there would be fuss in the lobby if people saw me in my wedding dress.  I thought to "disguise" myself, I would put on my sunglasses.  It didn't work, especially since these sunglasses didn't seem to hide anything but my eyes!  People started clapping and cheering and even tearing up!  I ran fast into the limo, shooing away "the commoners."

One of the biggest things that was important to me is that Joe never saw my dress until I was standing next to him at the chapel.  To do this required a lot of people and careful timing.  Lorenzo had to call the chapel, in which Joe was ushered into a private room.  Strangely enough, when I arrived at the chapel, they ushered me into this corner in which Joe was pacing immediately on the other side.  We could both hear each other, we just couldn't see each other.

As we were waiting for our turn (yes, you have "turns" in Vegas, just like a ride at Disneyland), Joe's mom looked very concerned about the time.  I had told our guests the wedding would start at 4:30.  I even went so far as to print that on the invitations.  I knew all along that the wedding wouldn't start until 5, so we were right on schedule.

And then it came...5 o'clock exactly. Sharon, one of the consultants, ushered everyone into the chapel and then it was my turn to walk down the aisle.  When they opened the doors, I saw that I had to make a quick turn and then walk down straight.  "I didn't prepare for turns," I said to my dad, who started laughing.  And then we walked and Joe was there waiting for me at the end.  All of my worry was for nothing because I didn't notice anyone looking at me.  I was just looking at Joe (and the photographer, no need for second takes).

Right before I came down.

We had a fabulous Justice of the Peace.  She was female (yay) and when I told her "none of that obey crap," before it all began, she high-fived me and said that I was her favorite.  She gave a beautiful speech, or so everyone in attendance has said, but all I could pay attention to were the sniffles.  I see both of Joe's sisters, his mom, and Chelsea just with tears streaming down their faces.  I didn't even want to look at my mom.  And then Joe started with the waterworks.  So I did it.  Right during the sermon/speech/whatever, I whispered to him, "Please don't.  If you do, then I will, and I won't be able to stop."  So with Joe sucking up his tears, I decided to lighten the mood with jokes, because that's what everyone should do on their wedding day, right?

So for my first performance, was the part of "I do."  I whispered/growled it, and got a few laughs.  That just got me started, so when it got to the "forever" part, I paused, rolled my eyes, and said, "forever?"  That got even more laughs.  And then, without tears on my end, we were married!  I didn't know what to do with the train on my dress as they played that cheesy wedding march, so I kicked it behind me and everyone laughed and clapped.  It all may sound silly, but it really was perfect for us, with a few laughs along the way.

Someone needs to teach me when and when not to joke.

Then it was picture time: inside, outside, and all around.  Cars would honk, pedestrians started taking our picture, but at this point, it didn't bother me.  I got what I came for.  One of the workers claimed that it was exactly 117 degrees, one of the hottest days of the year so far.  So I got both rain and sun on my wedding day.

As we got ready to leave, the Justice of the Peace, the photographer, and our consultant said how classy and fun we were and they were so happy to be able to do this for us. We got extra pictures at no cost, and he even put up with our (we think we are hilarious) Real Housewives picture! Props to the Little White Wedding Chapel.  They did a phenomenal job, and I know I will go back there some day (with Joe, of course).

I will always find us hilarious.  And yes, I did send this in to Bravo TV.

It was now time for my costume change.  We had three vehicles, so vehicle #1 was headed to our restaurant, Capo's, while vehicles 2 and 3 was transporting me to get changed.  It was no time at all to change into my second dress, in which my mom said, "whatever you do, don't pick anything up."  I think I'll leave that to your imagination.

One of the most important things for this dinner was that it resembled "us."  One of the very first things Joe and I did when we started dating was we watched all of The Godfather movies and the entire series of the Sopranos.  Joe told me it was how I would learn about his family, and it took me only a few murders, prostitutes, and murdering of prostitutes to realize his family is far from this "lifestyle."  With that being said, we picked a restaurant designed after The Godfather. 

This is how you enter the restaurant.  Dominick, the owner of Capo's.

This hidden door leads you to the restaurant.  At this point, I started screaming with excitement.

 

Capos was exactly how I imagined it.  You rang a doorbell, someone yelled at you, you ordered in the dark, the windows were all covered, and all of the food had some mafia-fun title.  I love myself a themed restaurant!  We  had a private room that even was playing The Godfather on a jumbo screen.  Joe and I were serenaded and had our first dance to something in Italian that sounded real pretty, and it all ended with a free dessert and several fun photo opportunities.

The singer.

So that's it: July 7, 2013.  We ended the night back in our suite in which we both started laughing so hard we were crying.  "What are you laughing at?"  Joe asked me.  "I'm laughing that we are actually married," I giggled.  "What are YOU laughing at?" I then asked Joe.  "I'm laughing over the exact same thing." 

So here's to the laughter...forever (and the sweet cabana that we got on our honeymoon).

It's NOT Them vs. Us

I'm in the process of blogging about my wedding and reception extravaganza, but over the course of the summer, two pictures and a plethora of situations stood out to me and are not only worth saving, but worthy of a blog post.  Some may click on this post, roll their eyes, and think that I'm up to my "liberal" ways again and that's fine. This is more for me than you.

I grew up in a neighborhood that didn't have many children my age, but enough to keep me outside every day from sun up to sun down (these were the days when we drank out of the hose, and no one freaked out).  My old neighbor, Mrs. Betts, who at the time I thought was 100 years old, had her daughter and her five grandchildren come to live with her.  This "temporary" situation turned out to be about ten years, so for those ten years, I had five constant companions.  Barbara, Mrs. Betts daughter, had twin sons who were about six years older than me, a daughter who was three years older than me, and twin daughters who were two years younger than me.  We would walk to school and back every day, but it was the summers that I remember the most.  We built forts, rode our bikes for hours, and went up to the corner gas station to buy gummies.

On one of the occasions, the girls twins, Catherine and Cassandra and I went to the gas station for our usual stash of gummies.  Only this time, the cashier wasn't behind the counter, she kept following us, and reminding us we have to pay for what we are touching.  I thought this was odd behavior, so we grabbed our gummies and walked home.  I remember telling my mom this strange situation, in which I learned for the first time about racism.  Catherine and Cassandra were black.

Another school year rolled around and the boy twins, Clay and Jason, were entering into their Sophomore year.  Jason decided to be in the Roy High Marching Band for the colorguard team. The girl twins and I would spend hours on my porch watching Jason throw the gun up in the air and twirl it around.  He would sometimes let us, but it was too difficult.  As the year went on, Jason proved to be one of the best members of the color guard team, and sometimes all of them would practice in his backyard giving us an exclusive show. But when other kids would come around, he would get called a "sissy" and immediately withdraw.  Jason had some of the biggest muscles I've ever seen, so I don't know where they got the idea of sissy...didn't they see he had a wooden gun?

Years later, at my first job, I ended up working with Jason again.  While he was always older than me, we had a good relationship and I felt he looked out for me as he did his little sisters.  Jason told me he was engaged to be married and even had a ring to show me.  He said he would be moving to Colorado shortly with his fiance, Richard.  So if you are keeping score, that makes Jason gay and white.

Some may think I am incredibly naiive.  Jason was in the colorguard.  He HAS to be gay, right? Just like ALL black people steal, live off of the government, and are incapable of getting through and affording medical school, right?

This is the part where some people may justify their stereotypes with the word "most."  Well, MOST _______________ do this, and MOST ___________________ do that.  The only time I think the word most works is in the following sentence: MOST people living in the United States are Americans and ALL people living in the world are human.

And now let's address how easily people throw out the term Mexican.  This term is one of my triggers  because few people say it without the derogatory tone and negative connotation attached.  Let's define a "Mexican" shall we?  A Mexican is a person born in Mexico.  If a person has darker skin and speaks Spanish that does not make him/her a Mexican.  He/she could have been born in Peru for all we know and unless you are going to be asking everyone in your path for their birth certificate, I would refrain from using it all together.  My Uncle Ben is hispanic and my cousins are half hispanic and half white.  If you were to ask to see their birth certificate, they are just as American as you and me and that cheesy line of apple pie.

One of my summer setbacks is the reality television show called Big Brother.  I say that it is a setback because that darn show is on three times a week and can really take up a lot of time unless you record it.  The biggest controversy of this summer and now one that requires a Viewer Discretion Advised panel at the beginning of every episode has to do with a blonde hair, blue eyed, female named Aaryn, who thought it would be funny to talk about the racially segregated fish tank and how all the "black fish settle on the bottom."  She then turned a fellow contestants bed over and talked to her in a demeaning tone.  This fellow contestant is black.  The amount of hate mail and nasty tweets that Aaryn and the Big Brother show has now received is endless.  Why in the heck is she still on the show?  Does CBS want to capture people how they normally act in the real world?  These contestants are competing for a half-million dollars.  Is this how we reward racism? 

Last Saturday, Joe and I went to Walmart to return some of our wedding gifts.  There were three lines, one noticeably shorter than the rest.  We got up there immediately and had a woman cashier who was wearing a hijab.  Joe smiled and said, "Happy Ramadan!" in which she gave us the brightest smile and talked about her fasting and how she is purposely working ten hour shifts to avoid thinking about food.  We laughed and talked about how spaghetti may be the best thing reheated at 4:30 a.m.!  Her personality was contagious, her vocabulary impecable (some words I didn't even understand), and as we left, she asked us how we knew about the Muslim religion.  Joe's response was simple, "it's part of our world."  She had tears in her eyes as we left.

So I guess to end what may seem as a random rampage (give me credit, it started out strong), is it's not a them vs. us mentality.  It's not white vs. black,  gay vs. straight, Muslim vs. Christian.  We are all just a bunch of muppets trying to make sense of this world, and hopefully doing it in the kindest, fairest way possible.