2009 Top Moments #2: the Mister

Hands down the very best part of 2009 was being married. And not just being married, but being married to B. He's my rock, my paper and my scissors. I couldn't have gotten through 2009 without him.

He is also my editor. Each post must go through an approval process with B. Before each post I call him into the room and read him my blog. If he laughs, I publish it. If he just nods with no laugh, I edit it. If he cocks his head to the side, glares at me and says "don't you dare..." I must absolutely publish it. But the fact is there is absolutely nothing that I love more than to make my Bryan laugh and if one of my stupid little posts can do that, then I'll keep on writing them.

I give my husband such a hard time on here -- from the terrible pictures to the embarrasing stories to the habits that he would probably like to keep a secret. One thing is for certain, I married a very good sport.

The best compliment Bryan can give one of my posts is a hearty laugh followed by the sentence "and the best part is -- it's all true!" Well, Mr. Skeen, I love you with all of my heart (all of my sarcasm) and all of my soul. You mean the world to me and I can't wait to see what 2010 means for you and me.

And the best part is -- it's all true.

Some of our 2009 adventures:

Date night
Shopping
Cars
Dieting
Pillow Talk
Haircuts
SYTYC
Friday Nights
Handsome
Gifts
Salad Days
The Good Husband
Call of the Wild
Lovey Dovey
Marriage Advice
Dog Training
Married is the New Single
ILMH
Puppy Love
Nightmares
Night-hairs

2009 Top Moments #3: Old Timer

This year something terrible happened to me. I turned 25. Which means next year I'll turn 26. Which means in just 5 short years, I'll be over the hill. Over the hill with excitement that maybe someone will believe me that I'm not 18. 

Pretty much since my 21st birthday I've dreaded the forthcoming 365 days that made me 1 year older. Each year I would notice something else go wrong on my body. My hips got wider, my arms softer, my face more and more haggard. But this year was special. This year I found a grey hair -- the ultimate sign of aging. I saw my life flash before my eyes. I hadn't even had children and yet I was already resembling a grandmother. Then random joints started hurting and I started to complain about chairs and how they hurt me when I sat in them too long. One time I was sitting indian-style on the floor and it took me 30 minutes to recover once I was actually able to unfold my legs and partially stand. I didn't know 25 was this hard or I would have enjoyed 24 a little bit more while I still had the time and the energy to. All of a sudden I began to crave dried prunes and reruns of Matlock. I couldn't find one pair of panty hose that didn't have runs in them but I wore them anyways with my black therapeutic sneakers. I love to drive 25 mph and pull out in front of people just to slam on my brakes and curse the young. Oh and I hate that slutty Miley Cyrus.

So I decided that I was wasting too much of my precious time left thinking about getting old. I've learned to accept this old age and the odd misplaced facial hair it has brought me. But, trust me, I didn't let my youth go down without a fight...

25 and growing

age is just a number

Hearing Aids

Grey matters

Kids no more

 

2009 Top Moments #4: Work is a 4-letter word.

If there is one thing that college taught me it's that whatever that 4 years was -- it wasn't real. I'm not even convinced that those years actually happened -- sure we have photo albums, memories, financial debt and scars but those years just seem to good to be true. If there is one thing that college did not teach me it's that real life is not fun.

You see in college, professors throw theories at you all day long. You are tested on millions of hypothetical situations that have a 1% chance of actually happening, being taught by people who have never actually entered the workforce -- they just continued on with school so long that someone finally allowed them to teach. Professors build up this theory of how great the job market is and that working to be like a real life Candy Land. And just when you think you have all of the knowledge and experience to be the next CEO of a company that will hire you the day that you graduate if not before, you graduate. You are handed a small piece of paper, a handshake and then you are sent on your way. But what you don't know is that after graduation all of the professors meet in a small, dark room and laugh. Hysterically laugh. They laugh for hours saying to each other "Remember when you told that kid that he could be the next Bill Gates?!?!" or "Remember when we told them that they would be successful and they would like working?!?!" Then they wipe those smiles off of their faces, tell you that you were their favorite student and they can't wait to watch you succeed.

So, after 3 years of being in the workforce, I'm still not laughing.Instead of the 3 economic theory classes I took (and don't remember) why couldn't they have offered classes like "How to deal with co-workers" or "How to deal with stress" or "How to sit in a cubicle for 8 hours at a time and not play with your iPhone." Or maybe just maybe they could have taught us how to write a resume. In a perfect world, this would be the classes that I would offer:

Required Courses:

Typing 101

Nobody Cares 102

Office Life 101

Office Life 102

Upper Level Courses:

Out of Office Etiquette

Dress Code

How to Land a Job

Always Be On Time

Electives:

Jury Duty is Real
Bad Day Mathmatics
Theory of a Salesman
Office Food is Grown-up Cafeteria Food

Johnny Can Spell

You'll Never Get those 40 Hours Back
The Things Employers Make You Do

How to Deal with Office Birthday Parties

How to Deal with Close Talking Co-Workers

2009 Top Moments #5: Cooking 101

Although its 2009 and not 1959, there is still some subtle expectation from the world that when you get married you can magically tap into homemaking skills that you have never before possessed. Cleaning,cooking, making beds, taking care of another human being for example. After 23 years, I finally find someone who wants to marry me just as I am and now I have to change everything about me -- it just doesn't seem right.

I knew that becoming a really clean and organized person would throw Bryan off completely. He knew what my room looked like when we dated, he knew that I used the floor of my closet more than I used the hangers on the rack, he knew that sometimes an old bowl of cereal would be found underneath my bed. It happens. So I knew that he would catch on really fast to my marital bliss scheme if I started to become a clean person. This also excused me from making any beds.

But cooking -- I had never cooked for Bryan before so this was something that he didn't know if I could or couldn't do and it wouldn't ruin his pre-established adoration that he had for me. If I could, he would love me more, if I couldn't, he would find it endearing and cute. I couldn't, by the way -- as he would later find out. Also, he didn't find it endearing but disturbing. But it hasn't stopped me yet. There isn't any thing that salt, pepper and a tearful apology can't make better.

Here are a few recipes from my cooking disasters from this past year. Bon appetit!

chicken and dumplings
bean soup
vomit smoothie
apple bacon cheese sandwich
more bacon
death by coffee
surprise me!

and if all else fails:
order a pizza

go to a restaurant

or drive thru

2009 Top Moments #6: In with the old, out with the young

Six months into our marriage, Bryan and I decided to go green. Green Acres that is. We left the city life for small town living and frequently look back and sigh. We went from a city of 6 million people and endless opportunities to a small town of 20,000 retirees and a Cracker Barrel. It's almost cruel living in a retirement community when you aren't retired. It's like being 16 and the only one of your friends with a summer job, while every one else gets to play golf and swim and stay up as late as they want. Except you're not 16, your friends are old and that's not summer but every single day of the year.
 
Things I've learned since moving to a small town:
 
-          Chain restaurants are a privilege, not a right.
-          If someone doesn't know your mom, dad, grandparents or an immediate family member, you don't exist.
-          Road kill is real. I have seen more dead animals in the past 2 years than I've seen live ones.
-          Not only does nothing good happen after 10 pm but nothing happens at all.
-          I have been mistaken more for a teenager than I did when I was actually a teenager.
-          Every day is a slow news day.
 
And so on:
You know you live in a small town…
Bad News
City friends needed.
Slow news day
Raining cats and old age
Curl Up & Dye

2009 Top Moments #7: Weight is only a number

This year marked our 4 year anniversary (1 1/2 for being married, 4 for being together). This year also marked the first time that we noticed the we were kind of fat. It's like when Adam and Eve ate from the Tree of Knowledge and realized that they were naked, except we ate from the Drive-thru of McDonald's and realized we didn't look good naked. Before it was cute fat. Puppy love fat. Happy fat. Now it's just sloppy fat.

In January we started watching the Biggest Loser and decided to go on a diet. A diet that would yo-yo from January to now. We have gone from having completely normal eating habits to binge eating on the weekends just to swear on starting a new diet on Monday. In other words: I've turned Bryan into a cranky, middle-aged woman who hates his thighs, arms and abs. We also declared to everyone we met as well as every family member that we had working phone numbers for that we were going to run a half-marathon in November of this year. The good news? I can almost run a mile. The bad news? A half marathon is 13 miles. Needless to say, on November 15th we did not run in that marathon. But we did carbo-load and we went to the movies instead.

So with the failed attempts of diet and exercise under our now tighter belts, I present to you tips on how to get a Body Built by Skeen:

*Results not typical.

girl's only

low self-esteem

carbs: the other white meat

chocolate covered exercise

office snacks

marathon

muffin tops

exercise sucks

2009 Top Moments #8: when good habits go bad

If you've been reading my blog for a while now, I think it's safe to say that Bryan and I have a lot of bad habits. Probably more than you will ever want to know. I blog about 10% of our bad habits -- just the ones that are semi-ok to talk about in public. And trust me -- you don't want to know about the other 90%.

I didn't realized all of our bad habits until yesterday morning when I was blow-drying my hair in the shower while smoking a pipe. I looked over at Bryan and he was laying in bed drinking a glass of wine and sharpening some of our kitchen knives. It dawned on me that he was going to be late for work. I called him on his cell phone to tell him and then he jumped out of bed, spilling his wine which is now crusted on our floor (who knew wine would crust?), threw on some clothes and went off to work. Talk about your bad habit. He didn't even take a shower. Gross.

So just for you to feel better about yourself and your bad habits here are a few of ours:

shopping for others
dirty
bad habits make for bad parents
most likely to go bankrupt
typical friday night
drugs
tanning is bad for you?
the lazy housewife
good, clean white trash fun
nightmares

Bang-gate Update

I know you've all been worried sick over the length status of my bangs. I've received hundreds of emails on the subject of my bangs alone. Thank you to those who sent me hair vitamins, support group invites, alcohol. You've really been a great help so I thought I would update you all on the growth of my bangs.

Here is what they started out as:

a mere 3 inches of my forehead is covered, as you can see.

Here where we are at 2 weeks later:

As you can see we are not out of the woods yet, but it looks like Dora the Explorer is growing up.

And yes, that is a snuggie that I am wrapped up in. Merry Christmas to me.

Also, it may look like I took this photo in a dorm room, but I promise you this is our home and not a college dorm.

2009 Top Moments #9: 12 Ovaries Drumming

If I was clever, I would have started each blog countdown with a 12 days of Christmas theme and continue on until I reached the end of this seemingly useless countdown. But I'm not clever (sarcasm doesn't count as clever, people, but thank you for flattering me) so I’ll just use it for this post title and move on.

I didn't realize how much I talk about that time of the month on here until I went back and read my posts from this year. Wow -- how do you people stick around? Anyways, I figured that if I'm going to go ahead and post about it every month it must be in my top ten.

I do declare 2009 as the "Year of the Period.

Aunt Flo isn't a relative
There’s an app for that
Tampon Poetry
I am Woman, Hear Me Complain
Skip to #2
Like Mother, Like Daughter

2009 Top Moments #10: the name game

I've always had trouble with my first name. The name "Kendi" has never translated well with others. It's always Candy? Cindy? Kennedy? Kidney? Trudy? I gave up the fight early on -- I believe it was kindergarten when I stopped correcting people of my name. My teacher called me Kidney the whole year. (It's fine though -- I called her "that fat kindergarten lady"). So at 5 years old, I realized it's just not in the cards for me and since then I've answered to pretty much every name that starts with a hard C or a K.

But then I got married and traded my traditional last name of Hudson with the glad-I-don't-have-a-lisp last name of Skeen. Kendi Skeen -- it just has that ring to it doesn't it? So much that most people when I tell them my name say "bless you" because they think I've sneezed. This year was no exception, I think that I've had to correct my name at least 1000x this year and here are my posts to prove it.

apparently i'm forgettable

henny penny

"k...as in knife"

as real as it gets

my name by numbers

steak night

Last night Bryan and I went on a date. Or so I thought. You see, whenever I want to go on a date I like to drop hints throughout the day and then when B clues in he usually asks me through text message or some other romantic form of communication. Yesterday though was special -- we talked on the phone. At work. Like sneaky young lovers just waiting to get caught. We decided that tonight was date night.

On our date B kept mentioning that he could really go for a steak and that he was glad I suggested it. I didn't suggest this but I let it go. Nothing could go wrong on date night. But that's when this conversation happened:

"I had fun tonight. I love date nights," I say. Then B smiles, squeezes my hand and says " I love steak night, too."

He thought it was steak night, not date night. This explained so much. No wonder when I asked him if I looked pretty he just answered "medium rare."

Just a piece of meat -- that's all I am.

christmas cards....shmristmas cards?

Okay so for weeks i've been mulling over what to do for our christmas cards this year. i couldn't think of anything cute or clever to do for our picture, i couldn't think of anything that i wanted to write about in a letter and i'm actually really terrible at putting stamps on envelopes and never mailing them. So then I thought "maybe christmas letters aren't for you, dear Kendi." I love getting them but sending them is a different story. And then it hit me, like a MacBook Pro falling from the sky.... I can blog my christmas card.

Since most christmas letters are just the past year in review, I will blog the Skeen's top moments of this year along with my favorite blog posts up until New Years Eve. Best.idea. ever.

Oh -- is that tear in your eye I see? Is that you over there jumping for joy, writhing in anticipation for my chirstmas countdown blog post? I know, I know I can hardly wait too.

anatomy of a bad day in 3 words or less.

cold shower.

running late.

nothing to wear.

spilled coffee.

no kiss good-bye.

lunch plans cancelled.

too many emails.

must pay bills.

nickelback on radio.

bad hair day.

bad haircut.

coffee not hot.

i am hungry.

mmm cinnamon rolls.

not on diet.

its only 10 o'clock.

in the morning.

countdown till 5. 

happy hour, anyone?

 

Bang Bang

Roughly 3 weeks ago I got the best haircut of my life. Seriously, people it was a really good hair cut. It brought tears to my eyes. I received compliments from people I didn't even know. Some person even told me that my hair style made their day better. But the best part of my haircut was the precise accuracy of the length of my bangs. Having cut my own bangs for years, this is nearly impossible. But here in small town america I found a hairdresser who believed that bang cutting is not just a service, but an art.

Exhbit A:

(photo by my husband)

The day after my perfect haircut I immediately became worried that my bangs were already growing. This could not happen. I needed them to stay at this length for as long as possible -- maybe even forever. (By the way if you are reading this and the words "vapid", "shallow" or "egomaniac" has come to mind, you should probably stop reading.) Well as it would turn out I have freakishly fast growing bangs and before I knew it I needed a Trim. The dreaded Trim. I believe that trim is actually a word used by hairstylists as slang to mean "a cheap imitation of a full-priced haircut." Well today was that day. Today I went in for a $5 trim. And just like I feared -- my perfect haircut was a total fluke.

Within a matter of seconds, I went from InStyle magazine to Nickelodeon.

Exhibit B:

Just kidding, she didn't have to pay $5 for her haircut, but I did. Here's exhibit B:

So I guess that I have no other choice than to strap on my white velcro keds, put on a belly-baring shirt and tell everyone I meet an alternate spanish word. That or I could tell people it's a wig. Or that I just finished the 3rd grade and to back off -- I'm tall for my age.

Oh well, you know what they say... If the bangs fit, wear them. Now what's the spanish word for "bad haircut"?

(EDIT: Bryan just said to me "Its not that bad." He also says this to me when I burn the crap out of dinner, so I think I'm going to need a second opinion.)

big loser

Is it wrong that I want to gain hundreds of pounds so that I can go on Biggest Loser just so I can win $250,000 and self-esteem?

 

Think about it and discuss -- over a nice warm plate of brownies...

as sharp as a knife

The nature of my job includes receiving many phone calls from publications inquiring about advertising. Everyday I am faced with the burden of correcting someone on the other end of the line on the spelling, pronunciation, and origin of my name. Having done this for the past 20 years or so (I don't remember life before the age of 5), this does not really bother me. Until today that is. This lady just couldn't get the spelling of my name down. It was like I was speaking to her in arabic. But I wasn't, because in arabic my name means "vase" and in English it means "great sense of humor".

She starts in: "kendi s-c-e-n-e"

I corrected her. She deserved a second chance.

"kendi s-c-e-e-m"

Again, I corrected her. She was pushing it.

"Oh! Kendi S-c-e-e-n" She places emphasis on the 'c'. That was it -- she had gone too far.

Finally, I'd had enough. I decided to use the oldest trick in the book -- to give an example of a word that the letter starts with like a for apple, b for book. An old trick used in most kindergarten classes around the world. Surely, this would work.

"Actually it's s-K-e-e-n." I say "K as in...knife."

An awkward silence ensued. I realized what I had done. I had used the only word that absolutely does not work in this situation. I found a way to use a word that has a silent first letter to describe the pronunciation of that exact letter. It was blasphemy to the english language, to my kindergarten teacher, to my own name. I could almost hear the woman on the other end desperately screaming "Kite! Kite!!!" but it was too late. She was expecting a 'cat' or a 'kite' and I pulled out a knife.

She hung up quickly after that. I think she got the message. She'll never misspell my name again.

the call of duty

I had jury duty today. This escape plan crossed my mind...

But instead I went and got paid less than $1 an hour to serve my country as the fine citizen that I am. That's right for the 11 hours that I was sequestered to sit in a hot, stinky room I was paid with a crisp $10 bill while you all were sitting at your desk job getting paid a real salary. Jealous?

The best part of my day was not the girl sitting behind me blowing her hot breath on me with every exasperated gasp she let out but hearing the freaky names people name their children. Stephen King, Wendy Malick and Christopher Robin were all there. I kid you not. I was waiting for Thom Kruz and Opra Winfree to be called as well.

I must tell you though, the Princess Leia outfit worked. I did not get selected. The Force wins again.

too much of a good thing is disgusting

Confession: i am a bad house wife. I don't clean, I don't fold the towels right and I can't cook. But if there is one thing that i can make it's soup. I believe that soup was invented by mail-order brides who didn't want to disappoint their new husbands so they decided to throw everything they had into a pot and boil it into submission. By the time you boil anything for 3 hours and add enough salt and pepper, it's going to be good.

Last night I made chicken and dumplings. I prefer less chicken, more dumplings so I added twice as many biscuits to the soup. (I'm watching my carbs) It was perfect. By the end of the meal, I slowly began to realize that we finished the whole pot of soup which means we both ate a can of biscuits -- each. I quickly googled "I just ate a whole can of biscuits" and the words "obesity" and "shame" popped up on my screen. Then my computer made fun of me and picked me last for a game of kick-ball.

Much later my stomach decided to team up with the rest of my digestive track and revolt against that can of biscuits. Bryan was fine, of course. I found out later that he used to be a competitive eater -- chicken and dumplings was his specialty. I should have known when he pulled out his stopwatch and a bib. I should have known.