As Trevor would say, "You have a finger for it..."

Hi.

This isn't about me. It is about my camellia. My beautiful, pink camellia. It looks like a plant model in a gardening magazine. I am amazed that I had anything to do with it. I've had it for two or three years now, but it has never bloomed like this before.

The red camellia that I bought to replace my other one that was stolen last year is also starting to pop. As are the two that came planted in the front yard at our new house. It is like my own personal camellia wonderland.

Had you told me five years ago that I was capable of not only keeping a plant alive for YEARS but also raising one that bloomed like the ones I have now, I would have laughed and reminded you of the cactus I managed to kill in high school. A cactus that my teacher had assured me "even a idiot could take care of".

Either my luck has changed or I've found an exceptionally hearty plant and convinced it to thrive under my care. Not that I am complaining, mind you. I feel like a proud parent on graduation day. Just look at my baby!

For a better looking tomorrow…

On Sunday morning I woke up to find my husband all giddy with excitement.

No, not like THAT. All heads out of the gutter, please.

The night before, I had gotten home, showered, and passed out after a long day of playing in my garden and running errands. I was so exhausted that I fell asleep on my back – a position I almost never sleep in (I am normally a tummy or side sleeper).

Anyway, to make a long story short, I started snoring. And Trevor, being the a$$ that he is, decided to record it on his cell phone, and play it back for me the next morning.

That boy is a catch. A catch, I tell you!
[Cut to me attempting to claw Trevor's eyes out...]

Apparently, Trevor didn’t think I believed that I snored. Whatever. Everybody snores. Some louder and more frequently than others (i.e. Trevor). I am under no illusions. And, of course, it doesn’t help that it is March and I am slowly drowning in my own post nasal drip (consequence of being allergic to the State of Texas).

The recording went something like this:

Me: [Softly Snoring]

Trevor: [Giggle]

Me: [Snore, snore, snooooooooore]

Trevor: [Snicker, giggle, giggle, giggle]

And so forth and so on for about five minutes.

Yes, it is official: My husband is a jacka$$.

General Weirdness...

Last night I had a dream. More specifically, I had a dream between the 5:11 AM and 6:10 AM (when my alarm went off).

In my dream, Trevor and I were relocating to be closer to my grandmother (which is odd since I no longer have any living grandparents, and we already live within walking distance of Trevor's grandmother), and were in the process of buying a house. We had looked at several (including an old, historic home with no walls and tight staircases to nowhere), but ended up deciding on a rather large residence across the street from my grandmother's retirement center.

Moving day arrived, and the trucks came with all of our stuff inside. But the house we were moving into wasn't empty like it was supposed to be. On the contrary, it was still full of the former occupant’s possessions and everything was a mess. A lot of the furniture was in really bad shape, and Trevor and I decided to call a donation service to come and pick up everything to make room for our stuff. They arrived a few minutes later (funny how time never makes sense in dreams), and I escorted them through the house - explaining what needed to go in each of the rooms. I remember there being a couple of items that I was considering keeping, but these pieces were few and far between. Most were either ornately carved or seemed to be antiques that I could either incorporate into my own stuff or possibly sell online.

Anyway, it was during this initial walk through with the donation service that the former occupants came home (and the dream took a turn for the bizarre).

The former owners were the Duggars. We had somehow bought their home without knowing it and they had forgotten to move out. They were also not-so-thrilled that Trevor and I were moments away from donating their stuff to Good Will.

Trevor and I decided to give the Duggars awhile to get their affairs in order, pack and move out. Coordinating such a large family was proving to be chaotic, and for some reason Trevor and I spent most of the second half of the dream teaching Jim Bob and Michelle how to Skype with one another from different parts of the house to help facilitate communication. This was much easier said than done (the Duggars seemed a little technologically impaired), but I was making slow progress with Michelle in the family room. In fact, Michelle was just about to Skype with Jim Bob in the kitchen for the first time when my alarm went off.

I have no idea what all of this means, but I keep thinking about it. Trevor and I have watched the TLC show about the Duggars in the past, but not recently. There is no reason why I should be dreaming of them. Or relocating for that matter. It was all very odd.

Thoughts?

Good Job, Women!

Completely cracked me up...

It has already been six months...

...who said it wouldn't last?!

I guess somethings don't always mean the same thing that they do here...

My friend, Hilary, posted this on Facebook along with the following caption:

"Hahaha my father in law saw the poster while changing trains in Frankfurt and decided to share it with us lol..."

Awesome.

That kind of day...

I feel VERY strongly that if a drink says "Shake Well" it should not explode all over me, my car and meeting notes.

The Phantom...

For Valentine's Day, Trevor bought me tickets to see The Phantom of the Opera. Our tickets were for last night, and the production was - in a word - AWESOME.

Of course, I've been a fan of The Phantom since I was a child. I had the entire musical memorized by age 10. I used to listen to the songs over and over and over again. I have always been captivated by the story, and would still - without a doubt - choose The Phantom over Raoul. A point which Trevor finds disconcerting. Something about The Phantom being a deformed, murdering psychopath. Whatever. The Phantom is just a little socially awkward, if you ask me. Hence the reason he lives in the sewer underneath the Paris opera house. He is a musical genius, and loves Christine with his whole being. Maybe - with today's advances in mental health - The Phantom could have gone to therapy, worked through some of his disfigurement and my-mommy-never-loved-me-enough-and-made-me-where-a-mask issues. If he had, I am sure he would have been able to express his love to Christine in the regular way (i.e. without all the death and kidnapping). Unfortunately, The Phantom of the Opera was born in a time before the invention of plastic surgery and social anxiety drugs, like Paxil.

Trevor just doesn't understand true love.