Over the Christmas weekend ED and I went to stay with his family in the country and we brought along  my little sister Staci. She was looking for a distraction since it was her daughters fathers weekend to have her.

Staci and I grew up in the middle of Mormon suburbia. There was nothing country about our upbringing, unless you count listening to country music–which we totally did, although I don’t admit to it often (I blame my older sister for dating a cowboy when she was 15). Growing up we always went boating and camping, but if you ask ED, we never did REAL camping. Whatever! Houseboats and motorhomes totally count as real camping!

When we got there we had a laundry list of fun activities we wanted to do: eat,  drink, shoot guns, go sledding and ride horses. Not necessarily in that order. Only, there were a few problems. 1. Staci didn’t have winter/snow boots. 2. We didn’t have a sled and 3. It was freaking freezing!

We decided to seek out boots and a sled on our first day there. After six different stores in three different towns we finally ended up at Wal Mart where Staci found some snow boots.

Pink snow shoes! What could be more appropriate?*

Wal Mart didn’t have sleds, so we ended up going to a tire store and purchasing some large inter tubes. Unfortunately by this point we were racing the sun so we were only able to get one quick run down what we deemed a sledding hill off the side of the highway.

Here is a video of Staci and ED’s nephew braving the slope airplane style (video is courtesy of my new Christmas present from ED!).

The next day it was too cold to shoot guns, sled or ride horses. We did however, need to feed the horses out in the field. In order to do so we needed to dress appropriately for the weather. Fortunately there just so happened to be enough full body carhart suits to go around.

After Staci and I suited up, we went to show ED’s father our work digs. Staci made sure to point out her new shiny pink boots to which ED’s father responded, “Now Staci, I want you to be careful not to lift up your pant leg while you are out there.” To which she asked, “Why?”. His response, “I don’t want you scaring the  horses.”

Of course he was teasing her. That’s one of the things I love about ED’s family, it’s filled with a bunch of smart asses!

Just a couple of your average country girls standing by a tractor of some sorts.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

For more pictures, check out my Fickr account by clicking here.

* I realize the picture is sideways, but have no idea why. Meh, it works.

Holidays, Story Time

For Christmas this year my sisters and I all went in on a Wii Fit for my parents. I swear to you I am trying to do anything and everything in my power to get my parents to do activities to improve their health and therefore their quality  of life.

Last Christmas I bought them Xagave natural sweetener because it is better for you than real sugar and you can bake with it. They used it, liked it, but never re-ordered it again.

The year before that I bought them detoxifying aural-spray which is supposed to boost immunity and rid you of environmental toxins. They used it until it was gone and again, never re-purchased.

For a combination mothers day and fathers day present my sister and I bought my parents a gym membership. They still have not even put on gym shoes and walked through monstrous athletic doors.

You’d think I would give up. But no. I am resilient! And selfish. I want my parents to be around for a very very long time, so I keep trying.

Sadly, this years gift backfired on me the same as all of the rest. On Christmas eve my parents convinced me to set up a profile and to try a few games. I had already watched several other people play and was convinced I could do better them them. Word to the wise, arrogance will get you no where.

I stepped onto the Wii board and prepared to karate chop in rhythm and, of course, right into first place. I started off strong, but I think it was the kick-chop-punch move that got me; only it also got my potty mouth and before I knew it I let out an exasperated “FUCK!”. To which my prudent mother promptly reprimanded me. I said I was sorry, oh so incredibly sorry, in between stifled giggles while continuing to kick-punch-punch the screen.

I got third place. Yet another failed Christmas gift.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Holidays, Loved One(s), Story Time

I took a week off from blogging to survive the holidays. I say survive, because right now I am breathing a great big sigh of relief they are over. Don’t get me wrong, I had a GREAT Christmas filled with friends and family, pies and turkeys and all of the items that are not on my approved diet.

Now that it is all over, I feel like I can try to get my life back in order and enjoy the remaining two weeks before I start back to school. But before I get too cosy and undo the top button to my jeans, here is a brief recap of my Christmas holiday starting with, of course, the Ugly Christmas Sweater Party thrown by my housemate Heidi and I! You know the ones, where everyone dresses in the worst possible, over the top tacky Christmas outfits.

Last years party was just the girls, but this year we opened it up to friends of both the x and y chromosomes.

Heidi, the tacky office secretary and me, the homemaking teacher

Karina, the confused Russian

Jason & Summer, a beautifully nerdy couple

The rule breakers!

ED and I cracking up over something absolutely HILARIOUS... I just can't remember what it was.

For more pictures, be sure to check out my Flickr feed.

***

My adorable aunt always sends out invitations to our family Christmas party. Last year she sent an invite addressed to “Summer and Karina” because Karina was my date. This year she sent the invitation to “Summer and ED”.

For those of you who do not know, ED is not actually my boyfriends real name. In fact he kind of hates that his “blogging name” is ED, which truthfully makes it that much more fun. I thought it was incredibly cute of my aunt to address it to ED, although he is now concerned none of my family will ever know him by his true name.

He can be such a whiner like that at times.

***

This was the first Christmas ED and I have spent together. We started dating (this time) in January 09 (coming up on our one year anniversary!). It was amazing, and yet strange, how oddly comfortable it felt to spend this overly hyped holiday with him. We bounced from party to party together, friends and family, flawlessly. We didn’t fight and after spending the weekend with his family in the country, I love him even more than before. This crazy man of mine — big whiner that he is and all — is a keeper.

How were your holidays? Are you as relieved as I am to have them over or do you feel like they flew by entirely too fast?

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Holidays

You know how I said I am an open book? Well there are a few things I am not super share-y about. One of which is my health problems. I don’t know why it’s so hard to write about, it just seems… extra personal. Maybe it’s because I don’t like showing physical weakness. Emotional, fine. But admitting to the physical trials my body endures is a different story all together.

When I was around nineteen years old, I was diagnosed with Endometriosis. The simple explanation given by WebMD is:

Endometriosis is the development of uterine-lining tissue outside the uterus. Symptoms include abdominal pain, heavy periods, and infertility. Treatments include pain relievers, birth control pills, and surgery.

Without going into great detail, it basically causes chronic pain. I have put my body through hell trying to combat that pain. There is no cure, outside of a hysterectomy, and while my chances to actually conceive a child are impossibly low, I don’t want to give up that  option just yet. I have only brought up my Endo once before on this blog and it was after my OBGYN doc told me to start mentally preparing myself for the fact that I will not be able to have a child. It was harsh. I’m still not over it.

Throughout the years the primary goal has always been to treat the symptoms. I swear to you I have tried just about everything. Surgery (twice!). A bazillion types of birth control. Monthly shots (which my mother and ex-husband happily shot in my ass), throwing my 22 year old body into menopause. For the record, NO woman should ever have to go through hot and cold flashes twice in her life!

I have tried having no treatment what-so-ever; just managing the pain with medications. Constantly taking pain pills is incredibly hard on the stomach and to be honest, I am lucky I didn’t get addicted to pain pills.

Finally I went to my doctor and got an IUD. Normally women who have not given birth are not encouraged to get them, but I was running out of options.

The first two months were absolute HELL. But I waited it out and eventually my body accepted it. For the first time in years, I could go months at a time without taking any pain medication. For someone who has spent the majority of her adult life battling pain, this felt like a godsend.

Of course it hasn’t been perfect. Far from. I have my ups and downs. I’ll be feeling good for a while and I forget there is anything wrong with me. I start living my life like my actions will have no consequences. Eating poorly, drinking too often, not getting enough sleep or exercise and, of course, my largest trigger, STRESS. These factors all contribute to whether my Endo makes an appearance.

Recently, with the death of my dear friend Zach and the end of the semester, I have let my health go and I am paying the price. When I felt the pain coming back, and more importantly, when I realized it was not going away, it really hit me hard. I became depressed. I started feeling sorry for myself. I moped around and ate a lot of chocolate. Then I decided I wasn’t going to let the Endo take over me. Not while I have the power to do something about it.

I’m starting on a new, very strict, very clean diet that I found from an Endo website. Basically I’m taking out all things that make life worth living are unhealthy, like chocolate, sugar, fried food, red meat, caffeine, wheat and dairy, and I’m replacing them with lots of vitamins, water, fresh fruits and vegis, chicken, fish and brown rice.

I’m only three days in…

Making this change right before the holidays may not have been the smartest decision, but honestly I can’t put my health on hold any longer. I can’t pretend that if I ignore it it will go away. This is one of my challenges in life. We all have them. It’s how we choose to cope with them that matters. I am choosing to do what I can to take control.

Because frankly, I’m out of options.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Just me, NOT light and fluffy, TMI Friday

The other day I was driving in the car with my BFF, Karina the Russian. One of the trendy “top 40’s” radio station decided to play a re-mix of the old classic “Grandma Got Ran Over By A Reindeer“. Now I have heard this song countless times, I am pretty sure we even sang it in Elementary school for a Christmas concert. It has always been just a silly, funny, harmless song. That is, until I saw it through Karina’s eyes.

Karina: “Are you listening to what this song is saying? This song is so messed up! Are they saying what I think they are saying? Listen!”

“and incriminatin’ Claus marks on her back. Oh! Grandma got run over by a reindeer, walking home from our house Christmas eve. You can say there’s no such thing as Santa, but as for me and Grandpa we believe.”

Luckily the remixed version of the song, with all it’s electronic drum beats, stopped there and mixed itself on to a different song. I’d hate to think of what Karina would have thought if she heard the rest of the song go on to talk about Grandpa watching football and drinking beer or the dilemma of opening Grandma’s gifts or sending them back. I’m sure that would have made her completely loose faith in Americans forever!

He. Will. Pay.

Summer

*This post was originally posted last year, but it is one of my favorite holiday stories about Karina the Russian so it bares repeating.

Holidays, K to the R stories, Story Time

How Did It Get Here Already?

I have four Christmas parties this week. That’s one, two, three, FOUR social obligations to prepare for. Honestly, I don’t live under a rock, so I am not sure how exactly Christmas sneaked up on me this year. I knew it was approaching, but now it’s like BAM! I’m here bitches, ready or not! Where’s the egg nog?

And I am not. Ready that is. I am not ready for Christmas.

Oh sure, I did a little online holiday shopping in my bathrobe a few weeks ago. But that is simply not going to cut it! I have to bake cookies, put bows on presents and shop for the perfect gifts and… wait a second, who in the hell am I trying to kid? No one, and I mean NO ONE expects that sort of thing out of me. I even told ED I was going to make homemade Oreo cookies and you know what he told me? “What’s wrong with the ones you buy at the store?” and you know what? He is absolutely right.

Why mess with perfection? Why go against god’s will to have perfectly round cookies laying neatly in rows? Why upset the system?

This year, if I show up to your holiday party carrying a bag of Oreo cookies with a bow haphazardly slapped on it, please keep in mind that it’s the thought that counts. Also, that it is 100% ED’s fault that I am not baking this year.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

PS – the title makes me giggle. Shortcomings… E.D….he he he.

ED is not Emotionally Disturbed, Holidays

My darling baby sister and her boyfriend decided to “take a break”. Almost simultaneously, Karina the Russian split up with her dirty rocker boyfriend. Both of my girls have been going through the standard grieving process: anger, crying, regret, cleaning, revenge and finally the let’s go get piss drunk, turn heads and break hearts stage.

I assure you, this is the standard breakup protocol.

We have been going through the process together for years and nearly have it perfected. Only, this time it’s a little different. I simply don’t have the energy to participate in what just may be the most important step; the last one! It’s not that I don’t enjoy going out and having a drink with the girls, I do, it’s just that I don’t have the energy to go out and party with a vengeance. Not to mention, I don’t think once you are in a stable relationship (which you would like to keep stable) that you should.

But… my girls needed me, so I came up with a compromise we could all live with. I met them at the first (of many) bar for a few drinks, and when they had successfully turned enough heads, crushed a few fragile egos and were ready to move on, I did the same. Only I moved on to the warm awaiting arms of my sweetheart.

As I was getting ready to leave, the girls asked me if I was sure I didn’t want to continue on with them. I told them I loved them with all my heart, but that I was good. My darling cousin M.E. – who was also along for the girls night – looked at me and said, “You know, that’s all you have to say. ‘I’m good.’ Because you are. When I met ED I knew you two were good together. I can’t remember the last time I could honestly say that I am good. But when you are, that’s all you have to say. Go home to your man now while we go try to find some.”

It was the sweetest, most understanding thing a single girl could possibly say to someone in a relationship. It was as if she was saying even though they were each going through their own relationship battles, it was OK for me to be happy.

We (or at least I) spend so much time worrying about loved ones trials and thinking if we are actually happy, it somehow means we don’t care. Or we beat ourselves up for not reaching the ridiculous standards we set for ourselves. Sometimes feeling like we deserve to be happy, is so much harder than it should be. It may sound odd, but having permission to be happy? It’s a totally freeing feeling.

As we start a new week, I hope you will grant yourselves permission to be happy. And if you can’t, then I officially grant it for you. You are wonderful just the way you are. Be happy. You deserve it too.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Dating debating, sometimes I get on a soap box

I used to work in radio as an account executive for a few various stations which will remain un-named. Account executive is a fancy way of saying I sold air time, or commercials. It was a gig I really enjoyed, mainly because it gave me the ability to meet a lot of musicians.

Have I ever mentioned how much I love musicians? Have I told you how much I thoroughly enjoy going to concerts? No? News to you? Well there is a category on my side bar called “Concert whore” so that should give you some sort of idea.

Throughout the years I have grown to realize that musicians are people, just like you and me… only with lots of money, big egos and substance abuse problems. Don’t get me wrong, it is still really freaking cool to meet them, but I don’t get my panties all in a wad about it anymore. I can be relaxed and non-spazmatic while meeting stars like Aaron Lewis, Tommy Lee, Maroon Five, Nickleback (ED loves to tease me about that one!), Third Eye Blind, Candlebox, Hinder, Alanis Morissette… you get the picture.  So I am not entirely sure why, with all the experience I have of meeting celebrities, I completely forgot how to speak when I met Dooce last week.

Ms. Twenty-Six herself was signing copies of her book “It Sucked and Then I Cried” at Kings Bookstore for their holiday open house. When I found out about the book signing (through her blog, which I read everyday), I knew I wanted to go. I’ve only ever heard great things about her from friends who either know her or have met  her. Plus, if I am being completely honest, she is pretty much my hero. My blogging hero.

I got to the bookstore just slightly after the open house started. It was pretty packed and I had never been there before so I just started wandering. I turned a corner, looking absentmindedly at books, and there she was. I took a deep breath and walked right up to her table. Instantly any knowledge of how to form words or sentences or thoughts, went straight out the window. She looked at me standing there saying nothing but smiling and playing with the corner of my coat jacket like a lovesick school girl, then casually looked over at her husband Jon giving him the oh great we have another crazy one here look, and greeted me warmly.

Hours after I leaving the book signing, I was still mentally slapping myself on the forehead for acting like such a complete and utter idiot! I’m not one who is prone to beating myself up needlessly, but I could not for the life of me let go of what a spaz I was. She was so incredibly… nice… and normal… and actually tried to have a conversation with me. I say “tried” because it had to be difficult to converse with someone who just keeps smiling and nodding and who couldn’t answer the simplest of questions!  When I did manage to speak, I mumbled something about being a blogger and SHE ASKED FOR MY CARD!!! and then I fainted. Okay, so I didn’t actually faint, but it would have been less dramatic than the scene I made, violently digging through my purse muttering “bah… bah… bah…”, until I found it.

Honestly, it was like I didn’t even recognize myself.

When I got home that night I emailed her to apologize for being such a spaz, you know, cause nothing says “I’m not a whack job” like emailing someone you just met 30 minutes after meeting them to tell them you are not actually a freak in real life?

Lord I’m retarded.

I suppose I’ll stick to meeting rock stars from now on because my precious ego can’t take meeting another person I admire.

Have you ever made an ass of yourself in front of someone you admire or am I just special, and by special I mean retarded?

Blogfully yours,

Summer

blogging, Concert whore, Story Time

The last two essays for my writing class are finally complete.

I gave my last speech for a grade. From now on any nervous mutterings I give in front of a group will only be silently judged, but no letter will be attached.

My backpack is packed with my final portfolio assignment for the semester. Once I turn that in tomorrow, I am FREE!

That is, until January 12th, when spring semester starts up again.

Remind me again why I didn’t go to college right out of high school?

Blogfully yours,

Summer

Back to School

My kitchen, which I am actually starting to use as more than a room to store wine and cottage cheese, is dark. I’ve been ignoring how dark it is by turning on the light above the stove and the one above the sink every time I go in there, for, I don’t know, THREE MONTHS NOW!

I decided on Sunday I would break down and buy light bulbs. Only problem was, they are the long skinny florescent ones. Waaaay more complicated than the regular (cork screw CFL) bulbs I buy for lamps.

So I did what any girl would do. I called for reinforcement from my BFF Karina the Russian.

We decided the “smart” thing to do would be to have the measurements with us, but since neither of us had a pen and paper handy–and by handy I mean in our hands at that very moment–I grabbed my POS phone and snapped this lovely pic.

I don't know why there are lines. I do know that I freaking miss my freaking iPhone!

We left the house in search of the land of orange, also known as Home Depot, where we quickly spotted the isle with light bulbs that look like they belong in a Star Wars movie. We stood there staring blankly at the bulbs until a helpful orange-caped superhero walked up, ready to save us.

Little did he know, we came prepared. I whipped out my phone and, careful not to show him the kissyface photo I sent to ED earlier in the day, showed him exactly what we needed.

He tried really hard not to laugh at us.

Then he asked us if we knew what the length was.

“Length? You mean that wasn’t in the picture?” I asked, completely dumbfounded. Apparently our plan was not so fool proof after all.  “Umm… about this long?”  I say, now holding out my hands to motion what I later found out was two feet and no, not in the picture.

Feeling slightly retarded, we got our receipt and left our minimum wage superhero with a smirk of amusement from the two bimbos trying to buy a light bulb. Karina looked at me and said, “you know, either this would be the greatest phone commercial ever or the greatest blond joke ever.”

I tell her, “I know! Right? How many blonds does it take to buy a light bulb? Only I’m not blond…”

“Now watch, we will get home and it will be the wrong size!”

And, of course…

We get home, stand on our tippie toes, unscrew the old bulbs (what? We are both super tall. We don’t need no stinkin stools!) and replace them with the new ones.

And… they don’t work.

They were the right size, but for some ridiculous reason that has eluded me, my kitchen is still freaking dark!

So how many blonds does it take to change Summer’s light bulbs? You fill in the blank.

Blogfully yours,

Summer

K to the R stories, Nerdom, Story Time