The Birthday Buddies

Sandwiched on either side of this whole life-changing engagement event, Trevor and I both turned 29.  Trevor's birthday was first...before we were engaged.  Before his actual birthday we had Trevor's sister, brother-in-law, and nieces visiting from South Dakota.  Then after they left we were preparing for a trip to New Jersey for another friend's wedding.  All of a sudden, Trevor's birthday was fast approaching and I am stressing out that I don't have a single present for him.  Now, I like to make a big deal out of birdthays.  Trevor on the other hand, usually couldn't care less about them.  Last year when I was in Denmark for his birthday, he nearly forgot all about it!  The day before we leave on our trip,  I run out to Barnes and Nobles and buy him a children's picture book tittled "I am a Pole and So Can You!" and the most recent edition of the magazine, The Economist (original, I know).  I gave him these sad excuses for presents along with a great big I-owe-you-more-presents hug.

My birthday is two weeks later than Trevor's, so what I get Trevor for his birthday usually sets the stage for what he gets me for mine.  I got him tickets to Willie Nelson one year, he got me tickets to Steve Martin the next.  I suggest a date night for his birthday another year, and he suggests the same for mine.  One year I suggested no one gets presents for eachother and that we just go out an buy a piano.  He is ok with that.

So when he says things like "you don't have to get me anything for my birthday this year.  I really do not want anything," it might legitimately mean the guy does not want any presents (actually I am certain that is exactly what it means) but it also has a secondary meaning that translates into something along the lines of "please don't don't get me anything because I have no idea what to get for you, and I don't have time to think of something nice, and I don't really feel like going shopping and standing in line so if you don't get me anything then I can just get you a bag of beans and some grocery store socks and call it a day."  ... I actually really do enjoy a fresh pair of grcery store socks, so maybe that wasn't the most appropriate reference...

Well even though I don't really need or want anything either for my birthday, no-present-birthdays are no fun. So you are not off the hook this year banana boy!  Even though his presents were a little late, they are always better late then never (and always better to get them to him before my birthday so I can give him a hint of this year's gift-giving theme)

This year I got Trevor this fantastic Cats shirt:

I saw a guy wearing this shirt while he was walking down the street in Bozeman when we first got into town.  The young man wearing this shirt was smoking a cigarette while wearing a sideways baseball cap and baggy jeans, walking down the street with a swagger in his step, covered in tattoos, and sporting a fresh sunburn.  As far as I could tell he was a meth addict (but, hey, every questionable young person walking around a small town screamed "I'm-a-meth-head" to me when I first got into town.  Now, after myself being a questionable(ish) young(ish) person walking around a small(ish) town all summer, I no longer give in to such stereotypes....but this was when I first arrived).  Anyway, this assumed meth-head was cracking me up, moseying around town loving cats so much that he just had to go out and buy this T-shirt.  It was then that I realized.... Trevor needs this shirt!!!!!!  Because he loves cats too:

To my suprise and delightment I was able to find the "Cats" shirt in the local Walmart.  But to my major disappointment "cat" does not stand for the cute furry, fuzzy felines that one can hoard, but rather it is actually short for "bobcats" which is in fact the local mascot at the Montana State University.  Suddenly my meth-head friend has lost much of his sensitive side appeal...  My only hope is that once outside of Bozeman, somoene may see Trevor walking down the street wearing his "cats" shirt and think "wow, that guy really must love cats so much."  It is true, he does.  But, he is not a meth-head.

Trevor loves cats so much that when I found this super fuzzy, cozy fleece leopard-framed kitty blanket, I knew he just had to have it:

The best of both worlds.

He loves it so much!

What did he buy for my birthday, you might be wondering?  Well since he obviously recognized this year's theme he got me some yummy chocolate, a very feminine pink NFL replica football, and a super industrial strength mag-light 3 D-cell flashlight with "spot-to-flood" adjustable LED beam, and a rugged, machined aluminum case that's been anodized for corrosion resistance and durability.

Sure, Trevor you can use my flashlight to spot some bears at night and I will play catch with you using my football,  but only if I can snuggle up in your blankie later! 

See how good we are at sharing?  It's like we are already married...

How the witch was molded

 Trevor was hungry in the middle of the night.  He gets out of bed and walks to the cupboard in the dark.  He opens up a bag full of green fuzzy bagels, eats half of one, puts the other half on the table and goes back to sleep.  In the morning he is snoring and moaning and screaming in his sleep.  I get up and see this half eaten green fuzzy bagel on table.  I wake him up and ask him where the other half of this bagel is and he says "I ate it, why? Why do you want to know?" and I say "You ate it?! It's covered in green fuzzy mold!"  To which he replies something along the lines of "oops" or "oh well" and then twenty or so minutes later after obvioulsy been thinking about this awhile he says something along the lines of "ya know people from the witch trials were eating moldy bread, maybe that's why I was screaming in my sleep...."

Wikipedia of Medical explanations of bewitchment:

A widely-known theory about the cause of the reported bewitchment attributes the cause to the ingestion of bread that had been infected by a fungus commonly known as ergot. This fungus contains chemicals similar to those used in the synthetic psychedelic drug LSD. Convulsive ergotism causes a variety of symptoms, including nervous dysfunction. 

Great.

First World Problems

Two things I never thought I'd say:

1.) My diamond ring is too big!

2.) My diamond ring is too small....

I never thought I'd say either thing because I never really thought I'd own anything made of diamonds.  I'm not too keen on fancy things, (unless it's a fancy zebra print tutu!)... But now I find myself the very lucky owner of a very very fancy engagement ring.  I no longer have a "boyfriend."  He is my "fiance."  Now I feel like a woman.   

In Tina Fey's book "Bossypants" (which you totally need to read! It is fantastic for girls and guys.  I read it already and now I am reading it again (out loud to Trevor), she talks about the first time she felt like a woman.  She writes that most women said it was the first time they were hit on by a man or cat called walking down the street.  The first time Miss Tina felt like a woman was when she first got her period.  Her mother had given her a period pamphlet entitled "How should I tell my daughter."  Tina's mom was supposed to read it to her, but instead, to avoid awkward mother daughter conversations about sex and puberty, momma just gave the book to Tina to read on her own.  Tina shoved the book in the closet and never read it.  She had seen maxi-pad commercials on TV that depicted blue menstrual fluid that flowed like laundry detergent  onto maxi pads.  When she eventually got her period, it obviously wasn't blue, so she ignored it.  When her mom came home Tina asked her if it was weird that she was bleeding in her underpants.  It was then she really figured out what a period was.  And that was the first time she felt like a woman.

The first time I got my period I felt like an awkward pubescent goon, and that is how I've felt for the last 15 years....

But now I have this fancy grown-up ring.  And only fancy grown-up women should own such a thing, right?  Therefore I must be a fancy grown-up woman right?

Bear sh*t!

The second time I felt like a woman was when I had to take my new big-girl ring to the jewelry store to get it re-sized.  It was about three sizes too big.  The very nice moustached-jewelry man who looks like he hasn't left his jewelry shop since 1973, sits me down and pulls out his janitor-style key ring full of rings with every single finger size imaginable.  I try a 4.5.  I struggle to get it on and off and explain that is about as small as I would comfortably like to go.  He recommends a little smaller saying that most women would like their rings tight around the base of their finger so that the jewels and gems don't swing around.  I say "that's all fine and dandy for women with petite little knuckles who never have played a sport in their life, but do you see these arthritic knuckles?!  These fingers have been jammed more times than I can remember!  I don't care if the base of my finger is a four, that knuckle is at least an 8 and let's be honest, it's not getting any smaller..."  What I actually said was probably something more along the lines of "uhhhh hum, well hmm I don't want it to be too tight.  I have big knuckles ya know." 

Two days later I pick up the ring.  I struggle pretty hard to get it on, but eventually do.  It's pretty painful.  But it is nothing compared to getting it off!!!  (which required ice, soap, saliva, a major struggle in the bathroom in which the ring almost went flying into the toilet and left my poor little ring finger super sore with a nice big purple ring around the knuckle where the damn thing got stuck!... all that followed by anxiety...lots of anxiety....and fear of having to go through that everyday for the rest of my life!)  This is not going to work.  I know they say "beauty is pain" but fearing your jewelry is just not healthy.  I  bring it back immediately.

I sleep pretty poorly the night before...thinking about my too tight ring...thinking about bringing it back to that moustached man. That darn moustache man who didn't listen to me when I said not too tight.  That moustache man who shaved 3.5 sizes off MY diamond ring.  And what does he do with all that gold she shaves off?  Keep it? Sell it?  Add it to someone else's jewelry?  Should I have   asked for it back?  Did I just pay him to steal my gold?  He knew I was going to be out of town soon.  Was he scamming me because I'm not from around here? Was he hoping I wouldn't have time to bring it back and have him to fix it before I had to leave?  When I go back in tomorrow is he going to charge me for getting it bigger?!  What would I say?  Demand my gold?  Call him a crook? ....Or smile and hand him more money until he gets it right?

The next morning I drive up to the jewelry shop with my inner-Jersey in check, but ready to unleash it once he gives me the price to have it enlarged.  I walk in.  "Can we help you?"...."Yea so I just had this ring re-sized but it is uncomfortably too small and I was hoping to get it enlarged maybe half a size?".... "You got it re-sized here?" ...."Yup"....."Name?"....."Erickson"......"Ok we can do that for you".....(hand it over)....."And uhh how much will that cost?"....."No charge, we like to make sure we get it right."

Well, isn't that nice?

That is nice.

Now I have this big fancy ring. ..... I am now a real woman. .... And the "daughter-of -a-FBI-agent-and-child-assault-prevention-therapist" in me is slightly worried that this may significantly increase my likelihood of being robbed...cause I am so fancy...

I Love Nuts

"Knock knock".....


"Who's there? Who's that knocking up on my roof?!".....


"It's sleep-interrupting-squirrel that's who!! Throwing every single last pine cone off of the tallest tree and on to the thin tin roof above your bed with lightning speed, you sleepy head!!! Now jump out of bed in a panic and think there's a bear shaking the tree outside!".....



"I'll get you, you evil little squirrel...Not funny"