I've Got a Lovely Bunch...

My BFF is back in town and I couldn't be happier.

Went out with Mr. and Mrs. BK last night and had a most fantastic time.

I've said it before and I'll say it again...life with the BK's is just better. And funner. And awesomer. (is that a word?)

We ALWAYS have a good time. We ALWAYS laugh til it hurts. And we always walk away with ouchy cheeks (cheeks on our face you pervs!) from smiling too much!

Bottom line, I'm glad they're back from vacation and I told them they are not allowed to leave for that long again.

End of discussion.

Wanted to show you what they brought me from Hawaii for my bday. Cuz the asshats chose to go to a tropical wonderland instead of hang out with me on my actual day of birth. Hence the ASSHATS label.

Although they abandoned me, they did bring me a gift. And thankfully it wasn't a "MY BFF WENT TO HAWAII AND ALL I GOT WAS THIS LOUSY TSHIRT," shirt.

Instead, it was this:

And this:

And I love it! And it's so right up my alley ESPECIALLY coming from the BK's. Cuz when we're all together, more often than not, coconuts get discussed in one form or another. (or the lack there of, of said coconuts...right BK?)

Love my gift and love my BFF's.

Thanks guys!

Welcome home!

(But if you leave me again, you BETTER BRING ME PRADA!)

Straight Up...

It's a wonderful world BECAUSE of wieners like this!

Nope, I Just Don't Get It

I'm all for getting healthy. And I'm all for a happy work environment. And when these two things come together successfully, I'm tickled pink.

Good health + happy workplace = productive employees

So I was happy to find out that my agency had created a Wellness committee. And that the purpose of said committee was to enhance employee well being and encourage a healthy way of living. Sounds great, right? What's not to like about a group that works to stop smoking, lower blood pressure, increase activity levels and promote healthy eating?

I mean, all those are GOOD things and good things make for good choices. Right? Or something like that. Point is, I was all for this "get off your ass, eat better and exercise more" agency driven mentality.

Until, that is, this showed up.

A scale. In the kitchen. On our floor. In the kitchen. A scale. Where everyone gathers to eat their lunch. Together. With other people. A scale. In the kitchen. In public.

And it gets better. Cuz this scale, that's in the kitchen, on my floor, at work, where people gather to eat, is IN PLAIN VIEW IN FRONT OF A WINDOW. A window that faces into the hallway. A hallway that connects the entire floor.

Basically it's in a place that creates a "zoo" like environment. Cuz every time I walk by the window and see someone standing on the scale, I am HORRIBLY torn as to whether or not I should tap on the glass. I KNOW that's a bad idea in a "please don't tap on the glass so as not to scare the 'might be a fatty' away." Just like all those signs at the zoo and/or aquarium....those signs that CLEARLY tell you tapping is B.A.D.

But damn! I WANT to tap on that glass! Who wouldn't? Then again, I never thought anyone would actually want to STAND ON A SCALE IN A KITCHEN AT WORK WHERE EVERYONE CAN SEE YOU. So maybe I'm the only one that WANTS to tap.

Bottom line....I just don't get it. I just don't get why the damn scale was not placed in one of the FOUR bathrooms we have on our floor alone. Why the Wellness Committee didn't think that PERHAPS weighing ones self is NOT something one wants to do in a public setting. That it is PERHAPS a private experience one might want to experience, in say, PRIVATE.

And why, if they truly, truly, TRULY believed the kitchen was the BEST place for a scale (they obviously bought into the "step on the scale, cringe at the number, back AWAY from the chips" idea) they didn't AT LEAST put it next to the fridge...cuz there ain't a damn "view me like a freakin' zoo animal" window over there!!

Good Things Come in Small (then big) Packages!

I once loved a pig and I'm not ashamed to admit it.

His name was Poombah and he was the best damn pig in the land.

Poombah was a Vietnamese Miniature Pot Bellied Pig and he was all mine.

And I loved him....a lot. With every fiber of my being. With every breath in my body.

No human has ever loved a pig more. And that includes Charlotte with Wilbur cuz I loved Poombah to the nth degree. Plus, Poombah lived in our house which proves I was the bigger pig lover!

Yep, you read that right. Poombah was a house pig. The most beloved house pig in the whole wide world.

And he'd STILL be a house pig if he hadn't grown GINORMOUS.

Cuz Poombah was not a pure bred Mini pig. Not by a long shot. Although John thought he was. When he bought him for me. His wife. His wife that had dreamed of owning a Vietnamese Potbellied pig since she was a little girl.

Which is why the love of my life brought Poombah home for me...out of the blue..as a surprise.

He called me at work and said to listen carefully. And then he did the only thing he could...he squeezed my pig. And then my piggy did the only thing a good little piggy could do when they are squeezed. He squealed. Like a pig. And then he cried "wee, wee, wee" all the way home!!


Into my arms. And my heart. Cuz boy, did I love my little piggy.

Even when we discovered that litter boxed trained or not, Poombah could be a stinky boy. A very stinky boy. Cuz pig urine is NOT a pleasant smelling substance. Not at all. Not even a little.

Even when we unfortunately discovered what a piggy penis looks like. Cuz Poombah showed it off every once in a while. For no reason. Just because. And FYI...if you ever need a corkscrew and can't find one, get yourself a piggy..ASAP.

And even when he started to grow...when he became a BIGGY PIGGY. Cuz my adorable little Poombah was destined to be an adorable BIG Poombah...one that needed more space then our little house could offer. (Plus, if I'm being honest, he needed more FRESH AIR then our house could offer. Cuz the bigger the pig? The stronger the urine. At least that's what we discovered.)

So Poombah went to live on a farm...a farm that had all the fresh air and open space a "not really a mini piggy but in fact a huge piggy" could need. Or want.

And although I missed my bestest piggy everyday after he was gone, I knew it was the right thing to do.

Cuz no matter how much I wanted to, I just couldn't keep a big piggy down.

(And yes, that IS my Dad sleeping soundly with little Poombah snuggled by his side. NO ONE could resist my Poombah...NO ONE!) :)

Love Is A Battlefield

One moment in time, captured on film for all of eternity. And it makes my heart smile. It smiles because it brings back memories of a perfect day, of a fantastic couple and of a little boy who believed with all his heart that HE was the better man.
**
Because Connor DID believe he should have been the groom. Or at the very least, he should have been the ONLY man in her life. Because Connor adored her more than the sun and the moon, more than all the fish in the sea, more than all the MacDonald's Happy Meals in the land.
**
His feelings were REAL. Well, as real as a his little boy heart and head allowed them to be. His feelings were STRONG. Well, as strong as that same little head and heart could be. And his feelings were INTENSE. Well, as intense as a little boy heart and little boy head can be.
**
Cuz when she was around, he smiled bigger, he laughed louder and his eyes shined brighter. Yes, she was the light of his very young life, the one gal that made him stop and stare, the girl that made his heart go pitter pat.
**
And if you asked him back then, during those years his little boy heart grew bigger, he would have said he really, really likes her. Or he wouldn't say anything at all...he'd just tip his adorable blonde head down and look up shyly from under his big beautiful lashes. And that look would say it all.
**
She was "it."
**
His "it."
**
His all.
**
So on that day, as he stepped up to the plate in his designated role as ring bearer, his heart was heavy. Cuz on that day, as he marched down that very long aisle with a satin pillow clutched in his little boy hands, his heart was sad. Cuz on that day, as he stood on the alter next to THE MAN THAT WAS NOT HIM, his heart was broken.
**
Cuz he knew that the battle was over. That the war had ended even before it truly began. That her heart was no longer his for the taking.
**
And as he sat forlornly, UNPOSED on that rock, watching "THEM" have their pictures taken, the photographer managed to capture this expression. This expression that said it all. This expression that captured the EXACT moment HE KNEW.
**
She would not ever be his.
**
And he would never be hers.
**
What a heavy lesson to be learned at such a young age.
**
It's a wonder that all these years later, he can stand to be in the same room as her.
**
That he learned to go on and love again. (or "like a lot" as his 15 year old heart allows)
**
And that he hasn't begged his dear old mom to get a new BFF.

MORBID MONDAY - Things That Make Me Go...GAG

Today's MORBID MONDAY post isn't about one specific thing. It's about many things..all the things that I want to avoid in my lifetime. Or things that scare the hell out of me. Or things that seriously could and probably will give me nightmares. Basically it's all the stuff that doesn't necessarily warrant it's own MM post but still needs to be noted.

Just think...this guy could be someones father. Or hubby. Or brother. At the very least, he is/was someones son. Think any or all of those people would be thrilled to see him decked out in this lovely red number? And think they all knew before seeing this pic that their loved one shaves?

Definitely didn't like goiters before seeing this pic but now, for sure, hate them. And hope with all my might that I NEVER have anything growing off my face like this. Hell, I can't even handle a big pimple.

I'm NOT a prude. I'm not. After all, I have a son with a Mohawk and am really totally ok with it. But this is just too much. Even for me and my open minded self. The nose and the chin are bad enough (wtf is that thing in his chin?) but the earlobes make me want to curl up in a ball and whimper.

If I ever become incapacitated and am unable to wash my hair, please, please, please, please SOMEONE do it for me. Cuz after 2 days of unclean hair, I want to kill myself. Can you imagine how miserable I'd be if THIS ever happened? And the worst part?
I suspect this gentleman has it this way on purpose. EGADS.

I thought the "business in front, party in back" mullet was bad. What the hell is this and WHY, WHY, WHY did he do it?

North of the border...female?
South of the border...male?
All over the place...truly terrified Hallie!



I have nothing to say. Cuz I am in my happy place where toilets NEVER, EVER, EVER look like this.

Forgot to add this to my MM post about eyes. So had to include it today. Cuz it's definitely something I WANT TO AVOID AT ALL COSTS. I don't know what caused it or how to avoid it, but I'm praying that my eye never takes on this rosy glow.

Sheep testicles on a skewer. To eat. By people. Kill me now.

Pig tails prepped and ready for soup. If you haven't killed me yet (as requested) please do so now. Tail Soup = unhappy Hallie.

Holy Mother of Edison. I thought it was fake, but it's not. And I can't stop cringing. And doing a shit load of ab crunches.

Exploding toe...aisle two. Can't figure out how a toe gets this bad. How? Someone please tell me and promise it will never happen to my piggies!

The pic said it was colon cancer. Ouch. Yuck. Good lord. Figured cancer was an ugly bastard but I had no idea.

OH MY GOD!

Found this and HAD to share.

May this bring a substantial chuckle to your Sunday!!

I have recently made one of the biggest mistakes in my life, and I offer my story to you, that you may learn from my error. It all started, as many things do, with me having trouble shitting.

No, I was not constipated. This was not a regularity problem but a matter of technique. It seems my ass-hair had grown to such a length that tiny balls of shit were constantly getting tied up in the matted jungle between my ass-cheeks. It led to much frustration, with me knowing that I still had something to drop, but unable to shake the tenacious turd loose from its butt hair dwelling place. Eventually I would have to do one of two things: either reach down with some paper and try to pinch off the lingering loaf (which required careful precision to avoid smearing the creature all over my rear, especially since I had no way of seeing what I was doing) or just go for broke, start wiping, and hope that I could remove all the leftover fecal matter before the toilet paper reached its ‘Can't-Be-Flushed’ threshold.

As I was contemplating this problem, I had what seemed at the time to be a brilliant idea. “Hey, this is my butt and my butt-hair, right? So why don't I just eliminate all the hair all together, and then my crap will flow out like beer from a keg!" I said to myself. It is a statement that will go down in history with a lot of other regretted statements, things like "How many Indians could there be?" said by General Custer. "Looks like a good day for a drive!" by JFK, or "There! America On-Line now has complete Usenet access!" by some idiot system tech. Such was my anal shaving idea.

I performed the operation that night, with a cheap disposable razor and a towel to sit on. Starting from the bottom, and shaving from the crack to the cheeks, I began the arduous process of ridding my ass of hair. Occasionally, I would have to clean the razor of accumulated hair and miscellaneous slime, which I did by wiping it on the towel. Slowly, my twin mounds and the between-ravine began to resemble the hairless cheeks of a newborn baby. Finally, I wiped the razor one last time, and surveyed my work. The towel was covered with a pile of hair. My ass was smooth as ivory. I smiled; satisfied, thinking my troubles were over.

Little did I know?

I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two ass-cheeks sliding past each other with every step. I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to class. Eventually, I thought, it would dry.

Unfortunately, it did dry, but only after mingling with the microscopic shit- molecules lingering around my brown starfish. When I stood up after class, my cheeks were stuck together with a slimy sticky shit/sweat combination. As I made my way back to my dorm, it started to itch. And I mean it itch! Felt like a swarm of ants was making its way up and down my crack. Fighting to keep from jamming my hand down there and scratching away, I rushed back to the dorm. Unfortunately again, this exertion caused me to sweat, and when I finally reached my room, my cheeks were sliding back and forth against each other like a pair of horny cane-toads. I quickly dropped my pants, and attempted to dry my ass off by sticking it in front of a fan and spreading my cheeks. As I pulled the two mounds of flesh apart, a horrible stench burst free and filled the room. Every dog within a 4-block radius started to howl. I had it worst of all, as the ripe aroma of festering shit/sweat went into the fan and blew back into my face. I fought to keep from heaving. And as I sat there, fighting vomit, my ass cheeks spread and dripping, with the concentrated aroma of my body odor mixed with the tangy smell of my own shit blowing right into my face, I had only one thought: "It will be like this until the hair grows back. Weeks."

Later on, trying to deal as best I could, wiping my ass at every opportunity, I discovered another wonderful use for ass-hair, ventilation. I attempted to launch a fart, only to have it get stuck between my ass-cheeks. Apparently, with no hair, the two pink twins can get vacuum-sealed together, and the result was a frustrating fart that slid up and down between my cheeks like a lost gerbil.

As if that wasn't enough, I am now enduring further torture. As anyone who has ever shaved anything knows, when hair is first growing back in, it comes in as stubble. Imagine your ass having the texture of a Brillo pad. Well, that’s what I am dealing with now. It is a hellish torture, and there are many times when I just look out the window and contemplate why I shouldn't just jump out and get it all over with in one fleshy splat, rather than endure this constant agony.

All I can say is friends don’t shave your ass hair.

The end…

Sigh...

Wish this was true. Cuz I hate winter. And I am SOOOOOOO ready for it to be over.

Time To Get Your Groove On?

Are they serious? Did somebody actually think this was a good idea? Did some advertising/marketing guru somewhere come up with this dance in an effort to encourage Pull Up use in kiddos? And do kiddos like it?

Didn't anyone think acting out the "I'm holding my crotch and/or crossing my legs cuz I gotta pee like a race horse" dance was a BIT.TOO.MUCH?

Seriously....very little shocks me. This did.



(Having said that, with several Jello shots under my belt, I bet I could do a MEAN POTTY DANCE!!

I COULD Be...

Let me be clear....I am writing this blog Wednesday night. That's important to know cuz by the time you read this, my life could be SIGNIFICANTLY BETTER.

Cuz the lady at grocery store said that we were destined for a heapin', helpin' of good luck. And the girl that was bagging our groceries agreed wholeheartedly. All cuz our purchases totaled $111.11. Exactly. And apparently that's enough of a sign for the gals at Hannafords. Cuz they were excited.

And since John had just wandered back over to our cart after buying a lottery ticket, I figure we should be all set. To be millionaires. Tomorrow morning. Cuz the cashier (and bag girl) said so.

And on top of that, John pointed out that our tripometer (or whatever that digital doo-hickey is called that tracks ONLY the miles you are currently traveling) read EXACTLY 100 miles BEFORE we went grocery shopping. Obviously, he agreed with the Hannaford gals that luck was on our side. (not sure I agree with EITHER the grocery gals OR John but I have a harder time jumping on John's bandwagon cuz it just seems like a HUUUUUUUGE stretch).

So you just might be reading the blog of a millionaire. A millionaire that can finally afford to BUY THE EVERYDAY PRADA SHE SO JUSTLY DESERVES!! Or, you might just be reading the same old WWoW. Guess we'll just have to wait and see.

I also COULD be buried alive...in snow. Cuz as I write this, we are expecting somewhere between 5 and 15 inches of the horrid white stuff. Which also means, by the time you read this, I may or may not be at work.

Regardless of the final outcome, 5" or 15", home or at work, I will be freakin' miserable. Cuz I am SOOOOO ready for Spring. And the little bit of dirt/brown grass I noticed on the edge of my driveway made me naively think winter might be done. But I do live in Maine (grrrrr) and it IS only February so lots more snow should NOT surprise me.

A girl can dream.....

~~~

Four things TOTALLY UNRELATED to my potential millionaire status:

#1) This is the best spray whip cream I have ever had. Buy it. Try it. Thank me later.

#2) NEW BLOG ALERT!!!! NEW BLOG ALERT!!! NEW BLOG ALERT!!! Yep, there's a new blog in town and I'd be much obliged if y'all went over and said howdy!!! (I was surely a Texan in a former life!) TWEETIE LEE is the new gal in town and she's good people. I know this cuz she just so happens to be the BFF of one of my bestest and most amazing friends, Kim-D. And if you're a friend of Kim's, you are by proxy, good people! Mary Lee finally caved to Kim's insistent begging and jumped on the blog bandwagon. And not a moment too soon...I was SOOOO sick of Kim's whining!! Welcome ML...we're all glad you're here!!

#3) One month from today I will be married to a 40 year old. Cuz Mr. Hallisicle is turning 40. And I'm married to him. Which means my husband will be 40. Which also means I will be sleeping with a 40 year old. HOW THE HELL DID THAT HAPPEN???? Wasn't it just yesterday that I fell head over heels in love with a studly 17 year old? And if, by some act of Congress, 23 years HAS passed since that day, how is it that he keeps getting more handsome and studly with each passing year?

#4) Screw #4.....I'm off to find that hot guy pictured above!!

It's a Humdinger!

CJ is weird like his mom. Which means he's weird like me. Cuz I'm his mom. And I'm weird. Not weird like "gains enjoyment from pulling the wings off of butterflies and watching them squirm pathetically on the ground" or weird like "licks gummy bears and then randomly sticks them to glass surfaces." Cuz people who do either of THOSE things are REALLY weird. (NO need to publicly out yourself. It's MORE than enough just to know you're out there.)

CJ and I are weird in the "need to share morbid and unusual things with fellow bloggers cuz they MUST find them as interesting as we do." Oh wait, that's really just me. I just ASSUME CJ "gets" my Morbid Monday entries as much as I do. After all, he is "of my loins," which means he should appreciate all things morbid related as much as I do. Actually, I plan to bequeath him my Morbid Monday blog entry if/when I can BLOG NO MORE. Cuz someone needs to carry on this VERY EDUCATIONAL and VERY INFORMATIVE public service. And I truly think he's just the man for the job. (Plus, John already said no and Connor won't read my blog unless I threaten to take away his XBOX 360. Well, that, or publish adorable yet NUDEY pics of him!)

Truth be told, what makes CJ and I BONDED IN OUR WEIRDNESS is a true appreciation for ANYTHING even REMOTELY connected to the Muppets. Or "FUPPETS" as the case may be.

CJ came up with that term ALL BY HIMSELF.

***proud mom moment***

Fake Muppets = Fuppets. Get it? Good!

Not sure what these critters are ACTUALLY supposed to be but I think they look a whole hell of a lot like pistachio shells....if pistachio shells had bodies and eyes and could sing backup for one suave looking Italian guy.

Regardless of what these "Fuppets" are supposed to be, they sure made CJ smile. And then me. Cuz I'm his mom. And he's my son. And we're weird.


(Good luck getting this song out of your head. I've been humming it for days!)

Morbid Monday or Tasteless Tuesday...You Choose

Can NOT jump right into my MORBID MONDAY post, (temporarily renamed TASTELESS TUESDAY, cuz, well, it's Tuesday), before saying thank you, thank you, thank you, to everyone that helped make my birthday a huge success. I was so touched by the many well wishes and birthday greetings I received both here on my blog and on Facebook. (Holy shnikeys did I get a lot of Happy Birthday's sent my way!) I was tickled by all the phone calls and text messages I received all weekend long. And I was overwhelmed by the amazing array of gifts I received and apparently will still be receiving in the next few days. I am definitely one lucky gal...I have the greatest group or friends, both new and old, all of which left me smiling from ear to ear. And my family, although mildly dysfunctional at times, is as wonderful as ever.

All y'all are the best and I truly thank you. May you all enjoy a birthday as special as mine was.

Ok, enough with the touchy feely crap.....ON TO THE SHOW!!

Y'all know that I turned 39 yesterday. Which means, I really only have one good year left. Cuz although I am not at all afraid to turn 40, there is something earth shattering about officially saying goodbye to your 30's. Cuz although I'm told that the 40's will be a great decade, those years are precariously close to the 50's. Which, in my estimation, means I will be more than half dead.

See, the way I figure it, most people do NOT live to be 100. And really, statistically speaking, most people don't even live til they're 95. They just don't. (I know some do, but most don't) So right now, at 39, I am still (most likely) less than half dead. (39 x 2 = 78) And 78 seems doable given the medical care available to most folks today.

But as I continue to age, I realize that at some point, statistically speaking, I will have lived MORE of my life than I can expect to have left. Follow me? Don't get me wrong, I'm not afraid to die. Not at all, if truth be told. I'm just not thrilled to wake up on my 50th bday and think, "Huh, I am probably more than half dead." Just doesn't seem like an uplifting Hallmark moment.

Which is why, when I woke up this morning, and realized that I am ALMOST to that decade that ALMOST makes me more than half dead, I felt a twinge of unease. And which is why, as I flexed my fingers (something I do upon waking) and realized that my rings felt tighter, I panicked. Cuz I immediately thought that somehow overnight, I had swollen due to age. That somehow turning 39, which is ALMOST to that decade that ALMOST makes me more than half dead, made me swell up like a balloon.

And no before you ask, I never once considered the swelling could be from the copious amounts of salty appetizers and yummy frozen alcoholic drinks I consumed over the weekend. No, I did not. Cuz I immediately assumed that my swollen digits were due to my rapidly advancing age.

Made sense to me.

And as I lied there, stressing over my sausage like fingers, I got to thinking that being grossly swollen would NOT be fun. That experiencing even a mild case of Filariasis (or elephantiasis) would suck donkey balls. That living with a severely enlarged limb would be less than fun.

And oddly, my brain ONLY wondered about limbs. Specifically legs. And not fingers. Don't ask me why. I just got stuck thinking about legs like this:

I am 100% certain I would rather die than live like this. Call me weak or call me a wimp, but I just don't think I would want to live a life that included this limb.

And I'm not sure I would do well with these legs either. They just look painful.

And this leg is so swollen it really doesn't even look like a leg. It actually looks like chunks of flesh stacked one on top of another. Just calling it a leg seems like a stretch.

Honest to god, the first thought I had when I saw this pic, was that this man was sitting next to a pile of stones. Can you imagine owning a leg that looked like a tower of small boulders?

I know that these are before and after pics and that I am supposed to be impressed by the after. Instead I am still horrified and want to look away. Makes me a bad person, I guess...

And for this last one, I just cant figure it out. I know it's only one leg, one ginormous leg, but it just seems so tall. Does that mean the person attached to this limb not only has a grossly swollen limb but is also freakishly large? Where is the other leg? And why don't these pics come with an explanation?

HALLIE IS..............

We interrupt this MORBID MONDAY entry (postponed til tomorrow) for a rare, once a year post by none other than Mr. Hallisicle!

Hallie is a great Mom.

Hallie is someone you want to have on your side.

Hallie is very fun at parties.

Hallie is addicted to Facebook and all things wiener related!

Hallie is someone who you should never give your password to Facebook or Blog account! Just ask her BFF!

Hallie is someone I can trust with everything that needs to stay in the VAULT!

Hallie is a little twisted sometimes....... But that's what I love about her!

Hallie is my wife of almost 18 years. And I wouldn't have it any other way!

Hallie is the reason why I want to be a better person.

Hallie is the light of my life!

Hallie is 39 today!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY BABY!

Check out Mr. H's birthday ENTRY from last year. It's pretty awesome too!

The Week Was Unbelievably Shitty....Which Is Why I Need to Laugh!

Saw PAUL BLART, MALL COP. Cute at times.
Mr. T is just funny.

I ADORE this....

Made me shoot Diet Coke out my nose!!!

Speaks to my twisted sense of humor.

Don't I Know It...

You know you're married to a good guy when...he calls your BFF (on the sly) to discuss your birthday gift, a gift he has already researched and found online (at one of your most favorite stores) picked out the right style and chosen the color.

You know your married to a good guy when...he slyly registers with both UPS and Nordstroms (online) so he can track your gift and intercept it before you see it.

You know you're married to a good guy when....he gives you that birthday present 4 days early cuz you've had a horrible week and he wanted to make you smile.

You know you're married to a good guy when...he arranges to have the whole weekend off from his crazy busy and very demanding job (the weekend before your bday since your bday falls on a stupid Monday) so you two can be together.

You know you're married to a good guy when...he's in cahoots with one of your bestest friends and agrees to prevent anyone else from buying the same gift she did. (Kim-D, I ADORE my COACH key ring. Well, I WILL adore it when it actually arrives. For now I just adore the picture of it!) Isn't that just the cutest damn key fob you ever did see? :)

You know you're married to a good guy when...he agrees to guest blog on your birthday (because it makes you soooooo happy) eventhough he'd rather have a root canal. (Look for it Monday!)

And lastly (and totally unrelated to my bday but still equally important), you know you're married to a good guy when...he spends his limited free time clearing a path through the deep snow so our wieners can do their business without freezing their bits and pieces!