Ah, the infamous chicken sandwich. Wait, let me be more specific...the TYSON chicken sandwich. It's been overlooked in recent years, but it's gaining huge popularity in our house. It's easy to fix, it tastes great, and it's reasonably priced at the Tyson Employee Store. And after a day like today, it made a phenomenal supper.
Today was the 50th Wedding Anniversary party I've been planning the past few weeks. There was lots to do, but I think it turned out to be a smashing success, if I do say so myself. When you put blanket invitations in the newspaper and throughout the entire church, it's hard to know exactly how many people to plan for. And even though we ran out of punch, plates, and just about ran out of cake, it was overall a great and hopefully memorable day for my friends. Besides, Jeanette promises to help at my 50th wedding anniversary party. She'll be a mere 108 years old in 2047.
Apparently the thought of 50 years married to the same person is hard for a lot of people (not just me, I guess) to grasp. I learned today that some of my friends have been married 3 and even 4 times. One of them even accused me of being a "vengeful wife" if scorned. Wow. Can't say that didn't hurt. I hate it when someone I've only known a few weeks has such a good grasp of my bitchy side and has the guts to say it to my face. But I learned a long time ago that if I'm gonna dish it out, I gotta be able to take it in as well. So, touché; you get a point for that one.
So, a martini and a chicken sandwich later, and I'm done.
Oh yes, and on Tuesday night I'm be attending an "appreciation dinner" at Noodles with all the Tyson folk. A night out with a group of accountants isn't exactly at the top of my list, but at least I won't have to cook, or talk much for that matter. At the last function I went to, I tried to make small talk with the guy sitting next to me. Hmmm, I thought. Everyone watches TV, right? WRONG. Apparently this guy only watches National Geographic and Animal Planet. Great. What about Grey's Anatomy, Desperate Housewives...House Hunters...Washington County Drug Court....ANYTHING? Needless to say, I didn't have much else to say to him the rest of the night. It's not like I can make idol chit chat about whole numbers or the periodic table. I mean, come on, work with me here :)
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
11 years and counting...
As I write this, I've been married for exactly 11 years, 4 months, 20 days, 4 hours, and a handful of minutes (but who's counting, right honey?)
Enter my friend, Jeanette, and her husband Paul.
This week I've been recruited to help their children plan their 50th wedding anniversary reception. That's right, 50...the one after 49 and before 51. The big 5-0. The only parties I've ever planned were my own kids' birthday parties and maybe a couple of other scattered events, so I obviously have no clue what I'm doing.
I mean, I did attend my own grandparents' 50th anniversary when I was like 6. Of course, what I remember the most was the disgusting fact that their church didn't have an indoor bathroom. My mom was pregnant with my little sister, it was sweltering hot in the middle of August, and there wasn't a flushing toilet. Good gosh. It's a good thing blogging didn't exist back in 1981 because that one afternoon alone would have given me years of bitching material.
Anyway, oh yes, back to the reception.
I first met Jeanette about 4 years ago during a praise team practice at church, and I've been singing with her ever since. Her husband Paul is probably one of the rowdiest people I've ever come across...ever. He tells inappropriate jokes, which I usually don't understand at all. I suppose that either means I'm too mature or simply too naive to understand his humor. Unfortunately for me, it probably means the latter. And I learned a long time ago NEVER again to ask him, "What's Up?" He'll seriously tell you.
Jeanette is right the opposite. She is soft-spoken, mild-mannered, and her shoes and purse always match. She has great skin, and her fingernails are always painted to match her matching shoes and purse. I seriously want to be like her when I grow up, but something tells me I'll be more like Paul instead.
They are the cutest couple, and I'm glad to help, but all week long I've been trying to wrap my little brain around the concept of 50 years. That's 17 years longer than I've even been alive. They make it look easy.
So, (raising my glass) here's to disagreements about why the mayonnaise DOESN'T have to go in the exact same spot in the refrigerator every time you use it, and discussions about why yes, we DO have to wash washcloths more than once a week. Ken, if my math is right, we only have 39 years, 6 months, 10 days, 20 hours and a few minutes left until our golden anniversary, and I can't think of anyone else I'd rather spend it with (but if I was FORCED to choose, it would be a toss-up between Brad Pitt, McSteamy, or that new painter guy on Desperate Housewives.)
Just kidding, honey :) See you in 2047.
Enter my friend, Jeanette, and her husband Paul.
This week I've been recruited to help their children plan their 50th wedding anniversary reception. That's right, 50...the one after 49 and before 51. The big 5-0. The only parties I've ever planned were my own kids' birthday parties and maybe a couple of other scattered events, so I obviously have no clue what I'm doing.
I mean, I did attend my own grandparents' 50th anniversary when I was like 6. Of course, what I remember the most was the disgusting fact that their church didn't have an indoor bathroom. My mom was pregnant with my little sister, it was sweltering hot in the middle of August, and there wasn't a flushing toilet. Good gosh. It's a good thing blogging didn't exist back in 1981 because that one afternoon alone would have given me years of bitching material.
Anyway, oh yes, back to the reception.
I first met Jeanette about 4 years ago during a praise team practice at church, and I've been singing with her ever since. Her husband Paul is probably one of the rowdiest people I've ever come across...ever. He tells inappropriate jokes, which I usually don't understand at all. I suppose that either means I'm too mature or simply too naive to understand his humor. Unfortunately for me, it probably means the latter. And I learned a long time ago NEVER again to ask him, "What's Up?" He'll seriously tell you.
Jeanette is right the opposite. She is soft-spoken, mild-mannered, and her shoes and purse always match. She has great skin, and her fingernails are always painted to match her matching shoes and purse. I seriously want to be like her when I grow up, but something tells me I'll be more like Paul instead.
They are the cutest couple, and I'm glad to help, but all week long I've been trying to wrap my little brain around the concept of 50 years. That's 17 years longer than I've even been alive. They make it look easy.
So, (raising my glass) here's to disagreements about why the mayonnaise DOESN'T have to go in the exact same spot in the refrigerator every time you use it, and discussions about why yes, we DO have to wash washcloths more than once a week. Ken, if my math is right, we only have 39 years, 6 months, 10 days, 20 hours and a few minutes left until our golden anniversary, and I can't think of anyone else I'd rather spend it with (but if I was FORCED to choose, it would be a toss-up between Brad Pitt, McSteamy, or that new painter guy on Desperate Housewives.)
Just kidding, honey :) See you in 2047.
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