I have a confession...

My fellow blog friends, I have a confession...

Remember these beautiful and tasty cupcakes that Mr. Right and I made Sunday night?

You know the ones... with the homemade chocolate-banana icing... that happen to taste better served cold from the refrigerator? Ahh yes, now you remember.

Well last night I may have hit a new low. Mr. Right was working late up at the church, and after taking care of about a dozen chores, working on my nephew's quilt and doing three loads of laundry, I decided to end the night with a bubble bath and a magazine. Possibly one of the most delightful ways to end an evening.

To make it even better, I had one last chocolate-banana cupcake left in the fridge, and I decided to eat it as I ran my bath.

But then true tragedy struck. As I was walking back to my kitchen to grab a glass of water, eating my beloved cupcake and waiting for my water to fill the tub, I dropped my cupcake. Icing-side-down.

And what did I do? I picked it up, and before I could even see if it had collected any dust or unmentionables from my kitchen floor (which, in my defense, was mopped less than a week ago), I stuck it in my mouth. Kitchen floor germs and all.

After I ate it I felt a little guilty. But you know what? I'd do it all over again. The cupcake was worth it.

Things you should never say to a woman

I'm going to start keeping a list of things you should never say to a woman.

1. Are you pregnant? 
I got it again last week from one of my ESL students. In her defense, before I left for class I looked in the mirror at my dress, which should be belted but I chose not to, and my baggy cardigan, tights and flats and thought to myself "Bethe, this isn't the most flattering look." But ESL is in the evening after a full day of work, and when you're dealing with refugees from all over the world, how you look is the last thing they care about. It's one of those wonderful places where you're loved simply because you're willing to love back. And so I looked a bit "baggy." And ahem, pregnant. (still. not. pregnant. don't even ask.)

2. Are you sick?
This one just stinks. I usually get this when I forget to touch up my makeup and my mascara starts to bleed down my eyelids.

3. (to a pregnant girl) Wow, you're really filling out!
Someone said this to my gorgeously pregnant sister... they've obviously lost their mind.

And today, I'm adding this one...

4. Wow, you look sloppy today!
For the record... I was feeling kind of awesome today. Really cute - totally something out of a fashion blog. But apparently not everybody agreed.

So what did I do?

I ate cake. Chocolate cake. And now I'm over it.

Anything else you want to add to my "Never say this to a woman" list?

Another embarrassing moment

In Sunday School last week, the teacher asked us if anyone wanted to share their most embarrassing moment.

That's easy. It was the time I set my hair on fire at church.

Or maybe it was the time I mooned Banana Republic.

And then there was the time I ripped my pants in a room full of people.

Or the time I almost missed church because I spilled toilet bowl cleaner in my eye.

But that doesn't even include almost puking on my husband. Or scaring a guy in the Taco Bell drive-through line.

Somebody should stop me before I hurt myself. Or someone else.

Oh wait... I already did that.

How I froze my husband out on our first date as a married couple

It all started about a week ago. I felt "off," but thought I was just tired from the honeymoon. By Wednesday, when Mr. Right had finally convinced me to go to the doctor, I was in full-fledged misery. I get so nervous when I have to go to the doctor - part of me hopes they don't accuse me of faking anything, and the other part hopes they don't find out that I have some sort of exotic and totally embarrassing disease that I won't be able to tell anyone about.

Which explains why this doctor visit went so... badly. First stop at this doctor is the ever-so-fun pee-in-the-cup test. I was feeling so crummy and was so anxious to see the doctor and get back to a busy day at work, that I got distracted. And went. But not in the cup.

(gasp)

Just as I finished my going, I realized I was STILL HOLDING THE CUP. That I forgot to actually use the cup for the aforementioned purpose. And there was NOTHING left in me. You can imagine my panic. I tried and tried and begged the good Lord to let me go just a little bit more. But nothing. I grabbed my water bottle out of my gigantic-yet-fashionable mom-purse and chugged it, hoping that by some miracle my body would quickly do whatever it does with water to make me need to go to the bathroom. Nothing.

I heard the lab folks open the tiny door to see if I had finished with my "specimen." After all, I'd been in there several minutes. Nothing. I started to wonder... maybe I could just retrieve a little out of the toilet? Or maybe jumping up and down might help?

I finally managed a minuscule amount, and then found the nurse and explained to her what happened, trying to use a little humor to diffuse the situation.

She didn't think it was funny. She looked at me like I was an alien.

Luckily, a minuscule amount was plenty. And the doc confirmed that I was indeed sick, doped me up on plenty of meds, and sent me on my way. Yet I got sicker, and sicker, so Friday she switched my meds. And I learned a valuable lesson.

Don't take new meds for the first time on a hot date with your husband. Especially after eating a hamburger as big as your head. And especially when the side effect of those meds involves nausea. And vomiting.

Mr. Right takes great joy in planning the most fun dates EVER, and Friday night was no exception. He took me to our favorite burger dive M&O (seriously the best burger in the whole world), and then off to the Fort Worth Rodeo. We had to park about a mile away, and I realized on that walk that I wasn't feeling well. But I was so excited that I thought I'd plug through and the feeling would pass.

It didn't. It got worse as we hiked up to the very top of the coliseum. As we watched cowboys rope, wrestle, and ride various livestock, I started feeling worse. And worse. And worse. 'Til Mr. Right looked over at me, about half-way through the show, and said, "I need to take you home - you look like you're about to pass out." Which, for the record, that was exactly how I felt, but I kept hoping the passing out feeling would pass, and I could get back to my hot date with my hot husband. Did I mention he was wearing a cowboy hat? (sigh)

So we walked another mile back to the car. At one point, my sweet husband, who's the most hot-natured person I know, complained about how cold it was--it was below 30 degrees. And I told him that I felt fine, maybe even a bit warm. That's when he knew I was really sick.

Oh, and I almost puked on his shoes in the parking lot. But I didn't. Mr. Right piled me into his pickup truck and drove me home. He and I both knew that one bad bump and I'd be throwing up all those meds I'd taken with dinner (along with the greatest burger in the world). He very sweetly moved his cowboy hat out of my lap and onto his head for safe keeping, and suggested I crack the window to allow some fresh air to come in. Which I did...

Did I mention it was about 28 degrees? And we were going 60 on the highway? The more cold air that came in, the better I felt. My feverish self was so hot that the frigid air was a tiny relief. Soon I was practically hanging my head out the window.

My husband, on the other hand, almost froze to death on that 20 minute ride home. But true to his character, he didn't complain. He just said, "If you had ever told me that YOU would freeze ME out, I never would have believed it!"

Mr. Right got me home, and I ever so gingerly crawled into bed, fully clothed in my best rodeo get-up. Sometimes you're just too sick to change clothes. And my sweet husband, in a gesture of true romantic chivalry, found a trash can and placed it next to my bed. You know, just in case.

And that's how my first date as a newlywed ended. No romance, just me curled up in the fetal position, wearing my rodeo clothes. Not exactly the date we had both envisioned... but it made me love him so much more.

How I almost killed my dog... again.

So you may remember that Harley the Wonder Schnoodle had a near-death experience back in November. I came home from church to find that he had gotten into my trash and eaten a few scoops of coffee grounds. Turns out that coffee is one of the deadliest people foods known to dogs. Waaaay worse than chocolate.

So $600, an overnight stay at the puppy hospital, and a good stomach pumping later (plus many tears and some minor hyperventilating on my part), Harley the Wonder Schnoodle was back to his old self. Unfortunately, he didn't learn his lesson.

And neither did I. I've been so good at keeping the door to my kitchen pantry closed. Every time he starts sniffing around the trash I threaten him with a, "If you think I'm going to spend another $600 to pump your stomach if you get in this trash, you've clearly mistaken, mister! This time you're on your own!" And then he gives me that guilty, knowing look of acknowledgement with those sad brown eyes. I mean, surely he understands me... right?

Unfortunately, no. Last night I walked in the door of my house to find trash everywhere. In my kitchen...

In my office...

In my living room...

In my dining room...

And of course, there were a week's worth of coffee beans in that trash can.

My first reaction was simply to lay my head on my counter, close my eyes, and say, "No. Please no. Not again. I'm having friends over for dinner in a few minutes... this can't happen now."

And then I called my vet, hoisted Harley in my car and drove him, crying all the way (me, not him) to the animal hospital 30 minutes from my house. Along the way, I managed to somehow spill a glass of water in my lap. And my cell phone died. I would have charged it but I dropped my car charger in a cup of milk last week. When I finally carried Harley into the animal hospital (with no collar, no leash... I had forgotten both), I had tears streaming down my face, mascara smudged, and a giant wet spot on my skirt (definitely looked like either Harley or I had had an accident). Probably not my finest moment.

The people at my animal hospital are saints. They never once scolded me when I told them we'd been in just two months before for the same exact reason. Nobody judged me for my wet lap. Nobody looked at me funny when my eyes almost swelled shut after I had an allergic reaction to all the dog/cat hair in the tiny exam room. The vet saw us immediately, and we were in and out in less than 30 minutes. And this time for only $200. Turns out a little bit of induced vomiting and some IV fluids and the Wonder Schnoodle was a new dog. And we know that this time the culprit wasn't coffee, but ham, which can cause pancreatitis in dogs. I'm learning so much these days.

Once I got Harley safely home, and I knew he wasn't going to die, the dog got a good scolding. You can see where he hides when he's trying to avoid a spanking.

And you'll be pleased to know that I'm now the proud owner of a $100 heavy-duty steel trash can (with lid) that is impossible for a 20-pound schnoodle to knock over. At least, I hope.

This time...

I worked a 15-hour day on Tuesday. Okay, confession, three of those hours were spent sitting in class. But that's a whole lot like work (especially because I was still wearing my work clothes), so I'm going to just lump that in with the other 12 hours. I got to work at 7 a.m. and got home at 10 p.m. Yeah... a long day.

Which might explain why I accidentally ran into a store display at the gas station. I had to stop and get gas about 9 p.m. right before I headed back to the office to take care of a few last things, and decided to run inside to grab a Gatorade to hold me over until dinner (yeah... no dinner until 10... I've started eating that late about three times a week... great for the figure I'm sure). Anyway, I was in a total rush, as usual, and so tired that I wasn't being very careful, and just plowed right into a big store display of chips and candy bars. I have a nice big bruise on my hip to prove it. Off came the candy bars, scattering all over the floor, as the other customers--all there to buy their beer and lottery tickets--stopped and stared at me in unison... giving me that judgmental, "Uh huh, I bet she's drunk" look. Awesome.

But I have good news... 36 days until all of my assignments are turned in, my thesis is defended, and I am DONE FOREVER with school. That's just five weeks from tomorrow. Praise Jesus!

The zucchini's evil twin

I have become a huge fan of the sauteed zucchini... I saute it in extra-virgin olive oil that I brought back from my trip to Greece last summer. It may not be the most low-fat way to prepare it, but it tastes amazing, and at least it's not a french fry.

So you can imagine my shock when I took my first bite of zucchini on Saturday... only to find that it was a cucumber! That's right... I had sauteed a cucumber in Greek olive oil. I swear, they look EXACTLY ALIKE!

Even worse... I was hungry, and low on food, so I went ahead and ate it. Kids, don't try that at home.

Cleansed

I truly believe that Satan doesn't want us to go to church. Why would he? Keeping me away from worshipping my God alongside my friends would be a great victory for him. And this morning... he played dirty.

This morning, I think Satan came in the form of toilet bowl cleaner. 

Fitting, isn't it?

I got the bright idea to clean my toilet first thing this morning. I find the whole process to be dirty, so I try to do it right before shower time. So this morning, before I could have my first cup of coffee (which let's admit, I don't think clearly before that first cup of joe), I decided to pull a Martha move and clean my toilet. I opened up a brand-new container of Clorox toilet bowl bleach and went to town.

And that's when a little splashed in my eye.

It didn't really hurt, but I knew immediately that this could be very, very bad. I went to the sink and started flushing my eye out with cold water. Once I felt I had gotten most of it out, I picked up the bottle to see the bad news. 

DANGER: CORROSIVE. CAUSES IRREVERSIBLE EYE DAMAGE. 

Houston, we have a problem. I don't need PERMANENT eye damage! I'm only 28! I've got a good 70 more years to use these baby blues. Not to mention that I have my Sunday morning routine down to the millisecond... not a single minute to spare, or I won't make it to church on time. It's not easy to be this naturally beautiful...  it takes a lot of planning, primping, plucking, poofing... you get the picture. No time to wash my eyes out for FIFTEEN MINUTES with water!

But I didn't want to go blind. So I settled on a good 5 minutes of flushing. Ironic that I went from flushing my toilet to flushing my eyes? Sorry... chasing rabbits now. Back to the story.

During the five minutes that I hung my head over my bathroom sink, flushing my sad little eye with cold water, the hypochondriac in me started to flare up. Working at a hospital pretty much cured me of these tendencies, but suddenly, my brain started to burn. I was pretty sure the clorox had traveled up my eye canal, through my sinuses, and gone straight to my brain. Pretty soon I figured I'd turn loopy, start twitching and eventually fall to the floor in a tangled mess of limbs as the bleach burned out my brain from the inside out. They would probably discover me days from now, with Harley the Wonder Schnoodle standing vigil over my sad body, surrounded by his toys and tennis balls.

Plus my eye started to throb. But then I realized that I'd been flushing my poor eye with water for five minutes, so then I wondered if it was the bleach or the water. 

Finally I just gave up, went outside, watered my roses, jumped in the shower and got ready as normal. Three cups of my hazelnut brew later and all was right with the world. I was able to go to church sans eye patch, and it wasn't even red. So hopefully that means I'm out of the woods. I think I'm going to live. Maybe. Probably. I think.

New Moon

I'm such a bad blogger. I have just been so busy playing this summer and enjoying a little freedom from school and obligations that I haven't had time to sit down and put anything down on paper. I'll assure you that things are very, very good right now, and I continue to enjoy some real blessings from unexpected places. I'm very thankful these days. 

Since it's been awhile, here's a classic "Bethe Moment" from last week to hold you over. I took a quick business trip down to Austin last Thursday to go to a conference. On my way down I spotted an outlet mall in Round Rock with my VERY FAVORITE STORE IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD... White House/Black Market. I could wear their clothes every day and be perfectly content to live in a colorless world of black and white. 

I made it a top priority to stop there on my way back from the conference. I found endless bargains (everything 70% off, praise the Lord!) and then spotted my SECOND FAVORITE STORE IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD... Banana Republic. God was smiling down on me that day at the outlet mall Round Rock, Texas!

I was so excited and distracted by this fantastic find that I must not have paid much attention as I put my clothes back on in the dressing room. I took my bags and the pretty green shirt I wanted to buy and made my way through the very crowded store to the front counter. But on the way, some sparkly (discounted!) jewelry caught my eye, so I spent several minutes leaning over the endless options laid out on a low table, trying on necklaces and comparing dangly earrings. I spotted more necklaces on another table, and again leaned over and marveled over all the glorious wonders to be had at BR that day.

But I was good and talked myself out of buying more jewelry (confession: I had already bought fantastically cheap jewelry next door, so I had plenty) so I finally made my way to the check-out line. Several minutes later, a nice woman came and stood in line behind me.

And then I got a tap on the shoulder, and this nice lady told me...

"Honey, your skirt is unzipped."

Eeek! I reached behind to feel the zipper. Not only was it unzipped, but it was gaping open, leaving my beautiful underwear visible for all the world to see. Eeek! I quickly made a mental note of all the times I bent over to look at the beautiful jewelry, with all the folks standing behind me. Yep... there was a full moon that night in Round Rock, and the moon was me!

Which is why I can never go back. Or if I do, it will definitely have to be in a disguise.

Light of the world... literally

I went to my parents' tiny Baptist church for their Christmas Eve candlelight service. It was very special... all the families gathered together, babies dressed in red velvet dresses, little ones anxious to come home and devour their presents under the tree, slightly older ones just ready to come home and devour Christmas dinner... and everybody looking forward to the climax of the service--lighting the candles and singing Silent Night.

Only at this tiny Baptist church, Silent Night wasn't so silent.

Because I set my hair on fire.

I was being a bit mischievous. That's what happens when you get my family together, we look for any excuse to laugh and have a good time. So of course, when I put my lit candle under my chin and made a scary face, kind of like one would do when telling a ghost story around a campfire, sister Sarah provided me with the reaction I was hoping for... a giggle. But then sister Lindsay, in a motherly way, brushed the hair back on my right side and said, "Don't catch your hair on fire...""

And right at that moment I heard a gasp, then "BETHE!!!" and then she reached over and put the fire out that was starting on my left side. It's amazing how fast hair can burn... one minute you're just standing there, being silly and singing Christmas carols, and the next minute, "SPARK," then "POOF" and a terrible stench of burned hair fills the room. Luckily she saw it as it happened, so I only lost a small amount at the bottom, and I have such long hair (and so much of it) that nobody will ever notice, except for the singed ends which I should probably trim off today.

I'm glad we were sitting on the second-to-back row and not in our normal front-row spot for all the tiny Baptist church to see. Only the rows behind us and in front of us really got to experience me adding a "spark" to Christmas... ruining silent light but taking Jesus' command literally in Matthew 5:14 when he told us to be "the light of the world." 

Merry Christmas, and may God bless you in 2009.

Sometimes I'm just stupid.

Tonight, the minute class was over (at 8:30) I rushed to the Taco Bell drive-through. My stomach had been growling for hours and I was famished to the point of dizziness. All I wanted was my Mexican Pizza and a big Diet Coke (because tonight is a late night for homework... I need the caffeine!). I was on the phone with Sister Lindsay as I barked my order to the lady in the intercom. Then I pulled up to the window, threw her my money, got my Diet Coke...

And drove away.

Without my food.

I realized it right after I left. So I threw my car into park, jumped out, pranced back up to the drive-through window in my high heels and Jackie-O black dress (never got to change after work), and tried to get my food. There was already a new car at the window, and I'm sure he thought I was crazy and about to rob him or the restaurant. But no, all I wanted was that Mexican Pizza.

We quickly became friends as I tried to explain why I was standing outside his car, wedged between him and the window, in the dark, in my high heels. He was nice, but kept looking at me like I was scaring him a little. After the Taco Bell lady handed him his food, he tried to drive off without running me over, but I had blocked the driveway with my SUV. There was no escaping. Finally I got my Mexican Pizza, pranced back to my car, hopped in, and drove off into the night.

I bet that guy thinks I'm a complete nut. But I'm not... just easily distracted!

Cut

Sometimes you're in the midst of a pity party, trying to forget your bad day...

And then you slit your cheek open with a quilting needle.

Don't worry, it only bled a little. And none of it got on my quilt.

I think it's time to go to bed before I do any more damage.

No more Olympics

Tonight I had to turn off the Olympics. The addiction has proved too strong, and I haven't had a good night's sleep in almost two weeks. All of the good "stuff" happens after 10:30, and I just can't pull myself away. Last night, I lay in bed watching Shawn Johnson win her gold medal and found myself CRYING. I don't know this girl, but seeing her look so thrilled, and watching her parents cry out of pride for their daughter was just too much for me.

I have become such a sap. Someone please make it stop.

Random hilarity in my head

1. Good old Tiffany saved the day yet again. She got my sewing machine to work, and thanks to her help and encouragement, I have successfully pieced together my first quilt! It helps to have friends who are talented, occasionally it rubs off on me. It also helps to have a hobby that involves an excuse for a girls’ night. Not that anybody ever needs an excuse for girls’ night! This means I'm well on my way to becoming a quilting phenom... maybe I'll be the female Michael Phelps of quilting. I'll post photos as soon as I can find where I put my digital camera...

2. I ran seven miles tonight at the park. It was ugly. On Saturday, when I did six, I felt fantastic. Tonight, I just wanted someone to shoot me. Funny how that happens sometimes.

3. I think I have a ripping problem. Or a “moving too fast” problem. Today, I bent down to grab something off the bottom shelf of my storage cabinet, and stood up too fast. Riiiiip. My high heel got caught on my cute black skirt and ripped a hole right through it! It wouldn’t be so bad if this wasn’t the millionth time I have ripped my clothes at work. I had to go home and change. I loved that skirt, but alas, now it’s just a distant memory.

4. I’m now a girl with two jobs! As if I didn’t have enough things going on right now, I have taken the job as a graduate assistant to a professor up at school. In exchange for working on projects for them from home, I’m getting free tuition PLUS a stipend! Hooray! The only challenge will be fitting in that work between my full-time job, my homework from grad school, my half-marathon training, my tennis game, my new quilting hobby, my Sunday School teaching, and my social life. Yeah, I think I can do it! (In reality, I’m super thankful to have this new job, because private school tuition is EXPENSIVE, so this is a huge blessing!)

5. A few months ago I blogged about running into a guy from high school whom I hadn't seen in nine years. When we finally ran into each other, I was getting my hair done and had a head full of goop, wearing a shower cap, sitting under a hair dryer (hey, having hair this naturally blonde requires a lot of work). I looked awful. Well, guess who I saw AGAIN after I ran my six miles on Saturday in the heat of the day. Yep, same guy. Only this time instead of a head full of goop, I was sweating PROFUSELY, my face purple, huffing and puffing. Boy do I know how to impress a guy! Groan.

-------------------------------------
Sorry, my head was just swimming with information. I’m probably still a bit delusional from lack of oxygen to my brain after all that running. I’m off to go soak my poor muscles and slip into bed early. Thanks to everyone who has been leaving me comments, it makes me so happy to see them!

The crash

I was half-way through my 4-mile run yesterday, when it happened.

I fell off the elliptical machine.

I was in "that" groove. You know the one, where running stops being horribly painful and starts becoming fun. I wasn't thinking about anything, I was just rocking out to my iPod, covered in sweat and thinking about what a rock star athlete I've become.

It was time to hydrate. I reached for my water bottle, took a sip, and then...

Chaos. My foot slipped off the machine. My legs became tangled in the pedals. I hit my head on my way down and landed in a sad heap, half on the machine, half on the dingy gym floor. My water bottle, the cause of all my problems, exploded all over me, soaking my shirt. And my head. For a moment, everything went dark.

...

...

Okay, that's not how it really happened. In all actuality, I was this close to doing just that, but caught my foot as it slipped off the machine, and steadied myself. Catastrophe averted.

But one more inch, and...

I'm a bad blogger... but you still like me, right?

I've been neglecting my blog. Mostly because I've been so busy I barely have time to eat and sleep, much less think any original thoughts. But my crazy-intense summer school course is almost through, and then I'll have time to ponder the meaning of life, or at least come up with some funny stories.

Until then...

Check out this video of my favorite team having fun. It almost makes me want to be a fan again.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d_nG9-2SC84

Oh, and my other favorite team (my church softball team) finally won our first game tonight! After two VERY bad losses, tonight we won 16-10. Of course, we recruited two college ball players and a semi-professional to play with us tonight, which might have helped us a little. But we're happy just the same!

At tonight's game, for the first time EVER in my whole life, the pitcher looked at me and asked if I was a boy or a girl. Now granted, I was wearing a helmet, but I have a LOOONG pony tail, and very girlish legs. I am not sure how he could be so confused. It was somewhat disturbing, and somewhat funny. I think next week I'll try playing in a skirt, just so there's no question.

The worst feeling

Today I'm hosting a group of community leaders at the hospital all day for "health care day." They're learning all about health topics and getting the "inside scoop" on how hospitals really run. We're in a boardroom, listening to speaker after speaker, and I'm making sure everything runs smoothly.

Mid-morning, I had to switch out somebody's presentation on the computer at the front of the room. I was talking, and squatted down quickly to stick the flash drive in the back of the computer.

RIP.

That's the worst feeling. Ever. I've got 20 community leaders staring at me, and I'm not sure if my pants are in one piece or two. Or in shreds. All I know is that I heard a terrible, terrible sound. A ripping sound, right in the back of my pants.

Thankfully, I only ripped the lining. The outside is still intact. For now at least.

But it looks like I'm going to need some new pants.