Jam session!


Beth came over tonight for a jam session with Kris. It's pretty awesome to see him continuing with the guitar this long. I'm very happy for it.



Kris: "I'm going to make cookies."

Me: *GASP!*

Kris: "What? What? Are you okay?"

Me: "Yes. I'm going to eat your cookies."

Kris: "Don't scare me like that."

11 days, 21 hours, 42 minutes, 37 seconds


What would you do if you had 11 days, 21 hours, 42 minutes, 37 seconds of your life back. As in, 11 days, 21 hours, 42 minutes, 37 seconds of waking time, time you've spent wide awake and able to function normally.

What would do with that amount of time?

That's over six weeks of sleeping time.

That's over six weeks of work time.

That's how much time Kris has spent playing World of Warcraft. I accused him of spending over a month playing the game, so he went to go check in game, just to confirm he wasn't actually playing for A MONTH.

Kris' reaction?

"I sense a blog post."

Kris is in on it, too


21 gun salute


"You know, they do this in the movies, but I don't know if it's correct. Only the president is supposed to get a 21 gun salute."


"Yeah. The vice president gets a 19 gun salute, and so on down the line."

"Are you jealous? Do you want a 21 gun salute?"


"Yeah? Maybe a 22 gun salute? How about 23?"

"Nah, I want a random cacophony."

"Okay, I'll arrange that."

Shape of Amazing


"I don't have to read your blog. I live it."

Right. Well, I hope you read this one. I might just point you to it.


Would you have guessed, ten years, two months ago, that the woman who showed up late to the tournament, to whom you barely said more than a "Hi, I'm Kris" when introductions were made, so busy were you concentrating on the next pull you barely looked her way, that didn't play too poorly, might have played just fine, that that woman would become your girlfriend, your lover, your wife?

Yeah, me neither.

I'm so glad we figured it out.

I'm so happy you "convinced" me to let you visit; that you were willing to move to the South Bay because I couldn't stand the hour commute after the commuting hell of Los Angeles; that you were my angel; that Melissa had answered, "but if you know of any single women, I'm looking to set him up"; that Sharon wasn't your girlfriend and invited me for that Jamba Juice run; that you didn't run the first time I just burst into tears for exactly no good reason you could fathom; that you didn't run the 100th time I did it.

I'm so glad you moved in with me; that you were willing to play house together; that you told me to "just quit your job already"; that you encouraged me to do whatever makes me happy; that you trusted me; that you showed up after I had learned the lessons in love that I needed to learn, and not before I had learned them, before I could appreciate just how incredible you are.

Thank you for breaking all the rules in relationships, simply because you didn't know them: for inviting me home for Christmas to meet the parents, after we had been dating for only a month; for buying me an engagement house, instead of the ring, and then buying me the ring anyway; for holding my hand every time we go for a walk; for kissing me goodbye every morning before you leave for work, and hello every time you return from work, and every night before we go to sleep.

Every time.

Thank you for teaching me "eh" when I want to scream "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Thank you for being you, the amazing person that you are; for hearing my call when I described to the universe who I was looking for, and being so much better than I could imagine my snuggle victim to be.

I'm the luckiest girl in the world to be with you. Don't think I don't know it.

Wonder Twin powers, activate!

Form of a four year anniversary, and a decade together.

Shape of .... Amazing.

I love you.

Drat! Written again!


It happens. I admit. Sometimes, well, frequently, I just want a Coldstone Creamery Like-it sized cup of ice cream. I'm currently a fan of strawberry ice cream with crushed graham crackers mixed in. When the graham crackers are still crunchy (you know, like cereal is supposed to be!), oh, my, heaven in a bowl.

Though, B was confused why I had strawberry ice cream instead of chocolate at Chris' birthday party. Honestly, he acted as if the sun had gone out, the world tilted its axis 90° and I had given birth to a rhinoceros, all in one moment.

Apparently, my passion for chocolate is supposed to be unmovable.


So, tonight, as last night, I convinced the man I was with that he, too, wanted Coldstone Creamery ice cream, and off we went. Tonight, Kris managed to down the calories.

On the way back, I started complaining about the show Medium. If you don't watch it, the basic premis is, a woman often dreams about events (nearly always tragic and violent ones) that happened, are happening, or will happen. There are often no time references in the dreams. With these viewings of violent acts, she's able to help the police track down the person responsible for the crime she dreamt about, and bring said person to justice.

That's the premise.

It's a show on my Tivo rotation at the moment. Much of the acting, dialogue and scenarios in the parts of the show that show the main character's home life are quite realistic, though why I find that part interesting, I have no idea. You'd think life would be plenty that I wouldn't need to watch it on television.

So, I was ranting to Kris about how, after 20, 30 years of dreaming these dreams, and pretty much not one of them is actually what she initially thinks the dream is about, maybe she's stop jumping to conclusions when she first dreams a dream, and wait until the second or third nights before actually saying something about them (most of the dreams continue over several nights until the crime is complete or solved, at least, according to the show's writers).

Yeah, she never gets the crime or criminal right on the first go. So, stop jumping to conclusions before heading off to the cops to get the only one who listens to her off on a wild goose chase.

Kris patiently listened to me rant. "Well," he started once I had actually stopped, "maybe you don't see all of the easy ones. I mean, how interesting would those be? You see the complicated ones that have twisted and aren't what they seem."

I was quiet, thinking about what he said. So quiet that he had to ask, "Did I say something wrong?"

"Oh no," I answered, "so, when I was studying for the GRE, I knew my vocabulary was going to be a problem, so I bought a book to help me study ..."

Oh crap.

I just realized, I already told this story. I guess Kris doesn't actually read this site, as his reaction when I was done telling it?

"What a jerk. I would have thrown you a bone."

"Yeah, and that's why I'm married to you, and not him."

Now? Then?


Kitt: "I don't know. Did you think it was good?"

Kris: "If I knew now, what I knew then... no wait, that's not right."

Banks are so ghetto


Recently, the bank Kris and I had our joint account with went under. When it did, it took seven years of bank records with it. Oh, sure, our money was FDIC insured, so we didn't actually lose any money, but do you know how devastating the loss of seven years of bank records can be?

Especially since we went to "digital monthly statements" about 5 years back.

Honestly, I hated the bank from the beginning. Kris, however, was overly enthusiastic about the idea of an online-only bank, so I kept my mouth shut (well, I SORTA kept my mouth shut) and went along.

I did, however, complain very loudly when the bank shut down. Kris definitely heard me.

As did all of my neighbors for at least 3 houses in any direction, I'm sure.

So, we've had this joint account funds check for a while now. The bank closed, we received a check, it sat there. I decided I needed the money to pay a particularly painful bill that showed up recently, so off to the bank to set up a joint account.

I went in with two pieces of information: Kris' name and his checking account number with the bank. That's it.

I told the woman at the desk I wanted to open a joint account with Kristofer McQueen, here was the number of his checking account with the bank, and here was my account number. The woman spent all of maybe three minutes looking up our information, another 2 minutes setting up the account, and one minute explaining that she needed me to have Kris sign this piece of paper (the signature card) to make the account all official.

I said I'd return the paper the next day, and left.

On my walk back home, I called Kris and told him we were all set. He was incredulous. "Banks are so ghetto," he said. "I wish they weren't so trusting."

I thought about it, about the ease and speed of the transaction, and decided that, yes, I was a bit annoyed with the ease, too. Here's why:

I told the woman Kris and I were married. I didn't bring any proof of the marriage. The only item I had with Kris' name on it was a business card.

Kris and I have different last name.

Kris and I have different addresses.

Kris and I have different phone numbers.

The bank didn't ask for his SSN. It didn't ask for his driver's license. The woman did ask for mine, but she already knew who I was, as I had "verified" identity with my bank card.

Essentially, the woman opened a joint checking account for two people on the word of one person: me.

I can understand that this probably doesn't happen much, someone opening a joint checking account with someone else, then bailing out on the account. Sure, I'm partially responsible for the account, but so is Kris. I can take him down with me.

Or, I can transfer funds from his linked account, into our joint account, and voila! I have access to his cash.

Sure, the woman could have cancelled the account if the signatures on the paper I brought back didn't match. However, ask anyone: I can fake a signature, or even someone's handwriting, quite well, thank you very much. If I wasn't actually married to Kris (note the lack of subjunctive in that phrase: I actually am married to Kris, so "was", and not "were" is correct), this would have been one of my most brilliant social engineering feats ever.

Too bad I didn't have the foresight to set up a joint account with Andy's funds.

Ooooooo, or maybe Keith's!



"Are you flying?"


"Where are you flying to?"



"I don't know why I asked that question."

"I was wondering that myself."