Wednesday, February 29, 2012

before we were dating

I found some messages in my inbox that Fred and I wrote long before we were even dating. This trying-to-play-it-cool message from Fred made me laugh:

"Hey, I feel a little awkward writing this so soon after getting yours, because you probably think I'm a loser or something (I know up to this point you've just thought of me as pretty much the awesomest, most popular guy you know) but I was online when you sent it, so whatever. By the way I am also watching golf right now. I just figure if you're gonna think I'm lame you might as well have several reasons."

And my just-as-cool response:

"I didn't think the instantaneous response or the golf watching was lame. You wanna hear lame...I've taken TWO naps today already."

We're both pretty smooth. I know.

Monday, February 27, 2012

bikists*

Fred and I bought bikes last week. Said bikes are used, ancient, rusted, and together cost less than $150. My bike has stem shifters and rumbles in agony when I turn left. Fred's bike was evidently made in an era when neon pink was considered an emblem of masculinity. It also pops and clicks every block or so. Fred claims it's because it has "bicycle incontinence" (I'm not sure he knows what incontinence really means), and it just has a hard time knowing what speed it wants to go.

We guard our bikes with our lives. So far we've refused to let them out of our sight because Davis is notorious for stolen bikes. At the very least, we're convinced someone will steal parts from our bikes (although admittedly we're not sure which rusty parts someone would want to steal). This newfound paranoia has presented several interesting predicaments, such as rearranging our entire living room furniture to accommodate the bikes as permanent fixtures and the mocking looks we receive when we insist on wheeling our clunkers inside restaurants. We even plan on riding them to church. We're in love. Oh, with each other? Right, and our bikes too.

Don't mind the construction paper Christmas tree donned with string "twinkle lights" and (not pictured) an origami star colored with a yellow high lighter marker. We realize Christmas was two months ago. We also realize a construction paper tree is a pathetic poor man's excuse for a real tree, but in case you didn't already know, paper comes from real trees. See, they're practically the same thing anyhow. We can even smell pine needles if we pretend hard enough.

*What Fred said when he meant "bicyclists."

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

a [valentine's] day in our life

6:13 a.m.
I had set my alarm for 6:30, but my excitement makes me wake up earlier. I get up, put on my fuzzy pink robe, and tip toe into the kitchen to whip up hash browns, french toast with strawberries, and a little yogurt parfait for Fred.

6:50 a.m.
I place all of the food on a breakfast serving tray (a cookie sheet) and carry it into sleepy bed head Fred, who perks at the sight of so much food. He pretends to be surprised, but we both know he could hear me whistling and giggling (clanking and cursing) in the kitchen all along.

7:45 a.m.
Fred leaves for school. When he isn't looking, I slip a Snickers bar into his backpack. I go back to bed for another thirty minutes, then wake up and do some reading.

10:00 a.m.
Fred discovers the Snickers bar, as shown by the following text: "YESSSS!!!!!! Thanks, sweetie pie!!!!!!"

12:00 p.m.
I meet Fred on campus so we can attend a student meeting that's serving free Indian food. FREE INDIAN FOOD! Free Indian food that was 10, then 20, then 30 minutes late, so we grumpily left the meeting to go home to work out and eat vegetable soup.

12:40 p.m.
We pop in a P90X DVD. We're on week three, so we're both pretty buff. Never mind that Fred still has to assist, like, 99% of my weight each time I do a pull-up. Nothing to get in the Valentine's spirit than to hear your husband grunt in pain as he hoists you up into the air so you can attempt a set of pull-ups.

2:00 p.m.
Fred leaves for his next class. On his way out the door, he tells me with a mischievous smile that we'll be having dinner at six o'clock.

2:40 p.m.
Fred sends me a text with a picture of a movie ticket. The ticket is for a 4:15 showing of The Vow, which I've been dying to see because I have a horrible taste in movies. Accompanying the picture text is an audio clip of this song, which Fred and I decided we liked after we heard it in a trailer for The Vow. I've been gushing over this chick flick since before it came out, but knew that we probably couldn't afford to see it until it hit Redbox. Overwhelmed with elation, I text back, "REALLY!*!?!?!?!?!?!!!11!!" and change my outfit to incorporate every pink, purple, and red articles I own.

3:30 p.m.
Fred gets home from class. We decide to walk downtown to the theater. Usually I get huffy and mad when we walk somewhere together because Fred walks faster than average, and I tend to walk slower than average. Our walks are typically filled with me whining, "Wait for meeee. Why won't you just walk with me? Why are you in such a hurry?" Today, I am too excited to mind. I half-sprint with him all the way to the theater.

3:45 p.m.
We're totally the first ones in our theater, so naturally we claim the seats right behind the bar that has no other purpose than to act as a footrest.

6:00 p.m.
End credits roll. We kiss and jokingly say at the exact same time, "Wait, do I know you?" (A joke reference to the movie.)

6:10 p.m.
After a quick potty break for the Mrs., we walk to a new Thai restaurant for dinner. It is the perfect place for us, and the deep-fried cream cheese wontons not only clog our arteries six hundred times over, but they are also really delicious in a I'll-think-about-something-other-than-how-bad-these-are-for-me-as-I-chew-and-swallow way.

7:00 p.m.
We stop at Ben and Jerry's for Fred to get a free ice cream cone.

7:15 p.m.
We arrive home. Fred pulls our bedding into our front room, suggesting that we have a slumber party tonight. I am a huge fan of the idea, of course.

7:30 p.m.
The Phantom of the Opera (the movie) is on, so we watch it while having a little chocolate picnic on our bed. When Raoul sings, "Christine, I lo-o-ove you," Fred says, "That's my favorite part in the whole movie. It makes me teary-eyed. I think it's sweet."

9:35 p.m.
The movie ends. Fred stands up and announces he has another surprise. Then he turns on the song we danced to at our wedding. We dance and, yes, cry a little. We're so mushy. Ew.

9:45 p.m.
We wipe our eyes, blow our noses, and turn on an upbeat song. We dance like goobertons.

10:00 p.m.
The day before, we received a Valentine's card from my mom. Heart stickers were inside the card. We sit on our bed and take turns laughing and putting stickers on each other. We think we're pretty funny.

12:00 a.m.
Nice and warm in the covers, listening to rain and wind outside the apartment, we excitedly chatter about everything under the sun--how Rachel McAdams always finds a way to show off her booty on-screen, how similar we are to the characters in The Vow, how our calves are sore from P90X, how it's crazy to think that we got engaged only one year ago, how we want to hit up all the grocery stores the following afternoon for discount Valentine's candy. Our conversation slows as sleep begins to take us over, and soon we wish each other a happy Valentine's Day and fall asleep with our bodies spotted with heart stickers.

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

pride and prejudice


Fred and I have started listening to audiobooks on road trips. This last road trip over winter break, we failed to plan ahead and consequently did not deliberate and agree upon an audiobook to purchase. Thankfully, I had a copy of Pride and Prejudice on my iPod--a free audiobook I found back in the day when I took a British literature class at BYU. Although Fred has seen the (new) movie, and I have read the book already, we decided this would have to do.

Fred had never read the book, but I think we were both a little surprised to find that he. loves. Pride and Prejudice. LOVES. He will sheepishly deny it, but I was there when he asked me to put it on again and again and again. I sat through all the dinner conversations when he repeatedly brought up Mr. Darcy in a way that he considered "casual" (I know better). I noticed he began speaking with a slight accent, saying things like, "Oh Rachy, have I no respect for your nerves?" The kid was hooked.

One day, after break had ended and we were back in the swing of things, I was going through some old textbooks and packaging them up to sell back to Amazon. Fred sat down and listlessly shuffled through the stack.

Suddenly, he gasped. I looked up from my packaging, only to find him furiously holding up my copy of Pride and Prejudice that I had purchased for my literature class years ago.

"You OWN this?" he accused. "And you didn't TELL me?"

"Well, I'm selling it back anyhow," I explained, at which he positively unraveled. The next few days, Fred tried to convince me not to ship off my book. I explained to him that Pride and Prejudice is probably the easiest book to get our hands on, thus it was not a big deal to not have our own copy. Eventually, Fred let up and, through a pouty face, agreed that Pride and Prejudice should go to Amazon with the dozen other textbooks and novels.

What a sweetie, right?

A few weeks passed. Life was beginning to get back to normal. Fred no longer brought up Mr. Darcy the way a twelve-year-old brought up her crush, and it seemed that Pride and Prejudice was finally behind us.

Until it came.

The cardboard box that was dropped off at our front door with a brisk knock. The cardboard box with Amazon.com embossed on the side. Fred said that he had bought some resistance bands for us, so that was probably what was in the box. He ripped off the tape, opened the flaps, stuck his hand in the box, and retrieved...

Pride and Prejudice. Yes, THE copy that I returned to Amazon that Amazon then decided it didn't want anymore.

I couldn't believe it. Fred couldn't believe it, either, although the sentiment between our disbelief was quite different.

Pride and Prejudice now sits on our kitchen table--the table where Mr. Darcy passes between our mouths in conversation. The table where today I realized Fred hacked our Netflix queue, because sitting on the table in the Netflix envelope is...

the first half of the 6-hour Pride and Prejudice on DVD.