Thursday, December 31, 2009

You. Aren't. Listening.

The Scene: I'm in the bedroom, doing work on my computer. Sloan stands in the doorway.
Sloan: I'm going to Costco.
Julia: not looking up Okay.
Sloan: To buy butter.
Julia: Uh huh.
Sloan: And then I'm going to Sportsman's Warehouse.
Julia: Okay.
Sloan: For a gun cleaning kit and ammo for my old pistol.
Julia: Uh huh.
Sloan: Even though you hate guns and are morally opposed too them.
Julia: Okay.
Sloan: Then I'm going to go to GameStop to buy more violent video games.
Julia: Yep.
Sloan: I'm wearing basketball shorts. And a beanie. And wool boy scout socks. With sandals.
Julia: K, baby.
Sloan: And I'm going to leave the front door wide open.
Julia: Alright. Love you.
Sloan: Love you.
Sloan leaves. Five minutes later.
Julia: Wait...what?

Tuesday, December 29, 2009


My friend Stace posted a blog entry a while back about her husband. She listed 100(!) things about him, and since I don't know Jared well, I read all of them intently. She spoke about him so tenderly, and she listed really interesting things.
I usually don't write really adorable/mushy things on my blog because EVERYONE does that (and duh I am unique). But, lately, in my pursuit of appearing super cool and over it, I've unintentionally started re-programming my brain. Now (more than ever) my first instinct is to generate a biting response to anything I hear or read. And while it usually ends up being totally the most awesome comment FTW, it's made me more pessimistic and, not to mention, much more self-conscious.
For example, I tend to get all worked up about people who brag on Facebook or who are too mushy about their loved ones. To me, it hints at a narcissism that has been purveyed by cyber communication. But when I think about it on a more basic level, it makes less sense: Why should I feel such disdain for people expressing their excitement or happiness? So what if they write/talk about something boring or not applicable to me, does that make them narcissistic? Sadly, the very nature of that question means that I'm the more narcissistic one. Zoinks!
I'm going to make a list of 40 things about Sloan (baby steps) AND I'M GONNA BE NICE and only minimally sarcastic. We are very sweet to each other when alone, but this is an exercise in humility for my internet side. And, if that doesn't really work out, it could also be another great way to start an argument with him (I always open the door when opportunity knocks).
40 Things about the Great Sloan Rehder
1. He is manly. Did you know that?
2. Sloan has been a ski instructor at Sundance for the past 2 seasons.
3. He really likes chemistry, and is really good at it.
4. His toes are freakishly long. His second toe is as long as my ring finger. Gross, yes. But he has amazing balance.
5. Sloan loves steak. LIKE I SAID, MANLY.
6. He likes anime like Full Metal Alchemist.
7. Sloan makes our bed almost every day.
8. If I break something, he can always fix it.
9. He's tall enough to change all of our light bulbs without even getting on his tip toes.
10. I tend to have bad dreams, and they make me toss and turn. Sloan will wake me up in the middle of the night to calm me down and scratch my back until I fall asleep again.
11. He was a quarterback in high school.
12. Sloan is a fearless snow driver and takes his rear-wheel drive Jeep up the canyon to Sundance like I would imagine a senile, lead-footed grandma would. Never a wreck, though.
13. He is not a whiner. Like, ever.
14. Sloan is incredibly coordinated. He learns any physical task quickly.
15. Because his arms are so long, Sloan always somehow looks like he's moving in slow motion when playing sports, but he ends up the fastest.
16. He loves baths as much as I do. We fight over the tub sometimes.
17. Sloan is incredibly considerate (which I think he learned from his parents), but is quiet about it because he hates the attention.
18. He loves pork and beans. And bacon. And cheese. And bread. All together.
19. Sloan hardly ever tells anyone that he's fluent in Spanish from his mission in Uruguay. This means that he hears a lot of things he maybe shouldn't.
20. He is allergic to citrus. And penicillin.
21. He is a grilling master. DUH MANLY.
22. Sloan looks exactly like his two older brothers. Sometimes it's problematic.
23. He loves Lady Gaga. Bahahahahaha.
24. He likes to abbreviate things just to annoy me when I can't figure out what he's saying. His most recent was "GOI, baby." (Get over it)
25. Sloan is immensely stranger than anyone knows, because he only does truly bizarre things when we're alone.
26. He is really good with kids and doesn't even hold babies awkwardly.
27. Sloan is super easy to live with. He's not messy, but doesn't mind if I make a mess.
28. His previous jobs include: trash man (in high school...which he liked), sold newspapers on the ferry to Seattle, Jiffy Lube guy, sold firewood, carpet cleaner, christmas light putter-upper, odds jobs for his dad's construction company.
29. He loves to golf and taught me.
30. Sloan can play pretty much every song on expert on Rock Band for the drums and guitar. Not the singing, though.
31. He loves 30 Rock.
32. Our trivia and crossword skills are equally-matched, making us terribly competitive.
33. He was born in Palmer, Alaska and lived in Wasilla until he was 7.
34. Sloan is a fabulous rock climber.
35. He always uses an alternate name for their family pets. He called their dog, whose name was Dude, Rocky; and their cat Artie was referred to as Toby by Sloan. This doesn't seem to phase his family, who know exactly who he is talking about.
36. Sloan plays the guitar, and he makes up really weird songs just to freak me out.
37. When Sloan was born, his older brother Darth wanted desperately to name him Toothpick Noonick. No one really knows why, not even Darth.
38. Every time we get in his car, Pink Floyd is playing.
39. Sloan was a typical boy growing up. All of the school assignments his mother kept were about WWF wrestling, meeting Jerry Rice, playing in the NBA, and blowing things up.
4o. In middle school, Sloan came up with a workout program for an assignment and he titled it "Sloan Rehder's Guide to Becoming a Beauty and a Beast in 28 Days."

Monday, December 28, 2009


Julia: Ooooh, I love babies! Let's have one!!
Sloan: No, honey. No babies yet.
Julia: Okay. (pause) How about NOW?
Sloan: Stop it with the baby talk.
Julia: But I just liiiiiike babies. They're so fun and nice.
Sloan: They aren't always like that.
Julia: It sounds like you hate babies.
Sloan: I don't hate babies. You're just not ready for one.
Julia: What?? I was born for babies!
Sloan: Anyone who watches Jersey Shore voluntarily is not ready for a baby, Julia.
Julia: Come on, I'm not with the guidos, I'm against them!
Sloan: If you stop watching MTV reality shows, we'll talk about babies.
Julia: (silence...also known as the sound of inner turmoil)

Friday, December 25, 2009

Christmas on Bainbridge

Merry Christmas from the (NOT RAINING) Puget Sound! Here are some highlights of our trip so far (the photos enlarge, mom and dad, just click on them):

I got my hands on all three Rehder baby girls: Vance's Noa, Regen's Kenley, and Darth and Missy's Lily (who came JUST IN TIME for us to hold her and hold her and hold her).

Gingerbread Houses

Sloan's is on the left. He attempted to build the tallest structure, but Darth took on that challenge and emerged victorious. Mine is on the right; it's a tribute to Ed, the manliest father-in-law a girl could have.


We made lots of baked goods and ate lots of seafood. So...the picture of Pam on the right might be from a baby shower weeks ago but BIG DEAL RIGHT? I needed a third picture to please the alignment gods of Blogger's interface.

Kenley's Weird Smiling Technique for Photos

Why is Kenley squeezing her eyes shut and stretching her lips to dangerously wide lengths? It's because you just told her to smile for a picture! Duh.

Monday, December 14, 2009

More Christmas Songs According to Sloan

The ipod in Sloan's car has been set to Christmas music, so we always listen to it as we're driving. He sings along. And changes the words. To weird words. Here's a helpful scene to better imagine the weirdness...
In the car, Sloan singing to the tune of White Christmas:

Sloan: I'm dreaming of a white Christmas
Just like the ones I used to know.
Where the treetops glisten,
and children listen
for once in their miserable little lives...

Julia: BABY. That's terrible!
Sloan: Laughing uncontrollably
Julia: Switches song
To the tune of The Christmas Song (Chestnuts Roasting...): Sloan: They know that Santa's on his way; He's loaded lots of toys and goodies on his sleigh. And every mother's child is on the prowl...
YOU ARE A FREAK!! pounding on the car window GET ME OUT OF HERE!
Sloan: Laughing. Uncontrollably.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Mind Games

When Sloan and I first got our PS3 a couple of weeks ago, we also looked at some games at Best Buy...
Julia: Ooh! They have a Trivial Pursuit video game?!!
Sloan: I'm not getting that.
Julia: Why not? I wanna play it!
Sloan: I'm not buying that. It would be embarrassing. Buying Trivial Pursuit for a Play Station? No.
Well, last night, Sloan finally let me get it (he was in a generous mood). We went home and played. Sloan won the first game. That made me angry.
One hour later...I won.
Two hours later...
Julia: after Sloan answered a question incorrectly Ha! You don't even know where Germany is!!
Sloan: Well SORRY they didn't have any border lines on a map of the entire European continent!! Besides, the correct answer was on the North Sea!
Julia: Germany IS on the North Sea!
Sloan: Well, you didn't even know what an alkaliphile was, but I didn't make fun of you for that!!
Sloan: Smart people do!
Julia: glaring BEST OUT OF SEVEN!

Wednesday, December 9, 2009

Even Christians Can Believe in Karma!

WARNING: I don't anticipate anyone else caring about this post but myself (Julia).
I wrote a post a few weeks ago. About two previous coworkers I consider to be some of the...well...worst people I know. I almost took the post down, because I figured it wasn't that entertaining to my readership since only a few people who read this blog are as well-versed in the villainy of those girls as I am. Also, I figured it didn't really change anything about those people, even if they DID happen to read my blog.
In my life, I've been apprehensive to talk crap about other people, because, honestly, speaking ill of someone usually isn't that justifiable. I mean, just wait it out for a day, and typically, you're pretty happy you kept your mouth shut. I also hate not being liked. I HATE IT. However, I have a hatred more powerful than those two things: small-time girls thinking they can do whatever they want to nice people. So...big whoop, I posted a blog entry and never heard anything else about it. I figured it had fallen on deaf ears, and I forgot about it.
That's why I was delighted to hear today (through the grapevine) that my previous post has actually shaken those two offenders to their core. So much so, that new policies have been implemented by dad/management regarding the freedom of speech in their work environment. This means they cared about what I wrote. Sure, they did not like it, but they CARED enough to pull that post up for upper management to see.
The point of this update is primarily for me to tell you, cyber world, that you CAN make a difference! Are you a rational and sensitive person with serious beef? But you can't maturely express yourself through the proper channels because said beef is with the daughter of the CEO who is notorious for firing employees who talk to HR about his daughter? Then, by diggity, go for the jugular. On the internet. Without naming names. Because, if they are truly flappable, even THAT will get to them, conveniently for you.
It may take losing a fewbattles to win the war, but quite honestly, at the end of it all, it is worth it.
Thank you and good night.

Mommy and Daddy are Maaaaad

Sloan: singing 'I'm Getting Nuttin for Christmas' as he makes the bed...
I put a tack on teacher's chair,
somebody pissed on meeeee.
I tied a knot in Susie's hair
somebody pissed on meeeee.
Julia: Um. Sloan. That is not how it goes.
Sloan: What?
Julia: You're singing it wrong. And the part that you're singing wrong is really freaking me out.
Sloan: Julia, what? You don't even know that song.
Julia: Yeah. I do. We sang it in elementary school. It sounds like you're singing the R. Kelly version. It's snitched, not pissed.
Sloan: blushing Hahahahaha! I already knew that. I meant to say it wrong.
Julia: I'm putting this on the blog unless you admit that you DIDN'T mean to do that.
Sloan: No you won't. This isn't weird enough.

Monday, December 7, 2009

Slumber Party: Oxymoron, folks

Sleeping in the same bed is always an adjustment for a new couple. So WHAT if Sloan claims I have some sort of heat-emitting property which forces him to crank the fan and drink ice water whenever I get close to his side of the bed. BFD. So WHAT if he makes it so cold in our room that I get ill from exposure on a weekly basis? We deal. For Sloan, that means sleeping with a miniature, human-version of a bonfire. For me, it means claiming that I'm cold and getting no sympathy because I'm a miniature, human-version of a bonfire (AND BONFIRES DO NOT GET COLD).
What's been a more difficult adjustment? My trying to determine how awake Sloan is when he says crazy things. You see, he finds some value in unpredictability. And his delivery is so dry, it takes a higher level of skill to discern a sarcastic comment. But...I can usually do that. Not in the middle of the night, however. It's harder. WOULD YOU LIKE AN EXAMPLE??

The Scene: Our bed. It's the middle of the night. I sleepily sit up to readjust the blanket over my legs.
Sloan: He is asleep, facing away from me. In a slurred, soft voice. Baby? What are you doing?
Julia: I'm putting the blanket back on my feet.
Sloan: Unmoving. In a still slurred voice, but with an annoyed tone. Uh, great. Thanks for keeping me updated.
Julia: Awake now. What? You just asked.
Sloan: Asleep. No answer.

The battle between man and wife continues. Even in his sleep.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

Ready to Stir the Pot

I went to Macey's yesterday. It was delightfully and festively decorated there. Loved it. But, then again, I'm pretty easy to please whenever anything shiny is around.

At the check out in front of me:
Cashier: Thanks! And happy holidays!
Customer: Merry Christmas. It's Christmas, son, we're in America.

Well, apart from the geography lesson, I found this person's response rather useless. And disrespectful. Had he stopped at Merry Christmas, I could deal. But nooooooooo, he couldn't make his point subtly.
I'm not some sort of surf's-up-dude-just-live-your-life youngster who wants everyone to lower their voices and just hug their neighbor (mainly because I'm not allowed to smoke weed, sigh). It's not really even about getting along as a general principle. I'm not that laid-back.
It's about willful ignorance. People need to understand the basic laws and principles of America, quite honestly, before they pull out their red, white, and blue fightin' words. Read that reputed and much-cited 1st Amendment:
"Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances."
This, essentially, should mean take it down a notch, Christmas crusaders. No one is lighting nativity scenes on fire and throwing Molotov cocktails at children's choirs singing "Silent Night," so consider yourselves the winners! The government doesn't favor one religion over another. And, more importantly, it ideally should not favor religion over non-religion.
Do not use a religiously-unaffiliated country (America) as your weapon of choice when telling others to stop wishing you a Happy Holiday. It doesn't hold up. The only thing you should say in response to someone's attempt at politically correct well-wishing (especially when it's probably mandated by their boss) is "Thank you."
Some of the things that people point to are God' name on the dollar bill and his mention in the Declaration of Independence, neither of which state an required allegiance to a higher deity. Have some respect, old dude. As an friend of mine once said, "That old man needs some rock n roll in his life."

And, from the Rehder family, Have a Happy Holiday!

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Oy Vey

We got a Play Station 3 on Black Friday. Sloan was...excited. Join me on my journey:
The Scene: Julia is sitting in bed, working on her computer. Sloan has been playing Ratchet & Clank for [many] hours.
Sloan: Runs in and jumps on the bed. Baby! Hi! Hey! I beat the game! Hi!
Julia: Good work, honey!
Sloan: Now it's cuddle time!
Julia: Okay...wait. Eh. Baby. You...smell like a gamer.
Huh? I showered earlier today.
Was it before you played your video game?
Sloan: Well, yes.
Julia: Your odor smacks of sitting for hours in a warm room, not moving--
Sloan: WAIT! Do you hear that? Tilts head toward living room. They're still talking! The game's not finished!! I better go check!!
Julia: Turns off lamp.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Back. Lash.

I write this blog with the intent of entertaining. I do this for two reasons:
1. We don't really have a camera, so I can't rely on photos to do the work for me.
2. Blogs that are poorly written are typically poorly written because the posts aren't...that...well, entertaining.
Sure, I do things that other people do (and post on their blog) like going to birthday parties and climbing mountains or whatever. But, honestly, it's just not that riveting to give a play-by-play of my latest trip to the grocery store or the terrible woman driver I encountered that day. I can't put any cool spin on that. I mean...I could put a cool spin on it if the lady driver looked like Dick Butkus or something like that. But that's a rather atypical occurrence. ANYWAY Billy Collins had it right when he said something like, "Why write about myself when I could write about someone much more interesting?" And that is why I have a spouse.
My chronicles of Sloan have earned him more attention than he is used to. And I suppose the fame is breaking him, because he's beginning to...act regards to the blog. He doesn't like that lingering idea that I may put whatever he is currently saying/doing out there for those on the interwebs to discover (weird, I know). I, however, feel no need to respect his privacy. This has led to a battle of wills, of sorts, and Sloan has resorted to some dirty antics. His new favorite taunt is "Put THAT on the blog!!" after committing said antics. Allow me to illustrate the instances in which he uses this line:

Knocks a given item out of my hand on purpose and stands over me as I pick it up: "Yeah! Put THAT on the blog!! HAHAHA!"

Stands in front of me while I'm working on my laptop and does a totally weird shuffle/Backstreet Boys/tap dance whilst snapping and soulfully clapping his hands to get my attention. "Yeeeeah, you like that? Put THAT on the blog!!!"

Beats me at any game/competition/argument: "Ha!! I win!! Put THAT on the blog!"

Sits in the bathtub eating a string of five OtterPops while watching old episodes of Arrested Development on his laptop that is placed on the bathroom counter. "Julia. It's called 'indulgence'. Put THAT on the blog." Returns to watching show/eating popsicle/bathing.

All is fair in love and war.

Monday, November 16, 2009

Newlyweds: Part 3: Host & Hostess

Sloan and I sitting in church. I'm writing in my notebook. Sloan leans over and whispers:
Sloan: What are you wri -- oh no.
Julia: What? I'm just planning our CHRISTMAS PARTY!!
Sloan: Is that a menu or just a list of everything they sell at the grocery store?
Julia: Funny.
Sloan: That's a hefty guest list. We can only fit, like, six people in our apartment at once.
Julia: Officially ignoring you.
Sloan: Why do I see the words 'pajama' and 'party'??
Julia: La la la la what? I'm sorry, are you talking?
Sloan: You know that no one over eleven owns christmas pajamas.
Julia: That's a lie!! You're a liar!!
Sloan: Okay, okay. Calm. Listen, I'm okay with us having a Christmas party...but we have to include a few things...
Julia: Like?
Sloan: Apple cider.
Julia: Done.
Sloan: And a hayride.
Julia: Oh dear.
Sloan: And last but not least, an appearance by the Ninja Turtles.
Julia: (closes notebook)

I Told You So: A Daily Utterance

On Saturday, Sloan and I found a washer/dryer set on Craigslist. The price was right, so we decided to go to the owner's house to check them out live in living color. OH AND GUESS WHAT: we kinda bickered. And everyone knows that "we kinda bickered" actually means "Julia tried to pick a fight." Participate in the magic:
Julia: (on the way to the car) If we decide to buy them do we need to find a truck to borrow?
Don't think so. I can get them in the Jeep.
What? No way, baby. These are major appliances.
They'll fit.
Glancing into the rear windows of the car. No way. I've never heard of someone hauling a washer or dryer in a Jeep Grand Cherokee.
You mean a washer and dryer. Both. At the same time. I'll put the back seats down.
Julia: OH and putting the seats down will open up some sort of vacuous portal through which we can fit an infinite number of washers and dryers? We just need a truck.
Get in. We don't need a truck.
Julia: Even if they DID both fit, it'd be a matter of inches. Your spatial reasoning cannot be that good.
Sloan: We'll see. Get in. the seller's home
They look good. We'll take them.
Dude Selling the Washer/Dryer:
Cool. When do you want to come back to haul them?
Sloan: We can take them now in my Jeep.
Your...Jeep? Will they fit?
Ten minutes later, after hauling them down a flight of stairs and out to the Jeep, and turning the washer/dryer in all sorts of directions:
Sloan: (huffing and puffing) There.
Julia: (jaw dropped) Wow. They...really fit.
DSTW/D: (jaw dropped) Wow. They...really fit.
Sloan: (already in the car) Let's go! It's cold!

Monday, November 9, 2009

Newlyweds: Act II: The Battle of the Bulge

Julia: Baby!! I'm gaining weight!!!!!
Sloan: Good.
Julia: Good? Bad!
Sloan: Bad?
Julia: Bad!! I think I'm gaining it in my belly. Can you tell? (turns sideways)
Sloan: Uh, no. I cannot tell.
Julia: Of COURSE you can't tell. I don't think you'd notice or care if I gained twenty pounds overnight!!!
Sloan: Oh, come on, that's not true. I would probably notice. But, well yeah, I wouldn't care.
Julia: Arg!!
Sloan: Why do you even care? I'd like it if you were thick and juicy.
Julia: What? Have you been watching BET?
Sloan: (walks away)

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Newlyweds: Act 1: A Husband's Burden

(Sloan comes home after a day at school)
Sloan: Baby! Where are you?
Julia: I'm in here.
Sloan: Why are you in bed? It's 5:30 in the afternoon.
Julia: I'm just, I dunno. I'm just sitting here.
Sloan: And...your hair is wet?
Julia: I took a bath. I ate a Snickers in the bathtub.
Sloan: Oh. That's...good.
Sloan: So, what are you doing?
Julia: Just thinking about how ugly I am and how I suck at wife things like decorating and cooking. I never even wear an apron.
Sloan: Ahhhh. Here we go. Climbs into bed, sighing.
Julia: And I'm not even passionate enough to be one of those women who willfully sucks at wife duties because they think it's liberating and/or quirky, I'm just not that good at it. OH and I feel fat. I mean, I ate a Snickers in the bathtub!!! That's something Anna Nicole Smith would do! And people on the internet have such cool looking houses but I can't get ours to look like that and OW STOP CUDDLING WITH ME YOUR STUBBLE IS SCRATCHY!!
Sloan: Okay, okay sorry. It sounds like you've had a rough day...are you hungry?
Julia: No. I ate a chili dog. I'm disgusting. A CHILI DOG. SERIOUSLY?
Sloan: Baby. Chili dogs are good! And you're just so pretty and I just think you're great at everything. I...just love you.
Julia: Even when I don't do the wife thing right but you always do the husband thing right?
Sloan: I feel like this is a trap.
Sloan: I think maybe you think you're sneakier than you really are. Just so you know.

Monday, November 2, 2009

Genetics as It Applies to the Rehders

This morning's conversation between Sloan and me as I got ready for work:

Sloan: Do you want our daughters to be pretty?
Julia: No. Hell no.
Sloan: Why not?
Julia: Why would I want them to be pretty? I would imagine nothing but misery comes from having a beautiful daughter.
Sloan: You just want to be prettier than them. That's why you hope our girls are ugly.
Julia: Not true. That's weird.
Sloan: Yes it is true. You want to be that mom who is prettier than her kids.
Julia: Well I don't want to look nasty and decrepit compared to my kids, but that's not the main reason why I want ugly daughters. I want their force field of ugliness to keep them safe from predators like frat boys, meatheads, and sexually experimental girls. And Brett Michaels. AND TILA TEQUILA. And Mardi Gras.
Sloan: That's stupid.
Julia: Most people feel the same way that I do, which means that you've got a lot to learn.
Sloan: What?! Most people don't want ugly kids! Just because you're saying crazy things in a not-crazy-way doesn't mean you're not saying crazy stuff!

Monday, October 26, 2009

But...Come On

Angie Harmon, I love you. You are so pretty with your dimples and your teeth. And you were so great on Law & Order, throwing those perps in jail as the assistant district attorney who ONLY WANTED JUSTICE TO BE SERVED BECAUSE YOU LOVE THE RED WHITE AND BLUE ORDER IN THE COURT. And you have such a fabulous, throaty voice. Just ask Kirstie Alley, that really counts for something.

So, well, why are you wearing this?

Are you mad at a general viewing public? I get that you're punishing us, but why? It's not our fault that you jumped L&O ship and married an athlete (I KNOW with all of the travel it's hard). Or that you were stuck for three seasons in sensible pant suits that were probably made out of uncomfortable wool or polyester-blends.

Are you hiding a quiver of arrows beneath ye olde tunic?Did you borrow those shoes from the set of ANY Kate Beckinsale movie (which, by the way...I feel like all of her movies take place only during night hours)? Really, I just want answers. You are a rational woman. Come back to us, Angie, come back as a feisty and well-dressed woman. DO IT FOR AMERICA.

Thursday, October 22, 2009

My Lost Source of Entertainment

I've worked at a few places in my life (most people can say this). I've liked all of them (most people can't say this, I think). My last place of employment, we'll call it...Shower desk was mostly around girls. I really didn't mind the job; my boss was great, the pay was decent, and the work was interesting. However, in the course of that job, I had to interact with two coworkers whom most people would refer to as sad and crazy.
Now, not to pull the redneck card, but I'm from TENNESSEE, so I know a backwards girl when I see one (sixth sense). And, well, Shower Renovations had two. BETTER YET, they fit the typical profile of the frenemy relationship. We'll call them Brenna and Mandy. Come, discover.
Exhibit A: "Brenna"
This is the self-proclaimed alpha female. Bleached hair and a, well, husky build are her driving force. A high-pitched voice and little-to-no intellect complete this character. The typical topic of conversation for a Brenna is some sort of complaint. Anything from the weather to car trouble to imaginary boyfriends, pessimism is the key.
It is important to remember, however, that this female cannot operate independently. She is much like a virus, in need of a host. Or maybe it's the other way around? Eh, whatever. Moving...on.
Exhibit B: "Mandy"
Ah, the Brain to her frenemy's Pinky. Smaller, mousier, more alert, "Mandy" is behind the wheel. Careful to toddle behind the Brenna, so as not to get trampled (literally), Mandy places the manipulative remark when she needs Brenna to unwittingly do her bidding. She needs the attitude and manpower to further her own ambitions.

The dynamics of coworker frenemies is even more interesting to consider because their employment ties sweeten the pot (sour for them) when they are on the outs. THAT WAS MY FAVORITE PART OF THE JOB.
Sadly, now I work at a better-paying, nicer, more relaxing job where people act...well...mature. Where can I get my crazy fix? For now, I'm forced to try to read about drama between people on the internet that I don't know.

Wednesday, October 21, 2009

A Brother and his Brotherly Love

My husband. I have one. He’s…multi-faceted. You know this, because I always talk about it (sorry about that). He can jump high, fold clothes, roof, beat every song on expert on the drums on Rock Band, speak that weird version of Spanish. You get the point. He, apparently, is also a virtuoso at MS Paint. I've talked about Paint before. I'm pretty sure Microsoft is running the same version of Paint on today's Vista as it did when I was 6 years old. THROWBACK.

ANYWAY "What does Sloan create in MS Paint?" you may ask, "Because, Julia, you're writing a blog post about it, so this better be going somewhere." Does he create airbrushed portraits? Captivating landscapes? Nay, I tell you, his is more of a...commentary...on...sibling relationships.

Mikyn, Sloan's sister who is younger and prettier than he is (which may be the source of his contempt) looks like this in what we call The World of Normal:

A camera's depiction.

Sloan, utilizing the best of his abilities (the best!!), makes his contribution to The World of Kinda Crazy But Mostly Annoying, featuring Mikyn on the left and himself in their family's living room:

At this point in his Paint career, I don't think Sloan knew about the whole text box thing.

Saturday, October 17, 2009


I don't really know why I titled this post teamwork, because it's more like Sloanwork. I'm married to a domestic Macgyver type who seems to thrive on husband-duty-improvisation. This OF COURSE leads to some rather offbeat, but undeniably effective methods. Let us explore this:

SITUATION: You only have one cell phone as a couple (caveman, I know) and no alarm clock. You get up and leave an hour earlier than your (angelic-when-she's-sleeping) wife does, and you have to take the phone with you for work. LORD KNOWS your wife is not about to get up any earlier than she has to just to putt around to make sure she doesn't sleep in. But she don't have an alarm!!
SLOANSOLUTION: Right before leaving, place your sleeping/heavy/complaining wife (and the 4382 pound comforter she's wrapped in) on the living room couch. Set the kitchen's oven timer to go off in exactly one hour. BAM. Consider your situation Macgyverized. NEXT.

SITUATION: Your wife comes home late from work. She's rather tired and you don't really have the money to buy groceries for now. In the refrigerator, you have the following components with which to work:
spaghetti sauce
half-empty Slim Fast cans (dude, they last...don't hate)
macaroni noodles
ricotta cheese
mustard with horseradish
cheddar cheese
sour cream
a tortilla
What the !$#%@& kind of meal can you concoct out of these motley ingredients?
SLOANSOLUTION: One word: Cheddarmarinararicottamacaronicasserole. OH and one more word: Macgyverized.

SLOANSOLUTION: Put it out. WITH YOUR MIND. Macgyverized.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009

Children: Tiny Treasures

We got more wedding photos today from our photographer on Bainbridge. Everyone looks beautiful and happy, blah, blah LET'S GET TO THE FUNNY STUFF. Here's the handsome Moore clan:
But, honestly, here's the best part of the picture. We (as people) may have actually captured the very moment in young Avery's life when she decided to live the gangster life:
Next, we have a lovely photo of Regen, Matt, and Kenley Knoebel down by the pond:
Kenley, however, obviously didn't have time for pictures...she was too busy thinking about my precious...

Eh, least this little dude got things right...
Probably thinkin bout Jesus.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

A Mid-Week Mystery for Your Enjoyment

Imagine this: It's late. Your husband has work in the morning, so he has already gone to bed. You can't sleep however, so you stay up for another hour or so (doing important things like reading about Khloe Kardashian ((what is she thinking???)) and eating thai food). You finally decide it's time to go to bed. Turn off all of the lights. Slowly open the bedroom door and carefully slide into bed in the dark, so as not to wake your sleeping spouse. As you get more comfortable, you stretch your arm out to put it around your love. You reach. And reach. Aaaand reach. No husband. You get back out of bed and carefully check the other bedroom and the couch (because your husband LOVES TO JUMP OUT AND SCARE YOU). Not there. Where would you suppose he'd be?

A. the bathtub
B. walgreens
C. the closet (to scare you)

If you chose D, you're correct! After finding him down there (still asleep) I shimmied under the bed next to him and we had the following conversation:

Julia: Baby? What...are you doing?

Sloan: (incoherent mumbling)

Julia: Sloan!! What are you doing!

Sloan: Sleeping.

Julia: Why are you down here?

Sloan: I like it.

Julia: Do you want to come and sleep on top of the bed?

Sloan: No. I like it.

Julia: This is really weird. Do you know that?

Sloan: I like it.

Julia: But, you...well. What? Okay, love you, night.

No, I still don't get it. He did crawl up later in the night, with his comforter and pillows in tow. That's a good thing, no?

Monday, September 28, 2009

Late Bloomer

Look at Sloan. What a cute kid, right? Those dimples! Swoon. Genetically speaking, he's been dealt a friendly hand. Since birth. No identifiably awkward stages.

Welp. We can't all be that lucky. TAKE ME FOR EXAMPLE HAHA. People always ask how I got so funny. Okay. That's a lie. But if someone ever did ask me that, I'd say: Well, when you grow up looking like this...


Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Two Months, a Milestone! Or Something.

Yes, you read that correctly. Sloan and I have been afloat on the sea of wedded bliss for these two months now. Oh, things have been absolutely breezy (thanks for asking), mainly due to Sloan's low-maintenance lifestyle. Here is what I have learned so far during our transition from unmarried to married:

Financial priorities are prone to shifting. When I was single, I spent as little as I could on food. This one (proverbial) stone killed two (proverbial) birds: it kept my weight down (because I only bought SlimFast and rice cakes) and it allowed for my shopping budget. Well, my husband, MR. EATSALOT has thrown a wrench into my budgeting because he has the normal food intake of a 6'2, 180 lb, 25-year-old male. My grocery bill is through the (PROVERBIAL) roof. I realize that there is nothing to be done about this, of course. I had that epiphany when I ended a heated discussion with Sloan over this issue by semi-shouting "WHY DON'T YOU JUST STOP EATING?" to which he silently gave me the I'm-going-to-let-you-consider-the-logic-of-your-statement look. Thanks, Mother Nature, for reminding me that my husband's metabolism is ten years younger than mine.
If your last name is Rehder, people won't get it right the first few times. From the time I took Sloan's last name, I think I've already spent about 1/9th of my life so far saying "R-E-H-D-E-R" and "I know it's not spelled that way, but it sounds like RAIDER. You know, like the Oakland Raiders? Yeah! Perfect." I don't get annoyed with anyone who can't rectify the spelling with the pronounciation in their minds. We're American, and that's what we get for insisting on keeping the original German spelling of our last name.
Food allergies are real (inconvenient). What do you do when you have a husband who is allergic to citrus? You try to sneak the minimum amount of lemon juice into your fish entree and see if it will travel the course of his body undetected. Then you apologize profusely when his tongue swells up and promise never to try that again. For a while. In the mean time, you get all of the orange juice in the refridgerator to yourself. HELLO, SILVER LINING.
You can't sneak new purchases. When there are only two of you in a two bedroom apartment, even the most obtuse husband will notice that new handbag shoved in the back of the closet you share. And, naturally, the deeper into marriage you dive, the better inventory he takes of what you have, so "These shoes? Oh, I've had them forever, I just never wear them..." simply won't work anymore.
Being right doesn't happen as much. I have always thought I was a hot shot. Ya know, not only was I a stunning beauty, a philanthropic powerhouse, and had an incredible eye for catching counterfeit bills, but also that I was smart. Unfortunately, with Wiki as our resident expert, Sloan has proven his superior intellect over mine. Sure, I win every once in a while when it comes to literary references, pop culture, programming or grammar, but in the realms of science, history, math, religion (all kinds), cooking, driving, handywork, verbatim memorization, sports, geography and anything else ever, I don' much. Workin on it.
If your husband is male, Hannah Moore will like him. My neice, Hannah, she's not so shy. Especially around boy people. This I have known for a while, but it was not until her provocative dancing and enthusiatic offers to take baths with Sloan upon meeting him for the first time that I realized how easily won over she is by the prospect of having a new uncle.
Love means always having to say you're sorry. I'm learning this by example from Sloan. How someone can always be so right but still be so willing to say sorry is beyond me. But one thing I do understand is that marrying the person I admire more than anyone else has been the most correct decision I've made in my life so far.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Photoshop Disasters

This is a blog that I frequent, which teaches us the valuable lesson that terrible graphic designers can still make a living. Photoshop Disasters also boosts my body image morale because it is rife with models who have had everything but their soul airbrushed. Maybe even their soul. Here's an old favorite:

Crescer: BEHIND YOU!

is a Brazilian horror movie where these evil monsters - what? It's a parenting magazine?

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

Another One Bites the Dust

I don't hide it: I enjoy celebrity gossip. I'm not going to apologize for that. I also won't deny that I typically like thin, tan versions of people (especially myself). I find that appealing, for the most part. It takes a big/superficial/non-bandwagoning liberal person to admit that.

I'm even pretty okay with some plastic surgery (if that floats your boat). Yes, too many celebrities probably sell their souls to the devil to retain their youth and to improve their, um, assets, but the natural order of Hollywood actually does a viable job of weeding out the freak shows from the legits so that most useless socialites have their moment, then die out soon after. Welp, I guess after seeing 23-year-old Stephanie Pratt (of The Hills fame), I realized that some of these young and impressionable scene players need a little guidance in their pursuit of sustainable fame. Here's little Pratt with her normal face on:
Healthy glow, white teeth, real smile, etc. Nothing broke, so nothing to fix, right? WRONG. Behold the "new, improved" CRAZY-FACED STEPHANIE PRATT:
Why do you suddenly look a decade older? Have you secretly been smoking for 15 years? That means you started when you were 8! Why is your neck so gristly? Why does it look like you maybe can't move your lips? AREN'T THOSE FAKE EYELASHES HEAVY??

I can forgive the nose job, because I sympathize with nose-loathing. I can even forgive some moderation of her weight loss. BUT THE REST? COME ON.

Stephanie. Girl. If you want to turn out okay, do these things TONIGHT:
1. Go home.
2. Throw out any earrings you have that are bigger than the palm of your hand.
3. Ice your lips.
4. Get a hot oil treatment.
5. Watch some Oprah, Tyra, and Ricki Lake reruns about body image.
6. Eat a bag of Ruffles.
7. Eat another bag.

And, as a general rule, stop taking calls from anyone other than your mother for at least a month. It will cleanse your soul.

Sunday, September 13, 2009

Samuel Richard Moore: Words of Wisdom

After reading my brother Richard's blog post this morning, I thought it'd be nice to catalog some of my nephew Sam's recent ruminations for the sake of posterity. I'm sure this blog will stand the test of time long enough for our great-great children to study it. And, seeing that it's Sunday, it's befitting that most of Sam's wacko comments have been pertaining to Jesus lately. I blame...scratch that, I credit his Protestant Alabama preschool:

Jesus loves you even when you eat too much candy and throw up. Now, to be fair, Sam has firsthand experience with this topic, because he actually did go past his full capacity on the candy buffet at the wedding in Seattle, thus inducing a vomitfest. Who KNOWS, Sam was feeling pretty miserable after that happened, so maybe Jesus did show up to show him some love.

Sometimes Jesus flies to us when we're sad. I think we can all see where he got this idea. To be honest, I still think that maybe Jesus flies. Or something.

Jesus will catch the frisbee!!!! This one also makes some sense, because anything thrown into the sky could reasonably be intercepted by the Flying Jesus instead of plummeting to its gravitational fate.

Jesus even loves girls sometimes. Not touching this one with a ten foot pole.

WE ALL NEED TO GET BAPTIZED SO JESUS WON'T LEAVE US! This was shouted in the midst of a crowd of people gathered in the kitchen at our Memphis reception. Maybe Sam was just bored. Maybe he was soapboxing. I prefer to think he was possessed by the Holy Spirit.

And my personal favorite/the most controversial bit of revelation: Hannah! Don't say 'hate'! Or Jesus will kill you!

Sambaby, I love you. And I secretly hope you resist every piece of knowledge that your parents try to impart to you.

Please don't grow up and get smart, little boy. That would be unfortunate for everyone!

Thursday, September 10, 2009

Old People and the Internets

Ah, in my 23 years of existence, I have acutely observed the inevitability of age robbing most people of their technological prowess. FOR EXAMPLE, I was behind a lady in the Customer Service line at Target who made the clerk come out from behind his desk to load a registry list for her on the kiosks. Pulling up a registry at Target is one of the MOST intuitive things a person could includes instructions such as PUSH HERE and TYPE LAST NAME OF BRIDE OR GROOM. But this lady (who was probably only in her mid-fifties) told the kid behind the desk that "Oh gosh, computers scare me. I don't even want to try. Will you just do it for me?" to which he replied, "Oh, I understand, my mom is the same way." And I got to mom is the same way, too. So are MOST people's mothers.

Don't get me wrong, my mother could probably bake a cake out of duct tape and couch cushions, but FOR THE LIFE OF HER she can't check her cell phone messages. It's not that she's dumb, it's just that every time one of us tries to show her how, after about thirty seconds of instructions, she throws her hands up in frustration and declares, "Just erase all of the messages! They're only from your father anyway!!" This (sadly/humorously) is true. My mother only gets voice mails from my dad, which all basically say, "Susie. Pick up your phone. I don't EVEN KNOW WHY I'M LEAVING THIS MESSAGE BECAUSE YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO CHECK YOUR VOICE MAILS." She and dad use about 25 cell phone minutes a month. Total.

I do feel fortunate because I am still young enough to have grown up understanding the wisdom of Google. More specifically, I don't ask complicated questions or seek out answers from people to things that I know I can find on the internet. For example, I used to work with an older woman who just wasn't gettin it when it came to technology. She asked me how to change the background image on a blog. Apparently, she'd been asking millions of people the same question who couldn't help her out. Welp, I STARTED to explain it to her, then realized that I could just pull up some instructions through Google and print them out for her. Took three minutes. And don't even get me STARTED on how much old people like to print things out, like they think everything on the internet is going to be erased one day by terrorists and they will no longer be able to access their flight information or hotel confirmation number.

I know this is an obvious topic, most of us under 25 assume that people over 45 are total squares who still wish they could use typewriters and rotary phones. And the older people who ARE hip to the newest technologies just seem like they're trying too hard. Lose-lose.

But I bring it up because I already feel it setting in for myself. Sure, I know a little html code. Yeah, I can still decipher the lingo for the most part. But, for example, all the kids these days are talking about Skype. I kind of know what Skype is in principle, but I haven't actually used it. If some 14 year old were trying to show me around on this nebulous and mystical Skype program, I'd feel like an old person. I just would. And, to hide my oldness, I'd probably try to bond with the poor kid by bringing up some totally out of style emo band and end up mispronouncing the band's name anyway (like my old professor who tried to talk about how glamorous ANGELA JOLIE and BRAD PITTS were).

What does that mean? I'm already falling out of the loop. Stella is losing her groove. Should I age with dignity and let things begin to slip (oh SKYPE HOW YOU TORTURE ME), or should desperately and shamelessly try to hang on by going into overdrive to keep up with the younger, hipper Jonses? Le sigh. Feels like a quarter-life crisis is on the horizon. Perhaps I'll buddy up to some freshmen on campus and use their Dining Plus money to assault the dessert buffet at the Canon Center. That will never get old.