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)
D. ASLEEP UNDER THE BED!!?!?!??

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...

...YOU HAVE NO OTHER OPTIONS.

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't...really...win 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!















Crescer
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:
OH. HONEY. NO.
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.
8. MOVE OUT OF LA

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 do...it 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 thinking...my 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.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Hi! Oh Heyyyyy!

K. So the SloanMan and I are back from Memphis. I loved it and I already miss the babies/humidity/family/food/general delight of being home.

I'd like to applaud the Rehder men and the gene which, imbedded in them, manifested itself this past week as the driving gene. It enabled 48 hours of driving completed only by Father-in-Law Ed and Husband Sloan while Pam and I lounged/napped/complained about the temperature/read roadsigns aloud for no apparent reason in the back seat. Good job, men!

Also, my ever-so-talented Sarah gave me the photos she took from our Seattle nuptiuals. They look AWESOME. They're all on Facebook, but here's a sampling:



Good work, Sarah, I'm happy that you're the mother of my niece and nephews (partially because you are a fine, upstanding woman...but mostly because of your photography talents).

OH YEAH, ALSO, I got a new job! It may or may not be as a technical writer for Symantec Corporation. Hint: it is. Hooray! Movin on up!