(The key thing to remember here is that I’m not a dog person. At all. Yet they always try to convert me.)

Jesse and I decided we needed a picture of the two of us since we essentially only have wedding pictures.

We took a few because I’m notorious for having closed eyes. This is the one where Kristin told him to “make a happy face”.

I decided it looked a bit Awkward Family Photoish and further decided that it would be hilarious if we posed Awkward Family Photo style (as you can tell, I excel at keeping a straight face).

Megan’s dog then decided to attack me.

In the face.

Twice.

Luckily, I had my husband there to save me from certain death. Oh, wait. That’s him laughing hysterically instead of protecting me from certain death? Right.

Welcome to 2012: The Year of The Divorce.

What? That’s not how resolutions work? Wrong. That’s exactly how resolutions work. Because resolutions are like wishes (which, as we all know, are for punks and losers).

Here’s how the average resolution goes down: You spend the last week of the year making a list of all the changes you want to make in your life – lose weight, eat better, work out more, get a new job, get a pet squirrel, clean out your closet twice a year, cut down on the dumpster eating, volunteer with children, volunteer with old people, volunteer with squirrels, win the lottery, start playing the lottery (your list is lengthy and slightly ridiculous because it’s the last week of the year, and you have nothing better to do than make a slightly ridiculous lengthy list). Then New Year’s Day comes around and you tell yourself you’ll get started on the list tomorrow because after all, today is a holiday! Tomorrow shows up and you’re still hung over (you should probably consider adding “drink less” to your list) so you put the list off until tomorrow. And the next thing you know, it’s the last week of the year, and you haven’t accomplished anything on your list. Why? Because resolutions are like wishes. (Take notes, people.)

And that, kids, is why I prefer New Year Goals. Goals are more attainable. Why? Because you can make a vision board (or wall depending on the lack of construction paper in your life)! An entire board (or wall) filled with pictures and Word Art of the things you want to accomplish in the new year is hard to ignore. You can’t just walk past a picture of you holding a squirrel without thinking just how much better your life would be if you had one of your own to dress like a pirate for Halloween. It keeps you on track so that at the end of the year, you finally have something to show for yourself. Even if it’s only a Photoshopped picture of you holding a pirate squirrel.

Household Appliances According to Yahoo, no woman (or man) wants to feel like they’re nothing more than the maid service or cook, and therefore, you should never ever under any circumstances give a vacuum or Kitchen Aid mixer as a gift. I disagree (with the never ever gift a vacuum or Kitchen Aid mixer part – I am in no way shape or form saying it’s okay to make anyone feel like the maid or cook). I was ecstatic the year I got a vacuum for my birthday, and I would be elated if I received a Kitchen Aid mixer (as long as it’s red). I would pick that box up, do a happy dance around the living room, declare it the best Christmas ever, make a list of what to make with it, and dispose of my dishes in order to give it a home. But I also realize not everyone would have that reaction. So here’s the bottom line on this category – don’t go for it out of desperation. Go for it because a) they asked for it or b) you know the reaction would match mine.

A Pet Yeahhhhh. . .Yahoo got this one right. Don’t ever get someone a pet for a gift. Ever. And if you do, don’t be surprised if it’s regifted to you in the next 5 minutes.

Jewelry from TV Commercials I half agree with this. Granted most women don’t want a necklace that half the women of the world have and will only remind them of some super cheesy TV spot. But at the same time, choosing something from Etsy can be a crapshoot. Plus, what girl’s going to turn down diamonds? Bottom line – go to Helzberg. Preferably the one in Joplin. And look for the redhead. (Okay, I may not be able to give an entirely unbiased opinion on this one.)

Gift Baskets If you bestow me with a basket of chocolate or wine, I will be your new best friend. If, however, you force a basket full of sausage and cheese on me, I will hate you for life. Choose wisely.

A Sweater No, Yahoo, no. I would much rather get a sweater than a pair of gloves. I’m way more particular about my gloves than I am about my sweaters. I would, however, appreciate a gift receipt with either.

Credit Card Gift Cards Oh, Yahoo. Did you even do your research? Here’s how buying something that costs more than what’s on the card works: you swipe the gift card, then pay the remaining balance with cash, debit card, or credit card (never a check because this is 2011). It’s really not that difficult of a process. I know because I’ve done it. I do, however, agree that it’s a bad gift. But that’s just because well, it’s a gift card. And gift cards say nothing more than, “I didn’t really feel like putting any thought or effort into finding you a gift so here!”

Lingerie The only thing Yahoo got wrong here is “the gift is as much for you as it is for her”. No. This gift is all for you. No respectable woman wants lingerie for Christmas.

So there you have it, kids. 7 gifts that won’t ruin Christmas despite what Yahoo tells you. Well, actually 5 gifts. I stand behind them on the puppy and lingerie. And no, puppy  lingerie is not an acceptable option either.

What’s not so understandable, however, is how he thought it would ever be acceptable to take the last two crescent rolls for lunch. That’s right. There were two left, and he took both of them. Never mind that there were at least two bowls of soup left (for which the crescent rolls were made), and I would obviously be having a bowl for my lunch. Maybe it was retaliation for telling him he ruined Christmas, but I think the root of this issue lies in the fact that I have married an inconsiderate food whore.

What’s that? You think that’s a little harsh? I suppose you’re right. Or you would be if this was an isolated incident. But it’s not. Sun Chips, graham crackers, rice cakes, cereal, chocolate – anything that I put in the pantry is half, if not all the way, gone by the time I get to it. And what response do I get from the culprit? “Heh heh sucka!” (Still feel sorry for him? Well then I feel sorry for you. Because clearly you have deep moral character flaws and are most likely a Cubs fan in love with Brett Favre.)

Now, I never wanted to be one of those wives, but I really don’t see how I have any other choice at this point – I’m going to have to hide the good stuff. That’s right. The chocolate, the rice cakes, the chocolate, the Sun Chips, the chocolate. . .it’s all going to find a new home in a yet to be determined hidey hole. It’s the only way to keep my strength up to shake those Christmas presents.

I’ve ranted about Thanksgiving (my favorite holiday in the history of holidays) being overshadowed every year, so I’ll spare you another one this year and instead, leave you with one more piece of artwork. (I also encourage you all to become filthy rich and frequent Nordstrom’s. Maybe even shop there exclusively.)

I’ll start with this statement: Jesse worries about me. A lot. Mostly my sanity. Because apparently the conversations that happen in my life aren’t exactly considered “normal human interaction”.

Exhibit A: Text from my sister

Her:

RAPTOR BABY!!!!

Me: What the crap???

Her: Hahah I google imaged baby raptor and that came up!

Me: It’s rather disturbing. Why is it all bloody?

Her: It’s called embryonic fluid. You had it on you too when you emerged.

Me: I know, but it’s sick nasty and not meant to be seen by humans.

Her: Well now you’ve seen it and your eyes are tainted.

Me: You’ve ruined me.

Exhibit B: Text from my mom

Her: Papa and I saw this ghoul on a cow yesterday.

Me: I never get to see anything good. L

Exhibit C: Text from the best friend

Me: Watching Real Housewives and eating snickerdoodles while my uterus tries to escape. Don’t judge me.

Her: No judgement. What rh is it? I just got done watching My Little Pony while “playing” with 2 of my little ponies I found. Don’t judge me. I like braiding their hair.

So as you can see, he may or may not be warranted in his worrying. BUT allow me to introduce. . . .

Exhibit D: Text from the husband

Him: If you’re sick, then I’m going to kick your butt for being “Little Miss I’m Stronger Than Death”.

Me: Will you make me a sash that says that?
Him: Yes.

Me: Yessssssssssss! Ima do my hair in an updo to accept it.

Him: A poofy updo? I’ll have a parade in your honor. You’ll get to ride in a car-truck.

Me: Best. Day. Ever.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why he no longer gets to worry about me. He may, however, worry about himself since it would appear that I have, in fact, brought him down with me.

We were eating dinner and talking about whatever it is we talk about when he broke out the, “I still want to know what a daylight donut is” line. Again. For the millionth time.

Jesse: I still want to know what a daylight donut is.

Me: OMG who cares?!?!? Freaking let it go already!

Jesse: No, seriously. What’s a daylight donut? We have Dude’s Daylight Donuts, Smiley’s Daylight Donuts. All the donut places here are daylight donuts.

Me: It’s not Smiley’s Daylight Donuts. It’s just Smiley’s Donuts.

Jesse: No, I saw the sign. It’s Smiley’s Daylight Donuts.

Me: I saw the production order and listened to the spots – it’s just Smiley’s Donuts.

Jesse: No, it’s Smiley’s Daylight Donuts. And it’s a Daylight Donuts over by Gusano’s. What the hell’s a daylight donut?!?!?

Me: It’s probably just a chain like Dunkin’ Donuts but they let you put your name in front of it! Let it go! Move on with your life! I don’t want to hear about the freaking daylight donuts anymore!

At this point, he stood up and essentially threw a plate on the counter. There may or may not have been more yelling followed by me storming out of the kitchen and into the living room. (Which would be a lot more effective if you couldn’t see the living room from the kitchen. Clearly we need a bigger dwelling place.)

There was about 10 to 15 minutes of silence as I sat on the couch and fumed while he did the dishes and fumed. Then he came over to the couch, gave me a hug, and we both apologized. Of course, a fight isn’t truly over until you dance in the living room to your first dance song and Let Me Ride That Donkey by 69 Boyz. I really hope our walls aren’t thin.

(And because I know the curiosity is killing you, Daylight Donuts is a franchise based out of Tulsa. It was started by the Day family who developed a lighter donut recipe – hence the name. Also, I was right – it’s just Smiley’s Donuts.)

I know what you’re thinking – that I’m crazy. I mean, I look like I’m 12 and get carded when I come within a mile of the liquor aisle. But let’s be real. I’ll be 28 in a month and two days. Twenty. Eight. That’s essentially 30 (which I’m pretty sure will involve a full on meltdown and an entire pan of brownies). And I don’t care what they say – 30 is *not* the new 20.

When I was 20, I could not watch HGTV for hours. When I was 20, I wasn’t wishing there was a radio station that played everything from when I was in high school. When I was 20, I didn’t think homemade pizza and Netflix constituted a good Saturday night. And I certainly didn’t call sleeping until 8:30 in the am on Saturday “sleeping in”.

And now, here I sit listening to my Backstreet Boys Pandora radio station bemoaning the fact that there’s no TV in my office which means I’m missing the House Hunters marathon. Sad? Yes. Even sadder? Not only do I call sleeping until 8:30 sleeping in, I get kind of mad if I sleep later than that. I mean, that blows half your day by the time you get out of the shower and get dressed. Not to mention the Farmer’s Market closes at noon.

And from what I hear, it only gets worse. Before you know it, I’ll be calling college students “kids” and asking my nieces, “Do kids still watch cartoons these days?” Luckily, I have my fiancé to pave the way. And to pick out my blue hair dye.

I drove up to my sister’s one weekend and since this was life before the tornado, I was driving Jesse’s car (for some reason, he never trusted my beloved Millicent to not die on me – despite the fact that I hadn’t had an issue since learning to always make sure the coolant cap is on). There was a lot going on during that road trip – I somehow ended up going the wrong way on 70 in St. Louis and had to magically find my way back, it was dark and raining/storming from St. Louis on, there was fresh crime scene tape and lots of police cars 2 blocks from my sister’s house, there was someone tailgating me while I was trying to investigate said crime scene. So it’s understandable that when I pulled into her driveway, I may have driven into the weird driveway curb and hit the horn (I like to announce my arrival so no one’s caught off guard). Obviously I was going to tell Jesse about this little incident. I mean, who just keeps quiet and hopes the person doesn’t notice? But I forgot. Legit forgot. Like I said, there was a lot going on.

So flash forward a few months to Jesse and I taking the trash to the trash hole (we like to share experiences). We were walking back to our apartment when he noticed what may have been a slightly dinged up rim. And it was clearly slightly dinged because it took him this long to notice it. So I told him what happened, including all the events of the road trip, annnnnnd. . .he didn’t get mad. At all. He checked to make sure nothing else had been dinged or dented, and that was it. We moved on with our lives.

Whaaaaaaaaaa???

I would have freaked out. Sentences like, “How could you do this to me?!?” and “Why do you hate my car?!?” would have been thrown in his general direction. But not him. He mostly just laughed at me. And that, kids, is why I’m marrying him. Because he lets me be the one who overreacts reacts appropriately at all times. That and he doesn’t get mad when I compare him to a monkey.

1. Everything will take longer than you think it will. As in a month and a half on an air mattress, a month for cable and internet to be installed, and who knows how long for your new dwelling to not look like it’s inhabited by squatters.

2.  Sleeping on an air mattress isn’t terribly horrible – until it decides deflating by 2 in the am is a fun game to play on a nightly basis.

3. Measure your new rooms before buying new furniture.

4. Nightstands make excellent living room tables. (See #3)

5.  People you’ve never met will give you everything from socks to money. It will be beyond overwhelming and you’ll feel guilty about accepting any of it. Swallow your pride and accept it anyway – you really can use it and it makes them feel better about having found a way to help.

6. At some point, you’ll want to punch everything from the tornado to the insurance company. But once the insurance company gives you a check, you’ll calm down considerably.

7. Your fiancé will insist on upgrading from a 32” TV to a 40” TV because, “It’s cheaper than the old one.” No, no it’s not. But you’ll agree anyway because he spent 5 hours building the TV stand you picked out.

8. Every day you’ll think of an item you’ve lost and become slightly distraught. Unless it’s your flask. Then you’ll become fully distraught. Even though you never once used it. (It had a little funnel and everything!)

9. Your lack of TV access will make you unaware that the entire world is riveted to the latest news coming from your town. It will also make you unaware that famous people like Brian Williams are in town. Your coworkers, however, will have all the luck and encounter Al Roker in Subway and get a dirty look after taking his picture.

10. You’ll get the chance to tell said coworkers to suck it after you spend a few hours hanging out with the TIV crew and signing releases for Discovery Channel’s Storm Chasers. No big deal.

11. You may feel like an outsider before the tornado, but you’ll forever feel like a local after.