Donkeys and Elephants: A Love Story

In light of recent propaganda surrounding the newly-passed health care bill, I give you the story of a forbidden love between a Democrat and a Republican. Two households, both alike in dignity...

I was raised in a conservative Christian home by conservative Republican parents who did their best to instill in me a strong sense of family values and personal responsibility. Hats off to you, Mom, and Dad. You did a great job.

Six years ago, I brought home a boy named Jeff. He was handsome, Godly, musically gifted, a lover of children and animals and me, everything I could ask for. My parents prepared the standard Fowler family spaghetti dinner. My dad told the story about how he made a hole in one the first time he played golf in 8th grade and walked away from the game because it was "too easy". Everything was going smoothly...UNTIL

Dad: So, Jeff. We might as well get down to it. Are you a Republican or a Democrat?

Jeff (innocently): Democrat

Me: Dad! I didn't know. Really! Oh my gosh! I'm so sorry!

Mom: Really Jeff? Are your parents Democrats as well?

Jeff (sensing impending doom): um... y..yes

Me: Honestly guys, I had no idea. We really haven't been dating that long. His family is so nice. I mean they're Christians! I just assumed...

That night, I knew what needed to happen. My relationship with Jeff, wonderful though it was, would have to end. He was a tree-hugging baby killer.

Ironically, that night Jeff was making the same decision I was. How could he continue in a relationship with a gay-hating war-starter?

After a VERY long conversation and way too many Sonic Cheddar Poppers, we came to the conclusion that neither of us really lived up to the others negative assumptions. We decided to temporarily call off the break-up. Then we made out.

Six years later we are a happily married, politically moderate, couple, and our families get along just fine (as long as no one mentions Obama or gay/lesbian representation in movies).

Tax Returns and Pipe Dreams

Our tax return came in the mail today, and we were pleased to discover that it was significantly more than we figured when we filed. I don't know why or how, but I'm not arguing with the IRS on this one. We are so excited.

We decided that we would each make a list of 5 things we wanted to spend the money on and then compare.

Jeff's List

1. Pimp out the Malibu with some custom paint and 24 inch rims.

2. Buy the fancy 2 ply quilted toilet paper

3. Order a 20oz steak at Tahoe Joe's

4. Buy a pipe, walk around with it, and refer to everyone as "My good man" in a British accent

5. Buy a suit of armor

Becky's List

1. Have laser hair removal done on my armpits

2. Learn Kung Fu

3. Buy these boots and wear them on a night out with Jeff's parents

4. Invest in emerging markets (Just kidding!)

5. Buy one of those IRoomba vacuum robots. Glue googly eyes on it, and give it a fun name like "Vac Attack"

We'll probably pay off bills and save for summer, but it really would be nice to own a suit of armor and gold plated boots one day. That's when we'll know we've made it.

"Fifi" and Other Unfortunate Monikers

Went thumbing through and old journal of mine today. I wrote in it periodically from ages 12-17. That's an interesting (and by interesting, I mean hormonally charged) time in the life of a girl.

Yes, I named my journal "FiFi", but in my defense, it was after a WWII B-29 Bomber. I know, thats not really a defense.

When I was twelve, I wrote five full pages about the various prey my cat left on the back porch (mostly gofers). At thirteen, I wrote about how evil my parents were and how readily I was awaiting the sweet release of my eventual death (pretty sure that was right after I "became a woman"). When I was fourteen, I wrote about my friends and copied recipes from the anarchist cookbook (Yes, I have the recipe for napalm. No, I will not give it to you). When I was sixteen, I wrote about boys, well, one boy. Apparently he was the end-all, be-all, only thing I would ever need for eternity...poor guy.

The most entertaining entry was a list of potential child names. And so I present, without further ado:

15-Year-Old Becky's Future Child Monikers

For a girl:

Harmony Bloom

Rosemary Harp

Teardrop Shine

Meadow Lark

Winter Bright


For a boy:

Ransom Byrd

Hansel Skye

Christian Glass

Collin North

Bracken Carter

YIKES! Is it just me, or do all these sound like great names for emo bands?

Got Busted by the Fresheazy

I have to admit that Jeff and I frequently patronize the Fresh and Easy down the street. Every time we visit, we make a point of parking in the "Hybrid Only" or "Family Only" parking spots in spite of the fact that we both drive 10+ year old gas guzzlers and have zero kids. We do it because we don't think it's fair that we should have to walk farther to the store simply because we can't afford cars that aren't old, and I don't feel inclined to give birth at this time.

Today as I was leaving with my merchandise, the store manager, Ramon (I rrrrroll my "R" when I say it) confronted me about my vehicle.

RRRRRamon: "Excuse me , Mam. I noticed that You're Parrrrrrked in the Hybrrrrid only spot."

Me: "Yessiree. Is there a problem?"

RRRRRamon: "Well your vehicle doesn't appearrrrr to be a hybrrrrrid."

Me: "Oh, it's been converted to run on water. I'd lift the hood and show you, but I'm in kind of a hurry. I've got a Greenpeace meeting in like ten minutes."

RRRRRamon: I think that you are pulling my leg. (Who says that?!) Please, in the future, parrrrk your vehicle (what he meant to say was "gas guzzling ghettotank") elsewhere, Mam.

Me: "What is this world coming to when a young woman is forced by her local market to park in the back of the parking lot simply because she is poor and childless? Goodbye, Rrrrramon. Goodbye FORRRREVERRR!"

Ratio Intolerance

It's a problem I've had since I was a child. Whenever I got a bag of M&Ms or Skittles, I immediately dumped them all out and separated them into piles by color. Then I would even out the piles by eating the extras. After I had perfectly even piles, I would eat one from each pile (in rainbow order), always careful to maintain an even ratio, until all the candy was gone. I've done this for as long as I can remember, and it never seemed strange to me until I met Rick.

Rick requested that I bring a meat, cheese, and cracker tray to our small group one week. I did, and in true Becky form, there was a perfect ratio of 1 meat:1 cheese: 1 cracker. That's just good sense, right? But then Rick did the unthinkable. He made a sandwich! (cracker/meat/cheese/cracker) I didn't want to make a big deal about it, so I quickly scarfed down a piece of meat and a piece of cheese. "There", I thought, "All fixed". Then he did it again, and he wasn't the only one! I sat there all evening keeping a mental tally and trying to eat up the difference. Needless to say, by the end of the night, I was sick, and my small group was more than a little concerned.
What is wrong with me?

Attack of the Killer Tail

I brought Bug home as a three-week-old kitten
with every intention of finding her a good home
somewhere else. When our other other cat, Ellie, started carrying her around the house in her mouth and bathing her, we knew she was destined to stay. She was so adorable. We had no idea she would grow up to be the mentally unstable cat that she has since become.



This wasn't just a one-time thing that we happened to get on camera. Bug does this ALL DAY.

Jeff identifies with her a little. After
all, his mom did have to take the tail off of his Halloween costume when he was a kid. Why? Because it was super scary! Duh! Thank God nobody ever told him that lizard tails grow back.

Date Night Gone Awry

My dentist appointment for today got rescheduled. Whew! Glad I dodged THAT bullet! To celebrate, Jeff and I decided to go see "Alice in Wonderland". Let me preface this story by saying 1. That we are HUGE Johnny Depp fans, and 2. That Tim Burton friggin rocks.

That being said, I was mildly disturbed by Johnny's performance in this particular film. For starters, I could hardly understand anything he said the whole movie. Also I felt that he really didn't have much to work with character-wise. Come on Mr. Burton, you have one of the most brilliant character actors in the world at your disposal, and his crowning moment in your movie is a CGI-enhanced version of the hokey-pokey. Disappointing.

It wasn't all bad though. Here is the bullet list of Wonderland awesomeness:

• Costume Design
• Set Design
• The Queen of Heart's Big Fat Head
• The Cheshire Cat
• The trademark Tim Burton Forest
• Danny Elfman's Music
  
  Jeff pointed out that if Johnny Depp and I ever got together and had kids (fingers crossed), they would probably look something like this:

So after the movie, Jeff and I headed off to our favorite budget-friendly non-fast-food restaurant, Coconut Joe's. The second we walked in the door, we could tell by the faces of the other customers that something was horribly wrong, and then we heard it - the unmistakable sound of poorly amplified acoustic guitars mixed with the slightly off-pitch wailings of two 16 year-old boys. Our sunny, island-themed dinner destination was completely hidden in a dense fog of teenage angst. How did this happen?

Well, we were really hungry, so we decided to stick it out. Our server informed us that the live "music" was a new thing the restaurant was trying out and asked us how we liked it. Our response: "We never thought we could miss Don Ho so much!"

Twilight and Fitness

Okay, so I have to confess. I'm reading the Twilight series. It started as a bet, and before I knew it, I was a little hooked. I don't have posters on my wall or a t-shirt that says "Team Edward" (I'm totally for Team Jacob!), but I've definitely become a fan. Last week I finished reading "New Moon", and decided that I wanted to see the movie. So after and entire day of pleading and bargaining, I managed to get Jeff to not only see the movie with me, but to go to the dreaded Dollar Theater on a Friday night. The movie was okay, about as good as the book. I do have to say, however, that when I read the book, my imagination did not do Jacob justice.

When we got home, I asked Jeff what he thought of the movie.


"It was stupid! Bella is annoying. Why would she go for the pale scrawny fickle vampire, when she could have Jacob, who is HOT?! By the way, do you think I should start working out?"

Fast forward a couple days. Jeff and I are being couch potatoes while watching an infomercial for P90X. Why is that always the only thing on? Apparently, if we have $120 and 90 days, we can look like this:

This may just be the total body makeover we've been waiting (since Friday) for. We're totally ordering it.

How Jeff Won

So I'm pretty sure that my only readers so far are my mother and my sister. In light of this sad truth (sorry Mom and Laurel), I'll keep this story delightfully PG.

I should preface this with the fact that Jeff rarely wins. When he does, I tend to pay heavily. I think its happened twice since we've been married.

This afternoon I asked Jeff what he wanted for dinner, and he suggested that we barbecue. It was a great idea, but I pointed out to him that we were out of charcoal. I knew this because I used the last of it last week. In a rather bold and uncharacteristic manner, Jeff protested.

"No, we have charcoal under the BBQ"

I knew that the empty bag was sitting there, so I told him to go out and look. If he found charcoal, I would um...do something that he really likes. ;-)

However, if the charcoal was gone, he would give me a 30 minute foot rub. (It's been a while since my last pedicure, so Jeff was taking quite a risk, or so I thought.)

Jeff readily agreed to the wager, and headed out the back door to prove me wrong. I sat in the living room waiting to hear the token expletive that would mark the moment of my victory. It never came. Instead, in marched my husband triumphantly holding our little grey cat ,"Charcoal", who often sleeps under the BBQ. Damn!