Why Vodka, you dirty little tramp

Oh, let's start off our day with some scuttlebutt. By the way, this post is Rated R.  

Have you seen this? 

This is one of five images from the new Skyy Sexy ad campaign and it has several people up in arms. From claims it is "porn-a-hol" to statements from people in the liquor industry asserting it is "over the top." (Because people in the liquor industry should definitely remark on alcohol advertising being over the top. Hey people in the liquor industry, I love your shiny glass house.)

Skyy Vodka is the best selling domestic vodka in the US. This new campaign is intended to reach a "new generation"  of vodka drinkers as well as loyal Skyy fans.

Appearing next month in mags like Cosmo, Maxim, Rolling Stone, let's assume there is a reason these ads won't be placed in WSJ, Time, or Laura Ingalls' This Month on the Prairie.

Says Andrea Conzonato, the COO/CMO of Skyy, these images have "the brand’s iconic cobalt blue bottle serving as the focal point of intrigue...and [the idea was] to fill each ad with striking images that open the mind to a million sexy possibilities, but always lead you back to our world-famous blue bottle.”

I don't really like or dislike the ad. Have I seen better ads? Yes. Have I seen worse ads? Yes. I will let you decide if you like it or not. 

While it may be provocative and edgy, here is what it is not: This ad, and the placement of the blue bottle in it are not the "focal point of intrigue." Focal point of intrigue? Come on now. Is that intriguing? Almost as intriguing as a certain videotape of Screech from Saved By the Bell. Oh, what is that Skyy Vodka? We are wrong? We believe this woman about to get down and dirty with that bottle Rock of Love style but really, they are just talking about their feelings and discussing china patterns? Oh, you prankster Skyy Vodka. You tricked us! That IS intriguing. Or, we were right the first time.  That is what you think is intriguing. Because people are OFTEN captivated by the mere illusion of a woman getting carnal with a glass bottle. PS: There is a reason this type of imagery doesn't have market share in the porn industry.

I also like the claim that the image "opens the mind to a million sexy possibilities." Hmmmm, one peek at that photo and I can think of just a few possibilities:

1. A latex bodysuit might sound like a good idea but I have a feeling it isn't. Even if you wished for one once, you probably don't own one. For a reason. Nor did you borrow one just to get photographed in it. 

2. Oh, and latex is hot, and not the good kind of hot either. My hands can't take more than five minutes in those bright yellow dish washing gloves.

3. That bottle seems gigantic. Ms. Red Latex must be one of those gals who has had 18 babies already.

4. Wow, I do like those red heels. 

While  Skyy Vodka also believes it "revolutionized" the vodka industry, the brand's ads also "served noticed vodka can not only be sophisticated, it could be playful, alluring and downright sexy."

I will be the first to say, this ad is not remotely sophisticated. In fact, a group of fraternity freshman likely conjure up that imagery on a weekly basis. Playful? If you think penetration by a element sixteen times the size of your torso is playful, you belong in the movie industry.  

And not the Pixar movie industry either. Alluring? Why Vodka, you dirty little tramp. That is not a bit alluring. I vote alluring out with intriguing.  And downright sexy? Oh, you are telling us sex sells? Really. We heard. From Hugh Hefner. About four decades ago. Downright sexy? Hmmmm, I have been known to have a sip or two extra of Skyy Vodka in the past and I am sure I thought I was all kinds of downright sexy. The tapes say otherwise. 

JUST KIDDING! I have no tapes but the photo of me with me hair piled on top of my head blowing smoke rings (and I don't smoke) proved that Skyy Vodka and I have no business being friends. 

Now, let's end our review of this apparent scandal with some G Rated Good News:

Who will be enjoying a Salsalicious Gift Set compliments of my friends at Salsabol?
Jenn @ You know..that blog and MommaAmma. Congrats! Superbowl Party at your houses! Maybe you can serve Skyy Vodka and make the Superbowl downright sexy.

Email me and I will put you in touch with the fab duo running that company. Enjoy!

No Dumping.

Last weekend, MiniMac and I hit the loop around our park for our traditional Saturday morning pre-sweltering fall day in Atlanta run. Because it is slightly cooler than the summer of 100+ degrees, there are many people out this particular morning. At one junction, there were more people on the sidewalk than passable so we had to slow down to a brief walk which was perfect for witnessing the following: A Mom, out walking with two adolescent kids, were heading the same direction we were. The son sees this sign posted down one stretch of the loop very near the river.

Upon seeing the sign, he exclaims, "How stupid is that. Like anyone would go to the river and take a dump."

His Mom, likely accustom to such things, merely said, "Trevor."
His sister, likely accustom to such things said, "Idiot, it means dumping trash or garbage. Not taking a dump." 
Trevor said, "Oh."

I said, " HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA."
I thought: That is hilarious, TREVOR. Maybe you need a dictionary. OR better yet, maybe Daniel Webster can be your new friend on Facebook.
And then I thought: HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA. Adolescent boys! You have to love them!
And then I thought: Oh &$%#@). My toddler will one day be an adolescent boy! Oh no! No time like the present to begin working on his vocab. And noting the difference between bodily functions and littering.

Trevor likely thought: I wonder why that woman is taking out her Blackberry and taking a photo of that stupid sign.
If so, I would then think: All the better to mock you with my dear! 

Give it away, give it away, give it away now....

There is an epidemic spreading. In our house, it is called FootballSeasonitus. It primarily inflicts my husband, the FootballWatchoSaurus. Now, I dig the sports. I promise you. I do not necessarily dig them being broadcast at great stretches of time, on picture in picture, or when games are anchored by hours of pre-game analysis, and hours of post-game analysis. But I do love sports, and I also love parties we throw around sporting events. SuperBowl? Come to my house. Not only do I have a new amazing recipe for buffalo chicken dip (by the way, a word pairing I don't care for: Buffalo Chicken BUT this dip will make a convert out of anyone.)

But I also have a new favorite gametime friend. The Salsabol. 

And the Salsabol? Simply super.

Salsabol is the creative and crafty idea from two sassy young entrepreneurs. Can't keep your salsa on your little flat tortilla chip? Salsabol is here to solve your problems. A uniquely designed bowl, it pushes that salsa back on the chip for you. One less thing for you to do that day, and it's cute.  Since chips and salsa are one of my all time favorite snacks, the Salsabol will be my new favorite guest at every party. And with the amazing homemade salsas and guac I make? (Wait, is that my own horn? TOOT TOOT.) But seriously, give it to me, baby. 

NOW, no need for me to brag about my fabulous new party accoutrement like I am splashing Margarita in your eye. I want to show you the love. How? By partnering with the fantastic duo of Michael and Tom to give away not one but TWO Simply Super Salsabol gift packs. 

How can you rock and 'bol? This easy. 

First, be a public follower and leave a comment. There. Your work is done. Wait, you are not a blogger but a blog reader? Leave a note on FB.

Want more love? You know I have some for you. 

Like LHAC on Facebook here (One entry)

Like Salsabol on Facebook here. (One entry)

Follow me on Twitter ( One entry)
Tweet about the giveaway (Daily for two entries per day. Let's spread the word for these boys.)

Could it be any easier? No, Chandler Bing, it could not.
Contest runs today through Wednesday 9.27.  Winners announced Thursday.

Winning is fun. Plus everyone just loves to say Salsa. Have a gorgeous weekend. 

Snack and Story

The last time I participated in a Snack and Story time was quite a distant spot from now. But I remember it well. The teachers who used multiple voices to bring characters to life were always the best loved storytellers. Someone's Mom would bring cupcakes or cookies and story time was a peak in the day. And also a great tool by which to keep children in line: misbehaving meant no story time for you.

I likely would not have even recalled Snack and Story times from yesteryear had one of our son's teachers not mentioned this activity in his classroom. Each week a parent is asked to bring a great book, treats for the kids, and spend 30 minutes with the munchkins.

Having a fairly limited schedule this time of year, I wanted to fit it in. MiniMac helped me make mini muffins the night before and must have told Daddy I was coming in for story time no less than a dozen times.

Often wondering how the teachers can possibly endure 14 toddlers at one time, I found that Snack and Story day brings out the very best in them. I read a book we were given by my Mom's doctor as a baby gift called Skippyjon Jones. It is fantastic.

As I read the book, all the kids sitting around me in a circle, with MiniMac on my lap I used different voices for all the characters, just like the best story-time readers did back when I was coming up.

14 faces mesmerized and captivated reminded me there was a time when something as simple, free, and easy as someone reading you a story was the best part of your kid day. And although it is far from a Golden Globe, the teachers told me I was the best parent story-reader. I will take that award.

And to be honest, seeing them so intently listening, and knowing exactly what that felt like, Snack and Story turned out to be the best part of my day too.

What is my excuse?

Let's kick off Monday with some good news. 

A 42 year old Frenchman swam across the English Channel this weekend. That fact alone is outstanding. Even as an athlete, swimming is not necessarily my gig. I can swim but have never swam 4 pool lengths, or across a lake, and most certainly not across the English Channel. But Philippe Croizon did and to that alone I say, "CHEERS!"

But, Philippe is not your ordinary man who likes to swim like a fish. Philippe is a quadriplegic. Sixteen years ago, he was electrocuted by a powerline and all of his limbs needed amputation. While in recovery, he saw a documentary about a swimmer crossing the Channel and suddenly, he had a new goal. 

So he trained for two years and finished the challenge only slightly slower than other athletes might. And he reported, dolphins swam along with him for a portion of the time.

The father of two said he wanted to complete the dare "for myself, my family and all my fellows in misfortune who have lost their taste for life".

Well, if that is not kick ass, I don't know what is. Bravo to you Philippe for not merely  completing the "dare" but also reminding us how incredibly important it is to have that taste for life.

So when you consider your own goals, do you need to dust them off a bit? Or are those goals pinned to the forefront of your life? Some of mine are pinned to the forefront but one goal is so dusty, I almost don't recognize it. Time to let it shine. Because if a man with no limbs can swim across the English Channel, what is my excuse?  

And thank you Philippe. You made my day. This is exactly the type of bad-assery I like the most.

Take A Bite Of: Linguine and Proscuitto Frittatas

Ahhhh....our last weekend in Florida. How can a work day appear to last indefinitely at times and yet vacation days are accelerated like a rapid succession of eye blinks. As we wrap up our fantastic week off, I am making brunch today. Here is a great recipe that is part of my menu. Ideal for the next time you want the perfect mouthful of meat, egg, and cheese. (And these are just as good sans meat.) From my kitchen to yours, enjoy every bite.  And have a gorgeous weekend.

Linguine and Proscuitto Frittatas

Ingredients
1/2 pound linguine pasta
7 large eggs
1/2 cup milk
1/4 cup cream
1/2 cup mascarpone cheese
6 ounces diced prosciutto
5 ounces smoked mozzarella cheese, diced (1 cup diced)
1/2 cup grated Asiago cheese
1/4 cup finely chopped fresh flat-leaf parsley
2 garlic cloves, minced
1 teaspoon salt
3/4 teaspoon freshly ground black pepper
1/8 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
Special equipment: 1 regular-sized muffin tin for 12 muffins

Directions
Bring a large pot of salted water to a boil over high heat. Add the pasta and cook until tender but still firm to the bite, stirring occasionally, about 8 to 10 minutes. Drain the pasta in a colander. While the pasta is still in the colander, use kitchen sheers to cut the linguine into smaller pieces. The pasta should measure about 3 cups.

Preheat the oven to 375 degrees F. Grease the muffin tin.

In a blender combine the eggs, milk, cream, and mascarpone cheese. Blend until well combined. Transfer the mixture to a large bowl. Add the cut pasta, prosciutto, mozzarella cheese, Asiago cheese, parsley, garlic, salt, pepper, and nutmeg. Stir until the ingredients are combined.

Using a 1/3 cup measure, fill each of the muffin tins until both the pasta and liquid are at the top. Bake until firm and cooked through, about 30 to 35 minutes. Let cool for 3 minutes before removing from the tin. Arrange on a serving platter and serve to the delight of all your family and friends. Oh, and maybe save a few for me.

Comments are off. Go feed yourselves.

Why I would suck as the VP of HR

Human Resources is either an asset or a challenge depending on where you work. We have friends who have long term careers in HR, and they are outstanding. I have also worked with some stellar HR departments. I have also witnessed HR tactics that should be called HM tactics. HM = Hot Mess. Outside of hiring, benefits, etc., I think HR is susceptible to a number of other responsibilities. Regardless, I would not be a great candidate for VP of HR. In fact, I would suck. There are many reasons and some I will highlight:

1. If I was the VP of HR, when someone got wasted to the point of sickness but not before they danced around singing "Come on ride the train" while slapping their own ass at the company holiday party, I would be required to keep it quiet and refrain from mocking. I would perhaps be responsible for scheduling a meeting which would include a gentle reprimand. I would NOT be allowed to include Wow, you are stupid while laughing uproariously. I would want to do that. 

2. When I found out individuals were engaged in clandestine behaviors with co-workers that included late night shenanigans and playing grab ass, especially when this individual is the one individual who loved to have late night shenanigans and play grab ass. Often. With a variety of co-workers,  I would be required to schedule a meeting which would include a gentle reprimand. I would NOT be allowed to include "what in the _____ were you thinking?!?!?!?!"  Or, WOW, you better rinse that thing off. That statement would be hard to resist.

3. If someone called or emailed me because they didn't like how loud people were talking in their cubicles I would have to listen for myself. And only if the talking was actually loud, or obnoxious, or full of things such as "And I was like... and then she was like....and I was all no way...and she was all WHATEVER"  would I even have a modicum of patience to listen to this complaint. And if the person complaining was also loud, which happens often, I would have to say something like "Let's all try to be patient with one another" instead of "You are a big baby."

4. If someone called or emailed me to tattle like "Did you know JennyMac has open-toed shoes on. AGAIN" or "Did you know that Trevor from Sales constantly drinks the coffee but never makes it" I would be required to say "I will make a note of that" instead of "Do NOT ever call me again."

5. If someone complained that the kitchen was a sty or that people were lazy and did not clean up the microwave after they use it, I would be required to say " I will leave a note reminding others that your Mom is not available to clean up after you" instead of the note I actually did write once that read: I am the tiny microwave. Why do you let your chili explode inside me? Why do you treat me so poorly? Why am I the Paris Hilton of microwaves, only pretty on the outside but super ugly on the inside? PS: Stop being *#^(@)# pigs.

6. If someone came into my office to inquire if it was permissible to blanket the entire staff through emails, phone calls, and memorandums in the break room to please buy my child's cookies/pies/wrapping paper/snowflake ornaments/magazine subscriptions I would have to assess that request. And then I would want to make a policy stating NO you can NOT do that. OR I would create a policy stating CERTAINLY BUT every single person that buys the paper/snowcone/magazine/cupholder/teddy bear from you that your child is actually supposed to be selling, obligates you to buy the same shat from them when it is their child's turn to sell it. 

7. When someone sent me their resume via email and included animated emoticons in their signature line, I would be required to say, gosh, that is not a good idea. If those animated emoticons were "hugs" and "kisses" I would be required to give that candidate a fair review. Instead, I would want to reply to that email with an emoticon representing NEVER but I did not even know there were animated emoticons therefore I don't know if this particular NEVER emoticon exists. Instead, because this exact scenario happened to me last week I opted to put it on my FB page filed under You Must Be Kidding and laugh about it all day.

8. When one of my fellow HR colleagues in a moment of Crazy (or VodkaSauce) sends a note out to an entire team of a department that is being dismantled and reabsorbed into another department that includes statements like "I know you are all feeling anxiety and highly insecure but this is going to be a super move!" I would want to email that colleague and state "As far as pep talks go, you SUCK!"

And then I realize that I would be the sucky pot calling the sucky kettle black. Exactly why I would suck as the VP of HR

I will stick to law. We can often say what we want. And get paid for it. Hallelujah!

Take A Bite Of: Cinnamon Sugar Doughnut Muffins

I know some of you just love the word doughnut. In any sentence. Here is a tasty treat I made tonight to pack up as we leave early in the morning for a seven day vacation. We are off to Florida for a week. Pool and cabanas,  here we come. Disney, here we come. Golf course, here we come. And I am going to (attempt a) break up with my Blackberry the entire time we are gone. Thankfully, I have one of the best employees of all time working for me which will make that BB break up much easier. But I shall be bringing my iPad for a couple of vacation based posts. In the interim, let's get our yummy on.

Perfect doughnut flavor but without the frying. Muffin anyone? From my kitchen to yours, enjoy every bite.

Cinnamon Sugar Doughnut Muffins

Ingredients:

2 cups flour (I used 1 cup all-purpose flour and 1 cup whole wheat flour)

1 Tbsp baking powder

½ tsp baking soda

½ tsp salt

1 tsp cinnamon

2 large eggs

1 cup low-fat vanilla yogurt

2/3 cup packed brown sugar

4 tbsp oil

1 tsp vanilla

Topping:

1/2 stick butter, melted

1/4 cup sugar

1 tsp cinnamon

Preheat oven to 400-degrees F. Line a standard muffin pan with paper cups. 

Directions:

Whisk flour, baking powder, baking soda salt, and cinnamon in a large bowl. In a separate bowl, whisk together eggs, yogurt, sugar, oil, and vanilla. Add flour mixture and mix with light strokes until the dry ingredients are just moistened. Do not overmix; batter will not be smooth.

Divide batter among the muffin cups and bake until a toothpick inserted in one or two of the muffins come out clean, 12-15 minutes.

While the muffins are baking, melt 1/2 stick butter and place in a bowl just large enough to hold a muffin. Combine ½ cup of sugar and 1 tsp. cinnamon in a small, shallow bowl.

As soon as the muffins are done, dip them one at a time in the melted butter and then roll in the sugar mixture. Set on a rack to cool.

Comments are off. Get to baking.

Into the wild

Chatting with my Dad (SD) one Saturday, we laughed about the first summer I spent in Alaska with he and my Mom, and the night he took me to one of the rowdiest bars in America to see Jimmy Buffett play. My mantra after that night: ALASKA! Into the wild! This will be crazy summer o' fun.

As mentioned before, the island in Alaska was long on ruggedness and short on college woman. After being there a few weeks, I was no longer perplexed at their renewed sense of protectiveness. The protectiveness that would be driven to extremes during my three month stint. Why, you ask? For reasons such as this:

One afternoon, while sitting in the car near the post office with my Mom, a woolly bully man with a large beard and overalls approached my Mom's SUV to say hello. She introduced us and within seconds, he leaned around her and asked me to dinner. 

Did you request a date in front of my Mom? You have a beard!!! I don't turn 19 for weeks. I stammer out a y-y-yes, I guess so. My Mom was caught between laughing at my discomfort and cringing at her own. I had been in Alaska for less than two weeks. My parents preferred a 50 foot electrical fence around me at all times that nary a man on the island could cross. Why? Not because they were not wonderful men I am sure. But because put a baby chicken in a panther den and watch what happens.

However, my Mom knew this man and considered him nice. Hence the implied permission I could go. Did I need permission? Yes. Why? Because a few other men who asked received this response from my Dad Not a chance in hell or NEVER. Later, my Mom seemed to find the earlier scenario quite delightful as she relayed it to my Dad. Turns out, my dinner date was only 25. All that rugged air and beard just made him look a touch older (by touch I mean 20 years.) My Dad knew him as well and agreed  he was a nice young man.

My Date: He picked me up at my parents house. In his jeep and toting a very large and adorable dog. Once inside the jeep, he asks if I don't have some Carhartts I could wear. I say no because at that juncture, I am unfamiliar with Carhartts. He laughs and points to his goldeny-brown one piece jumpsuit made of teflon. These are Carhartts! Ahhhh. No, I don't have those.

Then, this yellow lab, Boomer, climbs up front and begins licking his face. Boomer clambers into the small space between him and me. Doggie face pointed towards owner. Rest of doggie pointed towards me. Precious doggie then farts. Basically right in my face. Dinner date laughs and laughs and laughs. Guess why he is named Boomer?!?!?!?! Now you know.

Is this a good time to remind or refresh that I am not in the "fart joke = hahaha" club. Several people in my family are on the Board of Directors of such club. I am the one picketing outside. I subscribe more to the theory of "if it originated in an orifice, it might not be that funny." So as I am now squeamishly uncomfortable in this small fart-laden space with a gassy pet and a cackling dog owner. I take little comfort knowing my Mom will laugh hysterically at this anecdote.

At dinner, we struggle with conversation. I believe I can chatter with anyone. Not tonight. He asks of my post-college plans. I indicate law school is my focus. He then tells me I would like his brother, who is going to Princeton. Way to sell yourself! But his brother wants to be an attorney too. His brother does not own Carhartts either. This conversation flows like mud through a straw. On the drive home, I am treated to an additional blast by Boomer.

He was very nice but there was really no need for goodnight kisses.  

I change my previous mantra to: ALASKA! Not the wild I had in mind! This will be crazy summer o' fun except when on a date and a man's dog farted. In your face. When is summer over????

Upon relaying the story to my parents, the portion involving Boomer being their favorite, my Dad exclaims enthusiastically, "Good! And I will suggest NO more dates! But, perhaps you should get his brother's phone number."

If your carrot took steroids

A gardener and grandfather in England made a startling discovery this weekend. While digging in his vegetable patch, he found this:

Wait a minute, have you been secretly ingesting some performance enhancing drugs, Mr. Carrot? Oh you would never do that?  You are not the A-Rod of the root vegetable family?

The man ran into his house and showed his three grandchildren. He decided to have a contest in which they had to guess what this carrot resembled.

 
Wait, I want to be in that contest. I guess: Brock Lesnar. No? Then what about Lou Ferrigno?  Wrong again?  Just kidding sir. I knew all along it was Snookie from Jersey Shore. 

 
Wait. What? Your grandkids won because each of them made the correct guess? Oh, they said Buzz Lightyear? Alright. Considering that I have seen Buzz Lightyear more in the past year than in three previous decades, I should have made that connection. (But I am still giving Snookie as my final answer.)

PS: No real New Jerseyans were hurt OR taken advantage of in the making of this vegetable.

UB40 was on to something...

Red red wine you make me feel so fine. You keep me rocking all of the time.

As I previously shared red wine has long been considered heart-healthy. With its antioxidants, flavonoids, and resveratrol, a glass of red wine a day is believed to reduce the risk of coronary heart disease and improve overall cardiovascular health. And of course, I firmly believe red wine can erase the black marks upon your day from traffic, annoying coworkers, or your child shouting DADDDY DAAAAAAAADY like mine does which sometimes sounds (and painfully I  might add) like Whitney Houston.

I also shared according to The Journal of Sexual Medicine, women who drink red wine get frisky more often than woman who drink other types of alcohol or do not drink at all. The study involved over 800 women and the verdict was women who drink up to two glasses of red wine a day are more likely to unleash their inner vixen. Meow. I have allegedly put this theory to the test. Results are under lock and key.

However, I read several new interesting facts in the news this weekend about this very topic. 

First, I read too much red wine lowers inhibitions. Really? WOW. That is pure genius. Which organization led this research? Oh, the National College Fraternity Council? Or the U.S. Mens' Rugby Association? Well done.  PS: You know who already knows this? Everyone. Especially anyone who has consumed red wine. Especially those who were inflicted with the one glass too many bug and ended up doing the merengue. In a crowded bar. On top of a table. Without any music. 

This is not one of the new facts I learned. 

UB40 was onto something, yes? Penning the praises of red wine. They had no idea. And who has not sang this song a time or two? But hopefully not in a crowded bar. On top of a table. Without any music.


I also learned according to a study by Dutch researchers, wine significantly increases the life expectancy. People who drink a glass of wine a day will live 3.8 years longer than people who do not get used to it.

And wine diminishes memory problems and even risk of Alzheimer’s disease in a proportion of 80%. This is because wine prevents clots and reduce blood vessel inflammation, which favors the loss of memory problems.
 
And perhaps most compelling was that according to a 13 year study of 20,000 women recently released by Brigham and Women's Hospital in Boston, consuming 1.5 - 3 glasses of red wine every day may also prevent excess weight gain through adulthood. 

HOLD ON: So red wine can help you: Improve your heart health, unleash your inner sex kitten, live longer, AND potentially avoid excess weight gain? So your skinny, sassy, both old enough and healthy enough to enjoy it? Count. me. in.

So pour yourself some cabernet and remember, it is part of your beauty regime!

OH, and red diminishes memory problems? Fantastic. We all knew it was dirty Tequila that causes memory problems anyway but when witnessing the consumption of Tequila, it has been my discovery, people engage in behavior they perhaps are better served not being able to recall. 

Love

I love love.  I love the way it can sneak up gently. Graze your skin like the wind. Or ignite you as if you slid slowly down a plume of fire. The way it makes you smile unexpectedly because you think of something said to you, or the way someone reached across the table and brushed the hair out of your eyes.  I love how love can make you suddenly put on perfume everyday, wear red lipstick, or check email more often and certainly more earnestly than normal. I love how love can make you buoyant. Make you dance. Give you swagger. Make us giggle. I love how love can make you suddenly declare this is our song or create a personal mental memorial to a certain bench at a certain park. I love how it can make us take ourselves less seriously. Open our hearts.  See the world through a lens of everything is possible.

I love love and I was smitten with you, JMac, from the initial conversation.

The photo of us snapped the night we got engaged demonstrates without a doubt, one of those moments when your heart gets completely entangled and the outcome of that entanglement shines through your countenance. 

Marriage is the piece of my life in which I strive the hardest to be successful. And I should. And I hope I always do. We have learned a significant amount about each other, and ourselves, as well as how hard and how easy marriage can be.  

And from the beginning to the day we stood in front of our families and closest friends, we promised to fully participate in this relationship. To strive to really see one another. To never assume we know everything about each other.

It is about sharing our lives without losing ourselves. To listen when we are chock full of opinions. To be kinder than a busy day, a monstrous workload, the terrible traffic tells us we need to be. To be amiable. To smile. And sometimes, it is just as simple as being a smart ass when a situation needs levity. And not being a smart ass when the situation won't be improved by it.

And it is about living fully, experiencing everything we can, laughing (including laughing at ourselves at times), and being adaptable when in fact, we don't always want to be. And not only are we doing our best, our best gets better every year. And I appreciate we spend a great bit of time trying to make things easier for one another. 

And I promised you I would treat your love in my life as a gift. And I hope you have felt truth in such a sentiment. I strive to live like that because I never want to consider our relationship in retrospect and think, Wow, we perpetually took that for granted. Nor do I want to one day sit across from you and ask ourselves, what happened to us?

You have given me perspective, support, love, patience, and inarguably one of the coolest children on Earth.

My entire life made a significant gain the day we met. I didn't think a thing was missing until that very first week we dated when we recognized a simple encounter would entirely change the course of our lives.

And every day I get to wake up and love you, I am grateful. 
I am so happy you asked. I am so glad I said yes. Happy Anniversary. I look forward to celebrating this weekend.