Fate is all up in my bizness

Gargamel is even more evil than I thought!

My day was a miserable one, right from the part where I woke up nearly 45 minutes late onward.  It was just a mess of a day, so when I looked down at my phone and saw the name of my girly doctor's office on the caller ID when my appointment was only a couple hours away I knew they couldn't be calling to confirm.

Nope, Gargamel somehow, from the confines of my poor, poor uterus, managed to make the doctor sick and cut out early today.

Seriously.

Well, the doctor DID get sick, and DID have to go home early.  I chose, however realistically you may find it, to believe that Gargamel is somehow responsible for this.  Gargamel's new date of death is Thursday, fingers crossed!

But, let's try for something happy, just to spite the evil little piece of plastic!

Nine years ago I met my husband!  Yup, nine years ago today the Bunyan and I met, and it was a meeting that was entirely contrived by completely meddling pushy people who refused to listen to either of us when we swore we had no interest in meeting anyone of the opposite sex no matter how perfect they swore we were for each other.

It all started with blinking Guinness stickers stuck to my boobs.

So this may not be the version I tell my children ... but yeah, epic St. Patrick's day.  Given my super fabulous opinion of my birthday, I generally celebrate St. Pat's as my special day.  I milk the redheaded Irish thing for all it is worth.  So there I was at a local pub having a grand ol' time with some friends who had never had an "Irish Car Bomb" and wanted to try one.  Or four.  Whatever.  I happen to be an expert on slamming those bad boys, or was back in my prime anyway LOL  So most of the night is a bit blurry in my memory honestly, but I recall a friend trying to click her heals together "like a leprechaun" and she wound up falling quite spectacularly.  Oh and somehow I walked out of the pub with three pints of beer, all nice Guinness themed glasses which the bouncers happily let me leave with but the designated driver had the good sense to make me chug/spill before we headed home.

So the following day, I had to get up and ready because I had a painting to finish and my BFF was going to be coming to town.  She and her husband planned to spend Spring Break with me and Meatball (who had been getting spoiled by my parents while I leading the bar in Danny Boy).  At relatively the last minute they invited this friend of theirs, some dude who I had seen precisely one blurry picture of and admittedly thought had a super sexy voice because he was over at their house frequently when I was on the phone with BFF.  She and her husband were both insistent that we were like perfect for each other.  Both of us were entirely cool with being single having both had horrible luck with the opposite gender, but he figured he'd come because the weather here is infinitely better than the weather in the midwest.


So I try to get going, but I was still pretty unsteady from the night before.  By unsteady of course I mean I had drank so much that I was still drunk.  It was like 7 PM and I still was getting the spins if I moved too fast.  I was glad I hadn't had to go anywhere all day and I was thinking I was really too old to act so stupid when the door bell rang.  Dressed in my painting clothes -- old jeans and a t-shirt covered in paint -- with my hair in a pony tail and very little make up on, I hurried to the door.  Not what I would have chosen to wear had I known what was about to happen.  I was so excited to see my BFF, who was a few months preggo at the time, that I really wasn't thinking about the other guy until I opened the door.

Bam.

Seriously, I am not a super sappy person, but that was it.  We consider March 18th the start of our relationship, our anniversary because we honestly were both done from then in.  I knew, I spent the better part of a year telling myself I was crazy and needed to shut up with all this "love at first sight" crap I was thinking.  But it didn't matter.

Bunyan may drive me bonkers, and I am sure I do him too, but he is my soul mate and best friend.  There is no one I would or could walk this life with, and I am beyond grateful for the honor to even know him, much less be the one who steals the covers from him.  Every night.

So while it may not be an Irish Car Bomb, I still raise my drink in a toast to the man of my dreams, the guy who killed my 24 hour old buzz nine years ago, is an amazing father and a truly awesome person whom I love dearly. Ta mo chroi istgh ionat!