Sunday, May 31, 2009

Dun dun dun...

*btw, I never remember to set the date on the camera. this pic was taken last September after the horrendous storm that took out the top of the old maple in our front yard.*

It's been a lovely weekend. Friday (for whatever bloomin' reason), I wasn't ready for sleep, even though I'd only averaged about four hours a night for the last four days. I caught up on some emails, played a little WoW, and watched three movies. Can't Hardly Wait, The Princess Diaries (ha, you thought I was going to say Bride, didn't you *grin*), and The Game Plan. Finally, about 3.00 AM, I was sufficiently tired enough to go to bed. 8.00 AM rolled around, and I was wide awake (damn).

Mr. Realist had a golf outing with one of our best friends on Saturday (notice I said 'our,' not 'his' or 'my'. Chili Man Josh has been our friend since college), and I was volunteered to help. It wound up that Kayla and I walked around the course backwards, getting team pictures, while Sheree (Josh's fiancee) and Crystal (Christa?) took the cart and got action shots. Yes - they got the cart, Kayla and I WALKED 18 holes! Wasn't so bad...had I known that I was going to be doing that much walking, I would have worn my trainers and NOT my airwalk sandals! Don't get me wrong, I LOVE my airwalks, but today, the balls of my feet hurt something fierce. Boo. We stayed at Josh's house, ordered pizza, nursed sunburns and drank gallons of water (got to counteract all the sun and the alcohol consumed on the course, right?).

Sunday, got up, came home, showered and headed for Oma & Opa's for Mr. Realist's birthday dinner. Every year, we get to choose what we want for her to make for dinner and she does, no matter how weird or common. She has mine down to a science: fried chicken, smashed taters, some kind of veggie, salad, and pie. I love cake, don't get me wrong, but a White Pie is just smashing!

I'm working on a new knitting project - dishcloths. Grandma V (Mr. Realist's mom's mom) crochets dishcloths every year for the daughters and granddaughters for Christmas. I love them, but they're just too big, honestly, for doing the dishes. They're probably better used for hand drying towels! I made the comment to her Mother's Day weekend that I'd like to find a knitting pattern for them, and she had one. She mailed it to me, I whipped one up (for me, three hours is 'whipping it up' and it's a small project), washed it, and gave it to Oma to try. I'm not going to make up a bunch of them if they uber-suck at doing what they're supposed to do! My friend Jen found me a site with a bunch of them on there...and they're free! Woot woot - free is always good! I found a skully one that Adam Graphics loves (he wants one in hot green), I love (and it will look good hanging in my bathroom as a drying towel for Halloween [note to self: learn to knit faster!]), and even Mr. Realist thinks it's cool. I'm going to try it with some scrap material to see if I like it enough to make one really big.

I can't WAIT for next weekend when I get to see the summer camp I attended as a youngling and was a counselor for two years in high school again. I haven't been down there in 13 years (nah, it's not bad luck). Camp's been around for 50 years this summer, and I'm going to show Mr. Realist what I see when I reminisce about this place. I hope he finds it as beautiful as I did. If not, I might actually be crushed.

Be safe out there,
Mrs. Dreamer

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Daydream Believer

No, that song from the Monkees was not going through my head all day (but you can damn sure it is now...argh), but it was a relatively daydream-conducive day. Sort of.

Adam Graphics says I'm scary. I'm not sure where he came up with that nonsense; but, according to him, he said it so it must be true. Hells, I don't even remember what we were talking about when he told me I was scary. I do know that my name is Stephanie. Steph is fine, Stevie if you must as well, but never, NEVER Stephie. Only my seven-year old niece and my sister in law (who is a litle slow) can call me Stephie. Adam thinks is hi-lar-i-ous, so he's turned my name into all sorts of interesting words.

Stephitaph. Stephalupagus. Stephiewepkins (don't ask...please). And Evander (that's another story for another time). He's a very talented artist, and my short name (Steph) has the perfect amount of both curves and straights for tagging. Sigh. My name has been reduced to amusement for a coworker.

Anyhoo, back to scariness. I don't remember why I'm so scary, but I do remember the conversation held between Adam and I and one of our CSers over email. Rob's weird. The gist of it was that she had an order to enter, and we got that straightened out. He called me a liar (this is all in jest), so I threw out a movie line: "One of us always tells the truth, and one of us always lies. He always lies." "I do not! I tell the truth!" "Oh, what a lie!" (if you can name the movie, take five points) but then he had to go and throw out Stephalupagus (only he spelled it 'phI). I corrected him, and he proceeded to tell me I was an imaginary, hairy elephant. Here's where my nerdiness comes into play. I shot back with that I would rather be an elekk (if you know where that's from, give yourself five more points), but if I was a stephalupagus, what did that make him? 'Big Bird' was the obvious comment back was 'or on fantastic pharmaceuticals.' One thing led to another, and Adam came back with 'I'm not touching you I'm not touching you I'm not touching you I'm not touching you.' If you've got kids or had siblings that did this, what was their/your first reaction?


Rob, being a bit older than us, took the reins without missing a beat. "Don't make me turn this car around, or stop and give you something to cry about!"

Me: "See, look what you made Mom do!" Adam said something smartassey.

Rob: "I have had it! Go to your rooms and wait until your father gets home!"

It was a fun conversation! :)


So, I came up with yet another idea for a novel. Sigh again. I just want to finish ONE of them, damnit!


I have a younger sister. She's 27 and the mother of my almost eight-year old niece. We don't share the paternal genes, but she is my sister. She's got the darker Italian heritage from the stepfather's side - dark hair with beautiful brown eyes; I got the lighter German stock from mother's genes - blond hair and thundercloud blue eyes. She's warm summer (browns and golds look best on her) where I am cool winter (black and silver are my staples). She's more slender and (thank the gods) shorter than I am. We are polar opposites. She is my sister and I love her.

Be safe out there

The Dreamer

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

A Storybook Story

"Since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were rated the most passionate, the most pure. This one left them all behind." ~~The Princess Bride

Realist and I have 'date night' every so often. Sometimes we go out and get food; most times, we make dinner together and watch a movie. Tonight was 'date night.' We had hot dogs and chips and had our own little picnic in the living room and watched a movie. As much as I love movies, there are probably only 15 or so that I could watch every day for the rest of my life. The Princess Bride is up there in the top five. I've loved that movie since the first time I saw it. 2008 was the 20th Anniversary of Princess Bride, meaning I was ten when it came out. The music is superb, and I've always been in love with the romantic aspect of knights and princes, castles and, even though they don't exist, dragons. Westley is the quintessential love - he's handsome and charming, dashing and utterly dedicated to only one woman. Buttercup saw through his only being a farm boy and fell in love with the man inside. I think ultimately that every man wants to be like Westley - thwarting evildoers to rescue his true love; and every woman wants to be Buttercup - never doubting that her true love will come to rescue her.
Realist and I are the same way. THE question had been asked three times in our lives together. One came two years after we had been dating...I had to say no. I wasn't ready. I was a junior in college and STILL undecided as to where my life was going to go. I didn't want to say yes and have to break his heart. I knew what that felt like. Two came a little over a year after that. The question came from my own lips...he said no. He had just moved out on his own and I was still not finished with school.

In March of 2002, we broke up as a mutual decision. We both agreed that we needed some time apart. To me, my life was over. I knew he was the one I wanted to be with. However, he initiated the split, and I went along with it because I knew it was what he wanted. Months passed. We tried to stay friends (I was his 'friend with benefits'...sigh), but when I was going out with my friends, he always warned me to be careful and that he was thinking about me. This was my life, not his anymore. Friends from college got married - Realist was a groomsman, and I was invited along as his guest (Nick did not know that we weren't together at that point, and he felt bad when we actually got to talk at the reception). I drove from school (where I was in a Summer Rep production of 'School House Rock LIVE!) to the wedding at 2 in the afternoon...drove back to school for the Saturday 7pm performance, then BACK to the reception (where Lunchboxes and beers were flowing merrily). I stayed with him that night, only to get up early, shower and head back to campus for the Sunday matinee. The next weekend, I drove up to see him at his apartment. We had a good weekend. Sunday morning, I woke to find him snuggling against my back. He hadn't done that since we were together - it was weird. I rolled over to look at him and found him looking upset. "I can't do this anymore. I miss you." "I miss you, too." He reached behind him and I thought he was getting his glasses. I was wrong.

He gripped my left hand with his right, and the only thing he said was, "Marry me."

"HUH?" came tumbling out of my mouth before I could react. "Are you serious?" He nodded.

"Be my wife." (Any girl who doesn't cry, or even tear up, when she is literally surprised with THE question should be tarred and feathered)

A simple gold band was all he had at that time, and that was my first engagement ring. He even told me that Friday at work, he was organizing some of the lost and found stuff at work because they were slow, and he came across a ring while working and thinking of me. Karma, apparently, because it MADE him realize that I was the one he wanted for the rest of his life. Engaged in 2002, married in 2005, and looking forward to the future.
I gave you that background and my thoughts on The Princess Bride for this reason, and this is how I feel about marriage:

If you are married and can look at your partner (and your partner at you) and it makes your heart truly ache to think of life without them, I think you'll be fine. It's not that I couldn't live without him, I could. I just don't want to. Tell them you love them - I'll never get tired of Realist saying those three little words.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go say them again.

Be safe out there.
Steph the Dreamer

Just a wee bit...

Maybe I should start writing down my thoughts in one of the myriad of small notebooks I carry in the matched luggage I call a purse, so I'm not posting forty-squintillion times a day. Hmmm...I'll be back later.

Be safe out there,

Tuesday, May 26, 2009


"No one, not even myself, understands me."

I've eased into my 30s this year (read: kicking and screaming) and have just recently and reluctantly given in to the fact that I am no longer thirteen. I'm short and what Oma would call 'of good German stock.' I have a degree in British and American Literature (and if you were to ask me to diagram a simple sentence, I'm not sure I could anymore) from a small, private, Midwestern college. I am the wife of a gentle man.

In this, you'll have to understand the title "The Dreamer and The Realist." My husband is the grounded one (The Realist). He pays the bills, takes care of the house stuff (although, I shouldn't say that - I'm a right handy woman when it comes to replacing outlets or lightbulbs, or the toilet; left to his own devices on the small things, I'd have to hire a bevy of people to fix what he tried to!), and keeps me from flitting away our money on frivolous things (read: shoes and purses). I, however, am the flighty one (The Dreamer). I am much happier when I can be outside, rain or shine, daydreaming. We've been together more than eleven years, but will only be married four this fall. I am the mother of four furry creatures - two dogs (Daisy and Duke) and two rats (Bonnie and Sally).

I am a voracious reader. I am a mage in World of Warcraft. I knit (not the greatest, but getting better), and love the gals I knit with. I like to get together with friends and sit and open a bottle of wine (of course, we each have to have our own) and talk about nothing in particular. I used to have a best friend that I could talk about the color of the grass and we'd laugh ourselves until we cried over nothing anyone else would find amusing. Alas, he's gone now...married (that's another story for another time). I love sports - soccer, baseball, football, golf. I love trying new recipes for food, and would prefer all food be grilled over an open flame. I love the outdoors - hiking, caving, traipsing through creeks up to my shins and having little fishies swim around my ankles. Camping is the best done under night skies - none of this 'air-conditioned, sleep-in-a-camper' stuff that passes for camping nowadays. Give me a warm sleeping bag, a sheet, and a cheapie chaise lounge (and that's optional), a low fire and stars as far as the eye can see, and you've made me one happy woman.

You might ask me, "S, why did you title this 'The Dreamer and The Realist' if it's your blog?" Although I run it, my husband is a very big part of my life; therefore, he had to be a part of my blog. He'll be well-represented here!

Feel free to ask any questions or hell, even call me out on anything (I have a feeling that this will mostly be for me!).

Be safe out there,

Be safe out there.