Mr. Sexy

Exactly 17 years ago on May 7th - on a Thursday morning in fact, I was married.  Look at us.  We're babies!



Of all the memories that we discuss as our anniversary approaches each year, Jared always remembers to remind me of the Pee Challenge.  What in the world is the Pee Challenge?  Well, I was staying in a hotel room with my five sisters the night before my wedding and my second sis Cam came up with this idea that you CANNOT pee the bed if you are trying to.  "It's impossible!" She yelled.  "Give it a try!  Piss the bed!  Your mind won't let you do it!"  The 6 of us debated this issue for hours.  Jeta began throwing out scenarios such as who would clean it up if she tried it.  The rest of us tried to think if there was ever a time in our lives that we had wanted to pee the bed and had accomplished it.  Of course the usual smattering of nonsense was discussed as well, but at the end of the evening, we all fell asleep dry and content.  Incidentally, Cam tried this same discussion on her new spouse several months later.  She berated him with the same content for hours.  At the end, she told him rather smugly, "See, told you that you couldn't do it!"  She rolled over and he promptly peed on her back to prove it could be done.

Although the Pee Challenge might have been an omen to some, I have been nothing but blessed for the last 17 years of my life.  Truly.  I couldn't have found a better partner if I had been trying!  According to Jared, I married him for his waistline because, "all women love a gut.  If they think they don't love a gut, they are lying to themselves."  At the time, I thought I was falling in love with him for several totally unrelated reasons.  However, we're still together, he still has the gut, so he probably is right.  This guy is the ying to my yang.  He's the nasty grape jelly to the peanut butter in my jar of Goobers.  He's my perfect foil, but he is not perfect.  Let me outline his three worst qualities:

1. He loves the afro hairdo - No Polynesian or African American is safe from his covetous gaze.
2. He adores Hawaiian shirts
3. Hulk Hogan is his hero 

These three crimes against humanity have gotten him in plenty of hot water with me.  Like when he grew his hair out to try and create a luscious blond Afro.  Despite my negativity, he spent several years growing out his hair for a perm and looking like a washed up porn star.  When the perm flopped, he let me cut a mullet which almost made up for his idiocy.  Here it is sans porn star stache:
 

Holy crap!  This is guy is delicious!  Sorry ladies (and some men) he's all mine! 

As for Hulk, I've had to put up with stupid Hogan dolls tied to my bumper, floating in my fish tank, and snuggling between us on cold nights in case the "Hulkster" felt lonely.  Pathetic!  And the shirt thing?  Come on!  in my opinion, no one looks good in a Hawaiian shirt.  Put a giant pasty white Scandinavian in one, and you're asking for trouble.  It screams, "tourist" and, "I'll be sunburned like a lobster in 10 minutes" and "please steal all the money out of my fanny pack cause I'm a dork."  Good luck trying to talk any sense into Jared though.  He's a ticking time bomb.

Don't get me wrong, there's been more joy than pain.  Look how much we like each other:

 

See that face?  It doesn't matter where we are, (San Francisco in this case) he always has that face.  Sometimes he has it when he's alone:

He definitely has it in every family photo we've ever taken:

 

 

Even when the photographer, Brianne Serrano (Look her up she's great) tried to take some funnies look what he did:

 

 

When he finally cooperated, all we got was an open mouth! And please don't judge my elbow pooch - I have primo Bingo Arms! 

 

 

The dude only has two emotions:  awake and asleep!  I think that's why our marriage is so great!  I have more emotion and opinion than anyone should, and he simply doesn't care.  Oh, and he does laundry.  I have to stay married for the laundry.  Seriously though, this guy is a machine.  Nothing gets to him.  A wedding, me pooping out five rotten jerk babies for him, even my cooking can't stir a single spark in his iron breast. The stupid deer rifle I bought him elicited a smile and 30 minutes of jabbering a few Christmases ago though.  Thanks guy, you're a peach!

He may have criminal flaws, but he's a great dad, he loves me just the way I am, and his pillow talk still gets me.  Thanks for 17 years Brody.  I love you.  Oh, and please don't bring the Hulk with you to your anniversary booty call tonight...