All Decked Out

How rad are these lamps? I so wanted to get them but Mr. W isn't a fan of gazelles.

Mr. W and I often joke that he is the President in our relationship and I'm the Vice President. Whenever we're doing projects at the house, he's always leading and I'm always acting as sous chef, surgical nurse, or secretary. I'm totally cool with this. I'd much rather be second in command than the person at the top of the responsibility chain. And it makes sense, really, because he's a year and 361 days older.

The great thing is that even though he's the chief, he always takes my opinion into consideration.

Like this weekend when we spent TWO WHOLE DAYS rebuilding our rotting front deck.

Mr. W's BFF came to town a couple weeks ago to help "pull up some of the rotten boards"
and the next thing I knew, the boys had demolished the entire thing. It took so much work
that they weren't even able to start the rebuilding process while BFF was visiting.

In addition to standing over Mr. W holding an umbrella so he didn't get heat stroke or a third degree sunburn while he screwed boards into place, I was able to inject some of my ideas into the decision-making process. Example:

Mr. W: I think we should just put this long board here.
Me: Why would you do that? That doesn't make any sense at all because... (I can't remember the reason now). That's stupid. No, we're not doing that.
Mr. W: Don't call me stupid!
Me: I didn't call you stupid. I called your idea stupid.

We make a really awesome team.

After working about 10 hours each day to get the house rental ready (anyone know someone who wants to rent a house with a nice view in late September or early October?), we retreated indoors to continue packing the never-ending supply of *important stuff* we've amassed throughout our 37+ years. It was super fun. Not.

It's ridiculous how long it took to finish this. And it's not even really finished... Eesh...

We did manage to sneak away for a couple hours early Saturday morning when we had to take our new beater truck to the mechanic to get the shocks checked (remodeling the new house in Santa Ynez pretty much requires that we have a truck, so Mr. W splurged and bought a 1998 Toyota...she's a beaut). While the truck was being inspected, we went to check out a prop clearance shop that Mr. W heard about from a friend at work.

I think there might have actually been less stuff in the warehouse than there is
in my parents' house.... Mama likes to hoard a little.

The place was so cool, even JC was hanging out there.

It was kind of a blast. It's filled floor to ceiling with just about everything you can think of from various TV shows. Apparently a lot of it came from the soap "One Life to Live." But I saw something that said "Reba" on it, so maybe some came from her show, too.

This room had all kinds of fancy paintings in it. Must have been the British room.
It was a little stuffy in there...

Walking through it reminded me of going to Toys 'R' Us when I was a little kid. There was so much good stuff to look at I used to get a headache there. It was total sensory overload. This place was, too, but instead of hurting my head, it delighted my heart.

It took all my restraint not to climb inside this and try to find Narnia.

Have you ever seen so many soap dispensers?
And I thought nobody ever went to the bathroom on TV.

We came home with a brand new $40 sink for one of the new house's bathrooms, and some sconces that were about 65% off the retail price. I could have bought some other knick knacks for the house, but the President silenced my requests. Guess it's time for me to become like all the other wives I know and start shopping behind his back...

This is indicative of how big Mr. W thinks my mouth is.

Ready for My Close-Up, Sans One Molar

All that remains is a glue-covered little nub with some residual filling in it.
Do you think I need to start shaving? I never realized how hairy my face is...

Mr. W and I were at his movie's pre-wrap wrap party last Friday night when we struck up a conversation with the assistant director and the next thing I knew, Mr. W was securing a job for me as an extra in one of the movie's non-star-studded scenes.

I was kind of terrified.

Up until this point, the only acting I've done was in my third-grade play, a short film a friend made in art school, and of course the faux reactions I mustered for The Bachelor: Women Tell All in 2012. I have never been an extra and had no idea what was in store for me. All I knew was that I'd be pretending to eat dinner in a restaurant with a bunch of other people, and that we'd be shooting from 11 p.m. to 1 a.m. Good times...

I picked out a sundress to wear and spent the day spritzing my face with Evian and eating only arugula to prepare for my big performance.

Okay, fine, I actually spent the day sweating around town and lounging in the room with Mr. W, and when we went for a late afternoon candy run, tragedy struck.

I was happily chomping on a handful of Skittles when all of the sudden, something hard hit my tongue. (That's what she said. Sorry, couldn't resist.) I reached in my mouth and pulled out one of my crowns.

These things should come with a warning label...

Mr. W was completely calm and shared a story about how once he cracked a tooth on a piece of cheese. But I was horrified. What was going to happen to my little unprotected tooth stub? Would I be able to get a dentist appointment right away when I was back on the mainland? And most importantly, what if the camera angled itself just right and you could see my backcountry set of chompers in the movie?

Mr. W spritzed me in the face with Evian to calm me down.

Just kidding.

In truth, I finished my bag of Skittles and stuck my crown in my jewelry box. I sort of feel like 007—like I could smuggle some microfilm between my nub and my now removable crown. And thankfully, I don't think my Hollywood debut was negatively impacted.

I will say, however, that the experience of being an extra was a trip. You have to talk without making sound and pretend like you're eating when actually you're not. I felt like a little girl playing house with a stranger I met at the park. It was bizarre. And now I'm more worried that you'll see me bite the air half an inch in front of the sushi I'm holding rather than see my toothless maw.

Although with my luck, you won't even see me on-screen at all... I'll let you know where to look for me if I don't end up on the editing room floor.

Allow Me to Lower Your Blood Pressure

On the flight to Oahu, I was reading an article in Prevention magazine that mentioned a 2013 German study on the positive effects of being near water. Apparently walking near oceans, rivers, and perhaps even the occasional plastic wading pool can help relieve stress and promote emotional and physical health.

So I thought I'd share some of the water pics I've captured so far on my latest trip to visit Mr. W.

I have to say, Waikiki is a bit more urban than I'd prefer. When I think of Hawaii, I think of quiet—or the sound of ocean and ukeleles. But here, the sound of traffic drifts in through the balcony slider. There's still plenty of lovely scenery, it's just a bit too mingled with the cityscape for my taste.

Apparently this is not an issue for some. When Mr. W and I hiked to the top of Diamond Head this morning, there were people sitting at the very top, meditating on one of the lookout bunkers.

Crazytown.

I think I'll keep my "meditation" time to ground that can be more easily reached.

I'm hoping that enough time in the sun and by the pool will restore my lack of creativity and inability to write lately. And if that doesn't work, maybe this will...

Mahalo!