so satisfying.

There is something absolutely satisfying about pruning a boxwood.

 Before.

And after!

This little buxus is not one I actually sheared, but I did spend the majority of the morning trimming back shrubs just like it! And it felt so satisfying. So so satisfying. 

This seems weird to you. I get that. But if I put a pair of shears in your hands and set you in front of a row of boxwood, you'd totally get the pruning urge, too. Look out, little shrubs. Suzanne is on the loose. 

And yes, I use latin when I speak of shrubs and trees. I spent a whole semester memorizing 200+ latin names for shrubs and trees. You're darn right I'm going to put that to use, if for no other reason than to sound smart. 

some things.

Here are some things.

1) I enormously dislike it when a husband is referred to as a "hubby." Big dislike, baby. And I have no idea why. I have never referred to Wayne as my hubby or hubster or hubs and absolutely never ever will, no matter what the blogosphere tells me. It weirds me out, and I have no logical explanation for why that is. Wayne doesn't seem to care one way or another, but I would certainly not appreciate it if Wayne started referring to me on his blog as his wiffy or even worse, the wubs. It sounds completely RIDICULOUS! Arghhhhhh! However, I do sometimes feel like Wayne should have a code name (despite the fact that I've revealed his real name several times) so that I can keep him safely anonymous since there's all kinds of scary people out there reading my blog. I'm sure of it.

But not hubby. Anything but hubby. It's agonizingly tacky and sounds a little emasculating. Glagh.

 

2) I've slowly been learning how much of an online blog culture actually exists -- and it is a strong culture. There are fads and leaders and followers and wanna-bes. I'm pretty sure the majority of female bloggers under the age of 17 have spent much of the last couple weeks of spring posting macro shots of flower blossoms from their backyard with airy pretty quotes underneath, then posted pictures from their latest baking endeavour, describing the culinary experience with explosively descriptive adjectives. Now I'm not saying there's anything wrong with this blogging style. It's your blog -- blog away, my friends. That's what a blog is for. I just think it's interesting how certain blogging styles can be so strong within particular demographics. 

And I also might be kind of making fun of you. The delightful crunch of the cookie makes your taste buds sing? Really??


Bad Suzanne. Bad future PW. Bad.

3. On the weekend while driving through the city we passed by a junkyard that was completely packed with old cars. It was surrounded by high fences that were topped with barbed wire, and staggered along the fence were signs -- signs that said "Beware of Dogs". I did not think that junkyards with guard dogs actually existed and it took me about three blocks to calm down. I totally thought junkyard dogs were the creation of cartoonists and bad plot writers.

I'm sorry. I don't know why this is such a huge deal. I'm fascinated. It's weird.

4. On the same drive this weekend, we were stopped at a busy intersection when a car passed us going in the opposite direction. It wasn't just any car. It was a screaming yellow Mustang convertible, and the dude had suped it up with rims, racing stripes, inappropriate text along the side, the works. But that wasn't all. There were antlers -- antlers -- fastened all over the car. Antlers on the hood, on the doors, on the trunk -- and to complete the ensemble, a full-out buck's head attached to the very back of the car. The best part was the dude had this creepily loud sound of a horse whinnying at intervals coming out of some sort of speaker... Wayne and I stared at it in silence, then looked at each other in shock and just started laughing hysterically.

That's not all.

We saw the 'stang AGAIN, the next day, in a different part of the city! We heard him before we saw him -- the loud whinnying, you see. More laughter. Even more disbelief. Still not sure how we ran into him twice.

Okay. Now that is all. Thanks for tuning in. Ya'll are shining stars.

another trip around the sun complete.

Today is my 25th-plus-5-days birthday. Which, if you're any good at math, means that my birthday happened last week! Yay.

You know how when you get older, you're supposed to not really care that it's your birthday? I totally still care. I still wake up with that funny feeling in my stomach, in wonder and awe that it's actually my birthday. That delicious thought runs through my head all day and gives me absolute freedom to do whatever. I. Want. To a certain degree, of course.

It was a good birthday. The forecast predicted thunderstorms. We had heavy humidity but breezy winds, and plenty of sunshine. No thunderstorms, thank you very much. My super thoughtful husband took me out for breakfast, the most important AND best meal of the day (though not necessarily the healthiest). We got the early bird special and a few extra sides because our eyes are bigger than our stomachs -- even at 25.

Wayne bought me tulips. I killed them with love -- a.k.a. mixing up my own flower food from scratch that ended up being toxic. Sorry tulips. I was alone at the office all afternoon doing computer work and blasting songs from the itunes Glee* radio station while bopping on my exercise ball and entering information about muscle spasms and levator scapulaes into patient charts. Oh yeah... I am rocking the chiropractor lingo. Just wait til I start talking about your rhomboids and quadratus lumborum.

I ate leftovers for dinner because I didn't want to cook. We drank Magic Bullet frappucinos on our back deck because Starbucks is silly and stupidly expensive. We watched episodes of Castle (which is an excellently crime-y type of show). I read a book out loud to my compliant husband because I wanted to. Yes, I like reading books out loud. My children will be forced to listen to many books out loud before bed time. I was brought up that way, and loved it. And they shall love it too. I hope.

And by the end of the day I was 25, and not quite sure how I felt about that. Because I'm pretty sure I just turned 15 last year. I'm hoping my brain (and maturity level) catch up to my actual age at some point. That'd be nice.



*Just a disclaimer that I'm not actually a fan of the tv show Glee. Tis a silly show. To be quite honest, I found the story lines to be... well... for lack of a better word, boring. Completely and totally. Unoriginal, too. The songs, though -- the songs I like. I love me some good harmonies!