I am moving from my apartment complex two weeks from tomorrow.
My car was vandalized last night.
I think it's time to go.
Saturday, June 30, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Weather Woes
I definitely think that moving to Seattle is the right thing to do. God has prepared me through the extremely unusual year of weather I've experienced in Dallas. The winter was one of the longest and coldest on record...the last time I wore my winter coat was mid-April, which is just ridiculous for any part of Texas.
And....the RAIN. Have you seen the national weather news? We (meaning the Dallas area) have been the focus for over a week. It has rained every single day for over a month. I'm not talking a little drizzle; this is serious flash flooding. (By the way, you might pray for those who are actually losing homes, family members and friends in this--11 people in 10 days have died in Dallas alone b/c of the floods.)
And I have fared the weather well, I would say. I am ready for Seattle. Still a Texan at heart, I will probably use my umbrella and receive strange looks and humiliate my new Seattleite friends, who think using an umbrella is ridiculous. (See my March entry from my visit.)
In other (slightly related) news, I have started saying my goodbyes. It stinks. I saw Sara and Kelsey for the last time on Monday. Today will be the last day I see Angie. Tomorrow, I will say goodbye to my co-workers and my fabulous boss, Marian.
I am so excited about my move, but right now, I'm just sad. I am tired of saying goodbye to people. It works out nicely that Seattle is a popular destination, and everyone wants to come visit. It also works out that my precious heart friends are those that I don't have to say goodbye to, but just see you later...
And....the RAIN. Have you seen the national weather news? We (meaning the Dallas area) have been the focus for over a week. It has rained every single day for over a month. I'm not talking a little drizzle; this is serious flash flooding. (By the way, you might pray for those who are actually losing homes, family members and friends in this--11 people in 10 days have died in Dallas alone b/c of the floods.)
And I have fared the weather well, I would say. I am ready for Seattle. Still a Texan at heart, I will probably use my umbrella and receive strange looks and humiliate my new Seattleite friends, who think using an umbrella is ridiculous. (See my March entry from my visit.)
In other (slightly related) news, I have started saying my goodbyes. It stinks. I saw Sara and Kelsey for the last time on Monday. Today will be the last day I see Angie. Tomorrow, I will say goodbye to my co-workers and my fabulous boss, Marian.
I am so excited about my move, but right now, I'm just sad. I am tired of saying goodbye to people. It works out nicely that Seattle is a popular destination, and everyone wants to come visit. It also works out that my precious heart friends are those that I don't have to say goodbye to, but just see you later...
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Pickle, anyone?
No, I'm not talking sweet, dill, or kosher. I'm talking about the quandry I have, and wondering if anyone else gets caught in this same pickle.
It is the pickle of the Single Girl's Two Natures.
Please assume no arrogance on my part as you read this, but simply how I honestly feel I convey myself in the situation.
When I'm talking to a guy that I don't really have much interest in, I'm awesome. I am witty, smart, and a great conversationalist. I don't care as much what I look like, yet somehow that seems to work for me. I'm comfortable in my own skin.
When I'm talking with a guy I find adorable, I turn into Bridget Jones. I'm a blubbering idiot who can hardly speak in complete sentences. I try to look amazing, which inevitably probably seems overdressed, and I feel completely awkward.
You want an example, don't you? Well, alright, I will indulge my faithful blog readers...
About 2 months ago, this happened in a phone conversation with a guy from the latter category. For some reason, my earpiece kept cutting in and out so I was having trouble hearing him, and he was definitely asking a question, but I couldn't get the last word. He asked, "Did you grow up with _____?" I needed the last word to be able to answer, of course, so I couldn't do what I usually do, which is pretend I understand and say, "Uh-huh...yeah." I asked him to repeat the question, so he did, and I heard the exact same question without the last word. Boo. So, completely embarrassed, I said I heard everything but the last word, to which he said, "____! Animals!" and I said, "OHHHHH...PETS!"
Ridiculous.
If you are reading this, Adorable Guy in Second Category, please know that I'm not deaf. I'm also not a blubbering idiot, contrary to your experience on the phone that day. The earpiece is fixed. And yes, I grew up with pets.
It is the pickle of the Single Girl's Two Natures.
Please assume no arrogance on my part as you read this, but simply how I honestly feel I convey myself in the situation.
When I'm talking to a guy that I don't really have much interest in, I'm awesome. I am witty, smart, and a great conversationalist. I don't care as much what I look like, yet somehow that seems to work for me. I'm comfortable in my own skin.
When I'm talking with a guy I find adorable, I turn into Bridget Jones. I'm a blubbering idiot who can hardly speak in complete sentences. I try to look amazing, which inevitably probably seems overdressed, and I feel completely awkward.
You want an example, don't you? Well, alright, I will indulge my faithful blog readers...
About 2 months ago, this happened in a phone conversation with a guy from the latter category. For some reason, my earpiece kept cutting in and out so I was having trouble hearing him, and he was definitely asking a question, but I couldn't get the last word. He asked, "Did you grow up with _____?" I needed the last word to be able to answer, of course, so I couldn't do what I usually do, which is pretend I understand and say, "Uh-huh...yeah." I asked him to repeat the question, so he did, and I heard the exact same question without the last word. Boo. So, completely embarrassed, I said I heard everything but the last word, to which he said, "____! Animals!" and I said, "OHHHHH...PETS!"
Ridiculous.
If you are reading this, Adorable Guy in Second Category, please know that I'm not deaf. I'm also not a blubbering idiot, contrary to your experience on the phone that day. The earpiece is fixed. And yes, I grew up with pets.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Little Miss Not-So-Independent pt. 2
Episode 2: The One with the Super-Athlete
The other night, my friend Casey asked me to play softball with the city league team she is on because they were short a girl. (She remembered that I had played in high school, and intramurals & church leagues in college.)
Casey & I ran so late that when we arrived, I literally walked straight into the batter's box. (Someone tell me why the newbie was 3rd in the batting order, please.) So, without having touched anything softball-related in six years, I found myself with a bat in hand, staring at the pitcher. Of course, that attempt was just pitiful, but I'm happy to say that by the end of the second game we played, I was getting on base and scoring. Much better...you know, it really stinks to be mediocre at something you used to be pretty good at.
I digress. Have I mentioned yet that this was a coed softball game? Coed games are not something I would recommend for feminists. I was playing outfield, as I usually was, and getting a good workout merely from the fact that we ran close in for the girl hitters and back towards the fence for the guys. It's not sexist. It's just smart play.
Well, it turns out that Casey's team was also short a guy, so we were playing with only nine, instead of the traditional ten in slowpitch softball. About 15 minutes before the end of the second game, one of the team's best players managed to make it and ran straight out onto the field, playing the position next to me. He was FAST. Ridiculously fast. If the ball was hit, he was there before I could even figure out where the ball was. Fast.
However, he forgot to look to see who was hitting once and started running back towards the fence as if a guy were up to bat. So, what did I do? I yelled at him, "IT'S A GIRL!!!" He yelled back thanks and trotted up towards the infield.
Pretty sure the girl at bat did not appreciate our side conversation.
But sure enough, she hit it just like a girl...short.
Part two of this story is when we headed in for our last at-bat. I managed to get on base, which loaded them with 2 outs for The Super-Athlete (this is very Sandlot, for fans of that movie). With 2 outs, of course, I was supposed to run on contact. Having seen the Super-Athlete in action, I knew he was going to hit it well and I would have to run my tail off, with him right behind me.
I'm sure you've seen those games where the girl is trying to run, not to score, but just to keep from getting run over by the super-fast guy who would've crossed home plate 10 minutes earlier except for the tortoise female in front of him.
That was us. As I crossed home, the Super-Athlete arrived about .75 seconds after me. At least he was able to come all the way home and not get stranded at 3rd base. Now, THAT would be embarrassing.
How does this relate to Little Miss Not-So-Independent?
Because guys are stronger and faster. Period. And I like them that way.
The other night, my friend Casey asked me to play softball with the city league team she is on because they were short a girl. (She remembered that I had played in high school, and intramurals & church leagues in college.)
Casey & I ran so late that when we arrived, I literally walked straight into the batter's box. (Someone tell me why the newbie was 3rd in the batting order, please.) So, without having touched anything softball-related in six years, I found myself with a bat in hand, staring at the pitcher. Of course, that attempt was just pitiful, but I'm happy to say that by the end of the second game we played, I was getting on base and scoring. Much better...you know, it really stinks to be mediocre at something you used to be pretty good at.
I digress. Have I mentioned yet that this was a coed softball game? Coed games are not something I would recommend for feminists. I was playing outfield, as I usually was, and getting a good workout merely from the fact that we ran close in for the girl hitters and back towards the fence for the guys. It's not sexist. It's just smart play.
Well, it turns out that Casey's team was also short a guy, so we were playing with only nine, instead of the traditional ten in slowpitch softball. About 15 minutes before the end of the second game, one of the team's best players managed to make it and ran straight out onto the field, playing the position next to me. He was FAST. Ridiculously fast. If the ball was hit, he was there before I could even figure out where the ball was. Fast.
However, he forgot to look to see who was hitting once and started running back towards the fence as if a guy were up to bat. So, what did I do? I yelled at him, "IT'S A GIRL!!!" He yelled back thanks and trotted up towards the infield.
Pretty sure the girl at bat did not appreciate our side conversation.
But sure enough, she hit it just like a girl...short.
Part two of this story is when we headed in for our last at-bat. I managed to get on base, which loaded them with 2 outs for The Super-Athlete (this is very Sandlot, for fans of that movie). With 2 outs, of course, I was supposed to run on contact. Having seen the Super-Athlete in action, I knew he was going to hit it well and I would have to run my tail off, with him right behind me.
I'm sure you've seen those games where the girl is trying to run, not to score, but just to keep from getting run over by the super-fast guy who would've crossed home plate 10 minutes earlier except for the tortoise female in front of him.
That was us. As I crossed home, the Super-Athlete arrived about .75 seconds after me. At least he was able to come all the way home and not get stranded at 3rd base. Now, THAT would be embarrassing.
How does this relate to Little Miss Not-So-Independent?
Because guys are stronger and faster. Period. And I like them that way.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Little Miss Not-So-Independent
I'm a big girl. As in, I'm a grown up. I have prided myself on my self-sufficiency for years. Each of the 14 times I've moved since leaving home the first time (ridiculous, I know...hopefully, Seattle will stick), I have physically managed the move on my own (with the much appreciated help of a few friends). I take care of myself and manage my own affairs (as in, finances, don't get the wrong idea).
However, two recent experiences have reminded me that a man isn't such a bad thing to have around. I've intrigued you, haven't I?
Experience 1: The One with the Car
For about 2 weeks, my car did the strangest thing. It started fine. It reversed fine. But it increasingly fell flat when I hit the gas pedal. It felt like air being let out of a tire. I pumped the pedal a few times and it would lurch into gear. When this started happening more often than not, I made a trip to Firestone. The very nice mechanic listened to my pathetic attempt to explain the problem and checked my car for no charge. He said it sounded like a transmission issue and that I should take it to the dealer because a transmission shop would just want to sell me a new one, but the dealer (supposedly the expert on my specific car) would be more apt to check things out first and see if it's something more minor.
A little background on my car: it is a 2000 with 84K miles and needs to cover a LOT of terrain in the coming hot summer months, including drives across Texas and then 2,400 miles to Seattle.
So, I took the car to the dealer, feeling extremely vulnerable. Really, I have no knowledge of cars and am in a position where I must simply trust what they say. The first day they had my car (yes, there was more than one day), they said they drove it around and were unable to duplicate the problem so they couldn't know how to fix it w/o tearing up my car, which could get unnecessarily expensive. I appreciated this, but knew my car had an issue so they agreed to let me bring it back the next day to try again.
That night, I talked to a friend in Corpus who works on cars all the time and, from 450 miles away, he was able to help. He asked a thousand questions and finally asked about my last tune-up. After saying, "Huh?" I remember that my last oil change was at a new place and they were very thorough. So I got the receipt and sure enough, in black ink plain as day, it said my transmission fluid was dirty and a "serp" belt was cracked.
My annoyance was aimed at 3 targets:
1) Me-for being ignorant and not checking the oil change receipt
2) The oil change people-for not consulting with me about those things (they just gave me my receipt...I mean, seriously. Do I not look like the type of person who would just stick the receipt in my glove compartment if you don't sit me down & say something is wrong? Even if I don't look like that type of person, isn't that your job?)
3) The car dealer-if these things were recognized during a routine oil change, I have to wonder about the idiots, excuse me "experts," at the dealership who couldn't lift my hood and see it themselves.
So, I took the car back for its second day at the dealer. I took the receipt and left it with someone (Guy B), b/c the guy I'd dealt with the day before (Guy A) wasn't there (of course). I showed him what was wrong (did his job for him) and told him to relay the message to his compadre. He said he would.
At noon, I called the dealer and left a voicemail with Guy A, asking about the progress. At 3:30 pm, he called back and said they had driven it again w/no problems. I asked if he got the receipt from Guy B that morning and he said yes. I asked if he fixed those issues. He said no. I asked (incredulously) why not, and he said that Guy B just gave him the receipt but didn't say to fix those issues.
So, now my car has been there all day w/very clear instructions from a 29 year old woman with no car experience on exactly what the problem was that they should have figured out on day 1. I asked when the car could be ready and he said by 5:30 pm. I said fine.
He called back at 4:00 pm to say the parts were unavailable until the next day. I almost reached through the phone and strangled him.
The next day, they fixed the two issues and I got my car back. It is 5 days later. Last night, I was leaving a friend's apartment and my car just died. Thankfully, I tried again and it started. Geez.
This experiences leaves me:
A) Wanting a man. Even if he knows nothing about cars, his mere presence is guaranteed better service that what I got.
B) Wanting to take auto classes.
C ) All of the above
This is a long enough post that I will keep you in suspense for Episode 2 of Little Miss Not-So-Independent.
However, two recent experiences have reminded me that a man isn't such a bad thing to have around. I've intrigued you, haven't I?
Experience 1: The One with the Car
For about 2 weeks, my car did the strangest thing. It started fine. It reversed fine. But it increasingly fell flat when I hit the gas pedal. It felt like air being let out of a tire. I pumped the pedal a few times and it would lurch into gear. When this started happening more often than not, I made a trip to Firestone. The very nice mechanic listened to my pathetic attempt to explain the problem and checked my car for no charge. He said it sounded like a transmission issue and that I should take it to the dealer because a transmission shop would just want to sell me a new one, but the dealer (supposedly the expert on my specific car) would be more apt to check things out first and see if it's something more minor.
A little background on my car: it is a 2000 with 84K miles and needs to cover a LOT of terrain in the coming hot summer months, including drives across Texas and then 2,400 miles to Seattle.
So, I took the car to the dealer, feeling extremely vulnerable. Really, I have no knowledge of cars and am in a position where I must simply trust what they say. The first day they had my car (yes, there was more than one day), they said they drove it around and were unable to duplicate the problem so they couldn't know how to fix it w/o tearing up my car, which could get unnecessarily expensive. I appreciated this, but knew my car had an issue so they agreed to let me bring it back the next day to try again.
That night, I talked to a friend in Corpus who works on cars all the time and, from 450 miles away, he was able to help. He asked a thousand questions and finally asked about my last tune-up. After saying, "Huh?" I remember that my last oil change was at a new place and they were very thorough. So I got the receipt and sure enough, in black ink plain as day, it said my transmission fluid was dirty and a "serp" belt was cracked.
My annoyance was aimed at 3 targets:
1) Me-for being ignorant and not checking the oil change receipt
2) The oil change people-for not consulting with me about those things (they just gave me my receipt...I mean, seriously. Do I not look like the type of person who would just stick the receipt in my glove compartment if you don't sit me down & say something is wrong? Even if I don't look like that type of person, isn't that your job?)
3) The car dealer-if these things were recognized during a routine oil change, I have to wonder about the idiots, excuse me "experts," at the dealership who couldn't lift my hood and see it themselves.
So, I took the car back for its second day at the dealer. I took the receipt and left it with someone (Guy B), b/c the guy I'd dealt with the day before (Guy A) wasn't there (of course). I showed him what was wrong (did his job for him) and told him to relay the message to his compadre. He said he would.
At noon, I called the dealer and left a voicemail with Guy A, asking about the progress. At 3:30 pm, he called back and said they had driven it again w/no problems. I asked if he got the receipt from Guy B that morning and he said yes. I asked if he fixed those issues. He said no. I asked (incredulously) why not, and he said that Guy B just gave him the receipt but didn't say to fix those issues.
So, now my car has been there all day w/very clear instructions from a 29 year old woman with no car experience on exactly what the problem was that they should have figured out on day 1. I asked when the car could be ready and he said by 5:30 pm. I said fine.
He called back at 4:00 pm to say the parts were unavailable until the next day. I almost reached through the phone and strangled him.
The next day, they fixed the two issues and I got my car back. It is 5 days later. Last night, I was leaving a friend's apartment and my car just died. Thankfully, I tried again and it started. Geez.
This experiences leaves me:
A) Wanting a man. Even if he knows nothing about cars, his mere presence is guaranteed better service that what I got.
B) Wanting to take auto classes.
C ) All of the above
This is a long enough post that I will keep you in suspense for Episode 2 of Little Miss Not-So-Independent.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Random Part Deux
This is ode to Nicole, my biggest blog fan. Random was such a big hit when I posted it...it shocked me to see how many people enjoy following the ridiculous inner dialogue that I deal with 24/7. Really, I typed nearly verbatim what I was thinking...anyway, onward:
I'm a people pleaser. It took less than a day for me to post after Nicole "nagged" me (her word, not mine) to blog. People. pleaser. (Abby should take notes.)
Keith Urban reads my diary. I'm telling you. The lyrics to his songs are just the best. I'm not a really frilly girl, as anyone will testify to, but I am a hopeless romantic. And his lyrics get me good. If you are a sap like me, please go to itunes and download "Your Everything," "You're My Better Half," "Somebody Like You," and "Once in Lifetime." Sigh. Thank you, Keith.
Sometimes, I realize I'm not old enough to do what I do for a living. Today, I had a student walk in and he was very good looking. I tried to focus on his transcript, but it was tough. My mind just kept thinking, "Hum-a-nah, hum-a-nah, hum-a-nah." It's so wrong, I tell you. Then he called me, "Ma'am," and I was over it.
Tomorrow, we celebrate one of my heroes. Jonathan is joining me in the Land of the Almost Thirty, and I am pleased to be in such company. When Kari & I first met him, we weren't sure what to think. We discovered (she as his wife, much more so than me) one of the most godly men I've ever met. Really. At 25 and quite handsome, he had never dated and we couldn't figure out why. Ah, because he trusted God in a way that few do and didn't mess around with society's ideas of casual dating, etc. So without further adieu, his first gal became his only. To boot, he is in medical school in France. Medical school. France. Crazy. Happy birthday, Jonathan!
I may have found a place to live in Seattle...details are still being worked out. However, we are in a holding pattern because my potential roommate has contracted the chicken pox as an adult. I have heard this is not good. I had them in second grade, along with lice (as did my entire class). I think other than those two incidents, I had perfect attendance in elementary school. I was a D-O-R-K.
Remember the guy from last summer who only wore his boxer briefs around the apartments? Well, he's back. Dang the beautiful warm weather that causes such actions. However, he is nothing compared to the fous (French for "crazies") walking around in Africa. Crazy people walk around there BUTT NAKED. Wait. Referring back to the first Random post, I must ask because I still do not know the answer: is it butt naked or buck naked?
Why is it that certain people can make you do things you don't want to do, say things you don't want to say, and feel things you do not want to feel? They can come in and out of your life at their whim and suddenly, you feel at their mercy. Attraction...a strange and powerful thing.
A girl I barely know told me she sometimes fasts from romantic comedies. I asked her why and she said, "They are porn for girls." Wow.
I went to see the movie Knocked Up. The reviews said it was hilarious, but leave the kids at home. Having no kids, I was all set to laugh my socks off. Oh. my word. Do guys really act like THAT?! I am just hoping that was an exaggeration of every stereotype because I can never picture myself living with one of those. Ever.
In addition, I think it was rated PG-13. Wrong. An R rating? Still wrong. Okay, no lie...THREE full-on shots of her giving birth. At the first completely unexpected vajayjay view, I screamed. At the second, I put my hands over my eyes and said, "AGAIN? REALLY?" and at the third one, I closed my eyes until the scene was over. Were they serious? I have very purposely avoided watching birth videos for a very good reason. How dare they have a birth video smack in the middle of the movie!
Thankfully, I went to this movie with friends. Word to the wise: do not see this on a date, especially a first date. It will be very awkward.
I'm a people pleaser. It took less than a day for me to post after Nicole "nagged" me (her word, not mine) to blog. People. pleaser. (Abby should take notes.)
Keith Urban reads my diary. I'm telling you. The lyrics to his songs are just the best. I'm not a really frilly girl, as anyone will testify to, but I am a hopeless romantic. And his lyrics get me good. If you are a sap like me, please go to itunes and download "Your Everything," "You're My Better Half," "Somebody Like You," and "Once in Lifetime." Sigh. Thank you, Keith.
Sometimes, I realize I'm not old enough to do what I do for a living. Today, I had a student walk in and he was very good looking. I tried to focus on his transcript, but it was tough. My mind just kept thinking, "Hum-a-nah, hum-a-nah, hum-a-nah." It's so wrong, I tell you. Then he called me, "Ma'am," and I was over it.
Tomorrow, we celebrate one of my heroes. Jonathan is joining me in the Land of the Almost Thirty, and I am pleased to be in such company. When Kari & I first met him, we weren't sure what to think. We discovered (she as his wife, much more so than me) one of the most godly men I've ever met. Really. At 25 and quite handsome, he had never dated and we couldn't figure out why. Ah, because he trusted God in a way that few do and didn't mess around with society's ideas of casual dating, etc. So without further adieu, his first gal became his only. To boot, he is in medical school in France. Medical school. France. Crazy. Happy birthday, Jonathan!
I may have found a place to live in Seattle...details are still being worked out. However, we are in a holding pattern because my potential roommate has contracted the chicken pox as an adult. I have heard this is not good. I had them in second grade, along with lice (as did my entire class). I think other than those two incidents, I had perfect attendance in elementary school. I was a D-O-R-K.
Remember the guy from last summer who only wore his boxer briefs around the apartments? Well, he's back. Dang the beautiful warm weather that causes such actions. However, he is nothing compared to the fous (French for "crazies") walking around in Africa. Crazy people walk around there BUTT NAKED. Wait. Referring back to the first Random post, I must ask because I still do not know the answer: is it butt naked or buck naked?
Why is it that certain people can make you do things you don't want to do, say things you don't want to say, and feel things you do not want to feel? They can come in and out of your life at their whim and suddenly, you feel at their mercy. Attraction...a strange and powerful thing.
A girl I barely know told me she sometimes fasts from romantic comedies. I asked her why and she said, "They are porn for girls." Wow.
I went to see the movie Knocked Up. The reviews said it was hilarious, but leave the kids at home. Having no kids, I was all set to laugh my socks off. Oh. my word. Do guys really act like THAT?! I am just hoping that was an exaggeration of every stereotype because I can never picture myself living with one of those. Ever.
In addition, I think it was rated PG-13. Wrong. An R rating? Still wrong. Okay, no lie...THREE full-on shots of her giving birth. At the first completely unexpected vajayjay view, I screamed. At the second, I put my hands over my eyes and said, "AGAIN? REALLY?" and at the third one, I closed my eyes until the scene was over. Were they serious? I have very purposely avoided watching birth videos for a very good reason. How dare they have a birth video smack in the middle of the movie!
Thankfully, I went to this movie with friends. Word to the wise: do not see this on a date, especially a first date. It will be very awkward.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
dog mania
So, Amy calls me up the other day and tells me that she & Josh are going to adopt a dog like Wilbert. They found a female version of him at a rescue place and fell in love. This, ladies & gents, is Bodacious Betty. No lie. That's her name. Not just Betty. Her name is really Bodacious Betty, and she really is a dachsund/chihuahua mix just like Wilbert. Nice, eh?
I'm going to visit Josh & Amy in July...can you imagine Wilbert and Bodacious Betty hanging out together? There WILL be pictures that you do NOT want to miss.
Just to remind you of Wilbert's last encounter with a dog similar to himself. Duke could've swallowed Wilbert whole. Not that he would, because Duke is very sweet. However, now I would like you to imagine the THREE together.Wow.
Tuesday, June 05, 2007
New Zealand, anyone?
Thanks to the wonderful world of myspace, I have kept in touch with people I otherwise probably would have lost by now. My friend from high school (go, Mustangs, go!), Kerri and her husband, Dennis, are living in New Zealand. Kerri was accepted to a grad school program (for the life of me I can't remember the title, but I know it sounded WAY cool) there and so off they went.
Soooo...if you've ever wanted to see what life in New Zealand is all about, visit the new Kerri & Dennis in New Zealand blog which is linked to the right. Enjoy!
Soooo...if you've ever wanted to see what life in New Zealand is all about, visit the new Kerri & Dennis in New Zealand blog which is linked to the right. Enjoy!
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