Code words and Captain Bob.

Since being with Bob, I now talk in airport codes. I'm in LIT now, but will be going to MEM en route to CLT in a couple of weeks. Bob left out of DEN yesterday, came to LIT last night, flew to ORD twice today, and then back to CLT.

Ridiculous.

In other news. Bob is officially Captain Bob! His final check/training flight was today and he was finally named Head Fred this afternoon. I'm so proud of him! He's been flying for the military for so long, and went straight into airline upgrade training after his most recent deployment. That boy has had so many things going on in his head the last 8 weeks... training, a death in his family, the wedding, my move, his friends still deployed... A lesser man wouldn't have made it. But my Bob did! Congrats, sweets!

Sympathy brakers.

On today's edition of things I don't understand....

Sympathy brakers.You know who they are. You're driving along minding your own business on a 4 lane road. You're in the outside lane behind someone. Someone in the inside lane brakes. AND THEN SO DOES THE PERSON IN FRONT OF YOU. It drives. me. crazy. Person in front of me: why the balls are you putting on your brakes? You're not stopping. No one is in front of you.

I don't get it. At all.

Anything but basic.

When I really like something, I like to make it known. So. If you're ever in the New Orleans area, you MUST go by Basics Underneath on Magazine. Amazing. Ashley and I went down to Nola this past weekend for my bachelorette party. Unlike her Vegas excursion, I wanted a low key, relaxing, fun weekend. Both of us having lived in Nola for some years, that was the first place we thought.

I'm doing a "special" photo shoot for Bob and needed some sexy little underpinnings to wear in the pictures. Of course, New Orleans is the perfect place to buy these sort of things. Of the places we actually found (The Google steered us wrong... a lot), Basics Underneath was by far the best place. I'll admit I wasn't expecting much when we went in there. I thought maybe I'd find a panty set or two, but no. I walked out of there with the cutest, most flattering lingerie I've ever been in or seen. The sweet little salesgirls helped me pick out the most amazing items that made me feel sexy and beautiful without looking like a hooker. And the smell of that store? Ohmygawd. I typically don't do smelly stuff, but that place. Wow. I wanted to leave the garments in the bag once I got home so they would continue to smell that way!

So anyway, if you need a little something special, you now know where to go!

So long, sweetheart.

Welp. Today was my last day as the manager of my gym. It was bittersweet, to say the least. I thought I would be more sad, less anxious to leave (hours early at that), that I would have more of an emotional attachment to my office, my space, my gym, my home for the last 3 years. But no. I packed my car and drove away happily.

I think the reason I'm not so upset is because of the reason I'm leaving. I get to marry Bob. I get to move to Charlotte, start a new life, find a new job, and be Bob's wife. Wah hooo!!

This weekend, Ashley and I will celebrate in New Orleans for my bachelorette party. We'll eat, get pedicures, and say hi to all our old friends we left behind when we moved from Nola. IF there are any suitable picture to document this trip, ya'll will be the first to see.

Just call me Mama.

So. I have this OLD North Face fleece that I just adore. I wear it a lot, but not usually out in public. It's has kinda of a funky zipper and weird angled side pockets, so the front stomach area kinda pooches out. It makes me look outrageously pregnant, but I still wear it anyway. It's comfy.

My gym members see me every. single. day. They see me working out. They see me in yoga pants. They see me in spandex. And, yes, I'm thicker than I used to be (thanks to the wonders of birth control), but my stomach is still relatively flat. Relatively speaking. Anyway.

I wore this favorite fleece of mine today (because it's black and my work fleece is black and I totally grabbed the wrong one), and I received the following comment, "I didn't realize you were pregnant and moving and getting married!! Congrats!" I really could only respond with, "Thanks, but I'm not pregnant. I'm just fat." I really had no other words to say. I know I made him feel like an asshole, but come on. You saw me yesterday in tight ass yoga pants with a relatively flat stomach and this "belly" wasn't there 24 hours ago. It's the fleece, thankyouverymuch.

Weekend Recap.

So this past weekend, Bob and I hauled over to Memphis to tie up some wedding details. We got sooo much done and I finally feel like this wedding is coming together. In real life. And not just on pinterest.

We met the florist and picked flowers. We met with the venue and planned a tasting. We (I) did a hair and make up trial at the salon. And thank gawd. I normally don't wear make up. At all. After chickie was done making me up, Bob barely recognized me. I can't have that the day of the wedding. That boy needs to know exactly who is he's marryin'. Right? So back to the weekend... We met the minister, an old family friend of Bob's, who I loved immediately. Poor Bob was sweating and fidgeting during the meeting for no reason whatsoever. We both finally chilled out about half way through the meeting and relaxed enough to be just slightly nervous versions of ourselves.

Sunday we met with our DJ. What I thought would be an hour max meeting turned into 3.5 hours sitting in Barnes and Noble. Wow. We covered everything he's going to do. I'm really pleased with what we accomplished even though it took an excessively long time. Turns out, he's going to be our wedding coordinator as well. Dude has skills. He rocks.

We (he) also picked out what he's wearing...after 4 trips to Men's Warehouse. Holy balls. I guess I shouldn't pick on him too much. I went to 5 dress shops and tried on approximately 80 dresses before deciding on an amazing Alvina Valenta (that was 75% off the original price- YES!!). Anyway. He picked out a really awesome suit and coordinating ties for him and his boys.

So, now I'm back in Little Rock. Looking at the stack of boxes I need to use to pack. Boxes that are laying flat, no where near being assembled, and certainly miles and miles away from being filled. Oops. It'll get done. Eventually.

Diet Dr. Pepper. As a garnish?

So I'm sick. Like sinus infection, snot dripping, hacking up nastiness sick. I know ya'll wanted those details. You're welcome.

The other night I made my dinner, rotisserie chicken and green beans. I reached to grab THE SALT SHAKER, but missed it and grabbed my OPEN Diet Dr. Pepper instead. Before I realized it, I had doused my beautiful plate of rotisserie chicken and green beans with.. Diet Dr. Pepper. Not happy.

As I was replacing my soaked chicken and green beans with dry chicken and green beans, I remembered another such occasion when I wasn't lucky enough to have dry food... One of my childhood friends, Julie Beard, and I went to Pizza Inn before a football game, sometime around 5th-ish grade. I accidentally spilled my full entire glass of Dr. Pepper onto our freshly made pizza. And my Daddy made us eat it anyway. Ohmygah. I was soo embarrassed! Oh the humiliation of eating Dr. Pepper soaked pizza!

Being a decision making adult (who soaked their dinner) made me truly appreciate my... adulthood. If my Daddy had been there, he probably would have made me eat the first plate. Gah. Parents can be so mean.

There's only one way to cook them. I know.

So enough of all this lovey dovey stuff... Let's get back to my day to day life, which is pretty comical, if I do say so myself.

So I don't own a microwave. My closet sized apartment kitchen does not have the space to accommodate one. It wasn't aesthetically pleasing to have a big honking thing on my counter. Instead of a microwave, I have an oven and a toaster oven.

A few weeks ago, I forgot this fact. I went to Kroger and, in an effort to simplify my life, I purchased 3 boxes of Lean Pockets. Uh. Yep.

As I was driving home, I realized my fatal mistake... I don't own an effing microwave. Son of a bitch. Anybody need three boxes of Lean Pockets? I got 'em for you...

Sap and cheese.

You've been warned. This post was written by a sappy cheeseball. Uh... me. With influences from Bob.

Yesterday was my wedding shower, hosted by Bob's family. It was super sweet and we got some good stuff. In talking with all those ladies who have known Bob since either he was born or they were born, I was so proud to be his bride.

Thinking about me and Bob finally being together still catches my breath. We were friends for so long, best friends who knew everything about each other. And now to marry that person? Holy crap. How did I get so lucky? How did HE get so lucky? Kidding.

When we first started dating, sometimes we'd be in a discussion and it would hit us out of no where that we weren't just friends anymore. We'd be talking about his previous relationships or mine, discussing details that good friends share. Then it'd dawn on us that talks like those should be weird. One of us should be jealous. One of us should say something shocking that the other didn't already know. But that never happened. We just talked. Like friends.

So next month, we'll become Bob and Candi Smoot. Spouses. Best friends. Sappy cheeseballs.

Me and blogs.

I'm still trying to get into the hang of this new blog. Blogs are weird things. You write about your life (and if you're me, as sarcastically as possible), never knowing who, if anyone, actually reads it. Then, when/if you stop, people come out of the freaking woodwork and tell you they miss your stuff. Really? You people are so weird. I'm not going to name names, but you freakshows who think I should write a book are off your damn rocker. Write a book? Puhlease. Not as long as pinterest in still available.

So anyway. Blogs. Out of respect for Bob and our blooming relationship, I started this new one. I wanted a fresh start. A new beginning. However, as life happens, things from my old blog will re-emerge here. And probably with links. Ya'll know I love a link.

To catch you up on us: Bob is in training at the moment. He has been a pilot for a commercial airline for years, but he's been deployed for the last 24 months. And he got a promotion while he was gone. So. That lands him back in training for 6 weeks. In Houston. How gross.

While Bob's in training, I'm planning our wedding, planning my move to the east coast, and planning to strangle myself. Yikes!