Kiki’s Korner

Golden Gate National Cemetery in San Bruno, CA

…that put the biggest smile on my face.

Take this hunk of meat Heuer brought home for our Valentine’s Day dinner. Awesome.

Add to that some truly lovely wine, an amazing husband and a quiet night gazing into each other’s eyes.

Really doesn’t get any better than that.

Oh, and the fact we saved about $400 by staying in doesn’t hurt either. Ha.

I love my Heuer, and I love that he loves to spoil me.

A couple of years ago he bought me a pair of diamond stud earrings that I wore proudly until one fateful July night when I lost one of them in the Flora Grubbs garden during a party. Of course, I didn’t realize it was gone until we got home, at which time it was too late to do anything about it. I am sure it remains today, in its nesting place of a thousand grains of sand/dirt. ::sigh::

Fast forward 17 months – Heuer is away on business when a generic cardboard box is delivered at our door. My first instinct is to open it, but as it has Heuer’s name listed, I thought I would be polite and wait – so I shot him an email and asked him what it was.

I come to learn that inside the box is my Christmas present. And I was told not to look. The box taunts me, sitting unopened, for 24 more hours. Until…

…Heuer calls to let me know there are some other things he ordered that he needs returned. He needs me to log into his account and request a return receipt, however, in doing so – I will see what is in the box [for me] – but since there was no time to waste, he told me to do it and I would simply get my gift early.

I couldn’t get the tape off the box any faster if I tried. [I reenacted the moment for Heuer on Flickr so he could feel he was there]

Inside, a lovely pair of black diamond studs awaiting new lobes. I put them on immediately.

They are not as sparkly as your standard white diamond stud, but I totally dig them as they are completely different than anything I own…and special bonus…they match everything in my closet.

So thank you to my wonderful husband for my lovely gift. They seem really content attached to my body, and I with them there.

Please make it go away. Kthxbai.

You know when you make a decision, are happy with the decision, only then to have it eat you apart a couple days later for making that decision?That is me right now, realizing I have truly pissed off my parents.Well, pissed off is maybe not the right words to use. Upset, yes. Disappointed, yes. Pissed off? Well? Yeah, maybe.You see, my consort and I just got back from trips to Miami and New York, and had planned to drive to Oregon to spend the Christmas holiday with my family. It is something Chris and I have been doing since we first started dating three years ago (Miami then Oregon), and being with my family during the holidays is something I have done my entire life. In fact, I have never known a Christmas morning where I woke up anywhere but my parents house. Ever. 38 years of waking up 100 feet from mom and dad. But this year, all I wanted was to be in Tahoe with Chris for a little 1:1 love fest.So, you can imagine the conversation that took place when I called my parents two days before Christmas to let them know we were not coming.To say they were shocked is putting it mildly.Of course, to be fair….I didn’t give them much warning. Mom had already gone grocery shopping, dad had just finished prepping the bedrooms for our arrival, and they had plans set for the next three days for all of us. But I just could not put myself in the car for the six+ hour drive North. It is weird, but I just wasn’t emotionally wrapped around the trip this year. I can’t explain why, but I know there are reasons for it. Will they ever surface? Who knows. The fact of the matter is I did not wish to go to Oregon this year and telling my parents this was breaking their heart. The initial conversation with my dad was hard. As far as he was concerned – you always come home for the holidays. No matter what. And though I tried to point out this rule only seemed to apply to me (neither my baby sister or my brother were going to be there and weren’t getting any grief) – it didn’t matter to him. I was the oldest. I had always been there. I was to set the example. #%&#@*%^#*% I know my parents will eventually get over it. It is not the end of the world. There will be other years. But why do they have to pile on the guilt? Why do I feel guilty?