Tag Archives: BBE

The Sunburnt Peach Gets Engaged



We are doing it! We’re engaged! Wedding boards on pinterest and baby fever vocalizations be damned! He’s accepted my crazy and we are taking the plunge and this is awesome!!!


Wow. That’s a lot of verbal diarrhea right there. But I think it’s affective at getting the points across.


So the BBE proposed about 3 weeks ago, and we’re both just as delighted as can be. 🙂 Naturally one of the first things we do after telling our parents and immediate family was to post it on Facebook (ok this is naturally one of the first things I did, not him). Just to prove how much Facebook itself stalks its members within minutes my ads on the side had changed:



Seriously?? I mean, come on FB. That’s not even subtle anymore.

And speaking of seriously, we really are seriously happy and excited. It’s crazy: sometimes while we’re laughing or talking or watching TV we’ll both just stop and stare at each other, and my heart just melts. I’ve never felt so happy or so blessed. I found the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. How lucky am I???? I just hope we don’t make anyone puke when they come in contact with, as Messy Jessy puts it, our “love bubble”.


Speaking of Messy Jessy, I’ve already asked her to be my maid of honor!! I’m pretty sure she’s going to rock at this – if it’s even possible, she’s more excited than I am about our wedding! She and my two sisters will stand up with me in a small wedding on an island in the Bahamas. Since she and my two sisters are both skinny bitches, I’ve placed them all on 4,000 calorie a day diets, which they are to follow up until our wedding day in September 2013. Sure, they’ll probably have heart problems, shortness of breath and need to have  their blood pressure taken at the end of the aisle, but at least that ensures I’ll be the cutest, SKINNIEST girl up there!!! Actually Messy has already punched a hole right through that plan, so I’m going with plan B: actually losing weight myself instead of force-feeding my skinnier bridesmaids.

Yes, pinterest boards are being updated daily as we find new ideas that flesh out how we want our wedding experience to happen: http://pinterest.com/reneemynette/. Yeah, at least now I can pin to my 3 wedding boards without him rolling his eyes… much. 🙂

Oh, and by the way… I’m sure my future blogs will have random wedding tidbits but you can get the full scoop on  our wedding and engagement escapades on http://ourbigfatcruiselinewedding.wordpress.com!

Anyhoo… here’s our engagement story, from my POV and the BBE’s. 🙂 That’s right, the BBE gets a guest spot on my blog this week 🙂 Now that we’re engaged, does his name change to Best Fiance Ever? BFE??


Ok, now for my Side of the Engagement Story:

“I just remember getting a random text one Saturday afternoon, asking if I wanted to go to watch fireworks the following night. Fireworks being one of my favorite things to do, I naturally said yes! He asked which location was my favorite and insisted on us going there.

So on a balmy Sunday evening, we headed over to EPCOT to watch fireworks, share a funny cake and cuddle. It was shaping up to be a great night. As the fireworks burst overhead, he leaned in… and said…

“You drive me crazy, you know that?”


Being the polite well-behaved young woman I am, I smiled nicely and said, “thank you” and continued to watch the fireworks from our bench.

He leans in again, and I’m thinking “ok, what doozie is he going to come up with now?” and He says…

“But I love you… very much”

I smiled and started to say I love you! and watched in surprise as he slid down off the bench and onto one knee and popped a ring box out of his pocket. Right there, in the middle of the park, in one of my most favorite places in the world, this man I loved more than anything was asking me the BIG QUESTION. Being the polite well-behaved woman that I am, I shrieked “What are you doing! What are you doing?!?” over and over. I couldn’t even hear his next words.

His eyes just beamed at me, and there was nothing to say but yes. I hugged him tight so that he wouldn’t see my tears – tears of joy.

The only thing I remember thinking next was “dang, if I’d known I was getting a proposal I probably would have worn a cuter dress and washed my hair”. Typical. Just goes to show that sometimes it doesn’t matter.”



And a word from the BFE:

I can’t remember when exactly I decided to propose to her, but I know I’d been thinking of it for a while. My biggest hang-up was not having a ring. Of course I wanted to do it right and have a nice shiny ring to give her, but those things are pricey! Finally I’d saved up enough and decided that the moment had arrived. But first I had to decide which shiny pretty thing to get her. That’s where a couple of her friends come in. I enlisted them as my secret agents to help me pick out her newest piece of jewelry. After a few dozen emails back and forth the decision was made!

Many months ago I somehow managed to get her talking about her ideal wedding proposal. Don’t ask me how, but somehow I did. Turns out she’s got a sweet spot for fireworks. So I decided that I’d give it a go and asked her if she wanted to go see some fireworks at Disney the next night. I wanted to make sure I got the right fireworks so I asked her what her favorite was. Of course it was Epcot, so away we went!

We got ourselves some funnel cake and sat down to enjoy the show. A few minutes in I lean over and tell her “You know, you drive me crazy”. She laughs a little and goes back to the show. I lean over again and say “But I still love you”. At that point I slip off the bench, land on one knee and pull out the little ring box.

The rest is, as they say, history.


I’m grown! Now pass me my Mickey Ears.


I’m an adult but yes, I LIKE going to the parks and seeing characters and riding rides. One of my favorite things to do is grab a cocktail and watch fireworks. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. As my friend Leah points out, “Disney is an expensive habit, and now that we’re adults we can finally afford it”.


My favorite part about going to EPCOT is drinking my way around the world – a margarita in Mexico, schnaps oolong tea frozen thingy, Sam Adams in America, sparking wine in Italy, plum wine in Japan, and a frozen Grand Marnier slushie thingy in France. And let us not forget – Stella!!! in the UK. That kind of bender requires some serious focus, time and, oh yeah, an age 21+ driver’s license.


There is a LOT to do at Disney besides ride the spinning teacups, which is a blessing because those things make me nauseous. Especially after you first make a stop at the Contemporary for happy hour. I think it’s a bit offensive when people suggest that I or my friends are childish or silly for indulging in some mouse fun. We’re all adults that have full-time jobs, responsibilities and social lives that do not revolve around wait times to meet a larger than life -sized fluffy white duck.


So this quote by article author Stein both slayed and annoying me: “Let’s not pump Justin Bieber in our Saabs and get engaged at Cinderella’s Castle at Disneyland. Because it’s embarrassing. You can’t take an adult seriously when he’s debating you over why Twilight vampires are O.K. with sunlight.”You can read the article here: http://www.nytimes.com/roomfordebate/2012/03/28/the-power-of-young-adult-fiction/adults-should-read-adult-books


This seems a bit harsh, somewhat rude, and definitely a pretty desperately sad way to look at adulthood. Why knock other people’s dreams? Why take the joy out of being an adult?? Let’s have a fist pump in the air for keeping our childish enthusiasm whilst still paying our cell phone bills on time!! Straight up, Justin Bieber’s music makes my ears bleed, but I don’t judge those that like to listen to it as being childish… I just de-friend them on Facebook. 🙂 And some people view getting engaged at Cinderella’s Castle as symbolic of a fairytale romance; something you dream about as a kid. I’m not saying it’s for everybody, but it’s kinda sweet that some people can bring bits of fantasy into the real world without being stalker-y crazy bat-shit nuts. And hell, we all know that the writing in the Twilight books suck but it’s a guilty pleasure, like reading National Enquirer on vacation, or crop dust – farting while walking down the sidewalk. Let people have their “stuff”!


And by the way, I’m gonna post a blog really soon detailing how my boyfriend proposed at EPCOT during the fireworks. :p …and detail our plans to get married during a Disney Cruise 🙂 …hehehe! Don’t judge! None of that ish is cheap.


And by the way Joel Stein? Cinderella’s Castle is in the WALT DISNEY WORLD RESORT, not Disneyland. Asshat.




I accidentally “tooted” at work today, and I have to say, this one took me by surprise. One scale of 1-10 for potency, lingering ability and nasty factor, this one was an 8. Work toots should always be a 3 or below.

While I’m no stranger to passing gas at work, this one was pretty heinous. I had NO IDEA what I’ve eaten over the past few days to warrant something so awful welling up inside me, but I actually gagged.
I try not to do this kinda thing at work, because so many people walk by my desk, stop to say hello, etc. that I just can’t take the chance. Last time I did this, I sat there silently, slumped over slightly, praying that the funk would dissipate before anyone came by. Eventually, I sent out an email to my surrounding coworkers, stating simply, “Do not come by my desk for 5 minutes”. Of course they all knew at that point what I’d done, but I figured that was better then seeing the look of surprise, horror, nausea and disgust (in that order) on some unsuspecting co-worker’s face.

Sometimes, when it just has to happen in public, I’ll try to “crop dusting” tactic. For example, if we’re in Target, I walk away from BBE into a vacant aisle and rip one out, walking the away from it quickly. I stopped doing this after I was on the deodorant aisle one day and walked into someone’s “dust”. My mouth was open, man! I was utterly and unbelievable disgusting. Since then, I haven’t had the heart to place that fate on anyone else. So I bottle up my public farts as much as I can, which makes for bigger “eruptions” at home.

Last night I had a similar “eruption” to the one I had at work today, only I was laying in bed, face down, and the BBE, bless his heart, got a face full of the horror because the ceiling fan blew it right back on him. We were choking and crying and laughing all at once. The sheer shock that something so rotten could come out of a girl’s rear end startled him, I think. We talk about pooting and stuff like that all the time, but this was beyond the pale. Typically our conversations are relegated to the following:

Me: “What are you doing??”
BBE: (under the covers, in bed) “What?” (flaps blankets to augment the smell and share it with me)
Me: “Stop farting in bed! That’s nasty! The fumes get trapped under the covers!”
BBE: “Fine” (stays in bed, flips back covers, farts in open air)

In all fairness, our conversations are also typically:

Me: “Hey, so to finish my story…
BBE: (hears the all-too-familiar tinkle) “Ahh!! What are you doing?!?!
Me: “What everyone does! It’s natural! Didn’t you read the book?!?”
BBE: “You’re disgusting! Stop peeing with the door open! Dammit!!!” (runs in, slams the bathroom door shut, holding it shut until he hears the flush)
Me: “Whatevs. Backitup backitup backitup.”

It’s not a secret that girls pass gas too, I think guys on the whole just think we’re more dainty about it. Not I. I try to be more undercover because I know I’m rotten inside, but there’s nothing dainty about the unholiness that happens after too much dairy. I have one friend that will not poot in front of her boyfriend, to the point that she HOLDS IT UNTIL SHE GETS HOME. I have another friend that holds it for DAYS, until she’s alone in her own place. She literally won’t poop for 48 hours or more, because he’s hanging out with her all the time. I don’t have that kind of time, energy or modesty. If we’re at home, I’ll rip one out on the couch, and so will the BBE. I think part of it comes from living with guys for so much of my life, but I also happen to know that most girls as just as rotten as me, they just try to hide it from their respective partners as much as possible.

I take a different approach: what you see is what you get. So pretty early in our relationship I starting lettin’ ‘em go so the BBE knew what he was getting into. I figure fair’s fair, right?

So… back to my accident parting shot at work today… it was epic. I peeked around to see if anyone was nearby, that starting flapping the air around me with a notepad I had on my desk. Once I was pretty sure it was gone, I sprayed a little body spray in the air, just to give it that fresh smell again. New lesson for today: spraying perfume on top of funk does NOT cancel the funk out. I already knew this, but I thought I could get away with it. Wrong!! So now I’m getting whiffs of poot mingled with whiffs of… cucumber melon. Not cute OR dainty.

TP – Backitup, backitup, backitup!



Has anyone seen the commercials for the Cottonelle Toilet Paper Covers? If not, check it out here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=endscreen&v=kdWxt6wpwTw&NR=1


Anyhoo, the BBE and  got suckered into getting one of these thingies when we received a free coupon that included it with our recent purchase of TP. I was delighted, because it was a cutesy decorative alternative to leaving a “naked” backup roll on top of the toilet. It also matches the bathroom rug! Since we’ve had the cover, I’ve replaced the backup every time I’ve had to empty it, ensuring that no one has to yell for help when having your “personal time”; thus creating comfort and ease for all.


Until last night when the BBE did not back up the backup.


Now this is where reality departs from the fictional version of the backup you see in the commercial. In the commercial, the woman calls her husband over, and calmly reminds him to back up the back up. He actively listens to what she’s saying, agrees to “backitup” next time, and even walks away repeating “backitup, backitup, backitup” so he won’t forget.


In our house:


Me: ( having “personal time”, sees empty box. yells out of water closet door.) “What the hell!”

BBE: (in the bedroom, used to hearing random exclamations from me, does not respond)

Me: (annoyed that he did not respond) “Hey! Hey you!”

BBE: (le sigh) “What?”

Me: “You didn’t backup the backup!”

BBE: “What are you talking about??” (he is soooo not paying attention, I can hear the key clickety clacking on the laptop)

Me: “You left my butt hanging in the wind! You didn’t replace the back up roll jackass!”

BBE: (le sigh, again. Clickety clack.) Oops.



That’s all I get, no concern. No reaching to backitup. Proving once again, REAL LIFE IS NOT AT ALL LIKE THE TOILET PAPER COMMERCIALS.

Played again by IT


You may recall my post from January about my IT department’s response to my penis email. Well, here’s some more IT fun.

Before you read this please understand: our IT folks rock. In no way do I intend to belittle or direspect what they do for uson a daily basis. They work hard and really know their stuff. It just happens that in addition to knowing their “IT stuff” they also know a few more wordly things.

Here’s an IT request submitted by one of my coworker friends. Granted, she started it.

Subject: Completed WO# 20549 – Printer issues?

Summary: Printer issues?

Description: Hi – when I try to print anything from [our database], I get a message asking “Do you trust this printer?” As if it was a shady felon wearing a ski mask asking me for directions on a dimly lit highway. Then it says I need to install a driver.  Please help – I just want to print! 



01/25/2012 9:34:41 AM (GMT-5:00) Eastern Standard Time, Logged by: [IT Helpdesk] – Masked felon was apprehended using the help of a blind psychic and the printer driver has been restored to its full working potential!

And recently I had to submit a helpdesk ticket because I received this email:

—–Original Message—–
From: administrator@randomcompany.com [mailto:administrator@randomcompany.com]
Sent: Friday, February 24, 2012 10:27 AM
To: Me

Subject: Symantec Mail Security detected prohibited content in a message sent from your address

Location of the message:  SMTP


The message was Quarantined


This was done due to the following Symantec Mail Security settings:

 Scan: Auto-Protect

 Rule: New rule for Body Words

 Violating term(s):

                Viagra (Matchlist name : Message Body Words)

Yep, you read that correctly. Someone’s spam security system thingy thinks that I sent out an email with the word “viagra” in it. When I mentioned this to the BBE (who is also an IT nerd) his response was… wait for it… sounds like you just wanted your headers to “grow” har har har.

I don’t know who’s worse, my IT department or my BBE.

How My Pinterest Wedding Board Got Me In Trouble


Don’t judge, but God help me, I am addicted to Pinterest.

In case you’re not familiar with Pinterest, it’s a website composed of idea snapshots. You can “pin” the ideas to your various “boards” which you theme according to your interest – for example, I have boards for home ideas, healthy food recipes, beautiful places I’d like to see, cute clothes, wedding ideas and funny quotes. The wedding board was what got me in trouble last week.

The BBE and I were relaxing at home one night, watching TV. I was half watching, half perusing Pinterest, and pinning new stuff to my boards. BBE leans over the laptop to find out what’s consumed so much of my interest, and begins pointing out cute stuff to add to my “home” board: decorating ideas, dishes. He even highlights a super cute baby room idea. Then he notices some of the other board themes I have. In particular the wedding board.

Now, it’s pretty rare that BBE really comes out with a whopper that makes me want to pop him over the head with a frying pan. I think at some point though, even the sweetest guy ever is bound to say something retarded that makes you wonder if he’s just lost his mind… and his ability to filter. In this case, the BBE made me want to find the biggest, heaviest cast iron skillet ever made when he said “Why do you have a wedding board? You don’t even HAVE a wedding! And you’re probably not getting one soon anyway”.




First of all: EVERY girl has a wedding board. It just takes many forms. It could be a collection of bridal magazines hidden under the bed, or a scrapbook neatly organized and tabbed. It could be a mental board. Not matter how it’s done, most girls of a CERTAIN AGE (I guess I shouldn’t say all) typically have a catalog of wedding ideas and know what their “perfect” wedding would be like, even if it perfect idea changes as we get older.

Another thing that changes as we get older is how freely we talk about weddings. As kids, my friends and I sat around and talked about what types of weddings we wanted; it was fun to play Wedding from time to time, and that was perfectly ok. When we hit out teens and twenties, discussing this openly became taboo. How crazy do you sound in the 11th grade discussing satin versus sateen bridesmaid dresses?

By the time you hit your thirties you don’t give a flying fart in space about keeping your wedding preferences a secret. You discuss it with your friends, and balance the pros and cons of destination weddings versus local (destination is the way to go, beach wedding versus chapel (beach …or maybe Tuscan theme? I say a really nice one on My Fair Weddings with David Tutera), open bar versus plated dinner (bar! duh).


Second of all: Just by allowing him to SEE this wedding board made me incredibly vulnerable, and was certainly a sensitive subject. In just mere seconds, his view of me changed from his sweet, slightly goofy, fairly crazy girlfriend to his completely crazy, positively wedding crazed bridezilla girlfriend out to ensnare him in my web of wedding-ness (as if me watching Bridezilla every Sunday wasn’t enough). And just to have some more fun with me, he rubbed it in a little further by suggesting that if I was so ready right now, then he was perfectly prepared to accept my proposal!! (!!!!) Are you high?!? Old fashioned I am not, but if he thinks I’m proposing then we’re in big trouble. I don’t think my knees bend that way, lol.


Thirdly: although I am joking about a lot of this, he really is the one I believe I’d like to spend the rest of my life with, and I think he feels the same way. I’m satisfied with taking it slow so that we can both be sure. I think a wedding would be great fun and should be a wonderful celebration of our love for each other, but what comes after that? A long life of marriage, and that’s serious business. I want to do it right, and with the right person. On the flip side, I also want kids before I’m old and wrinkly and too arthritic to run after them or drive them to daycare.


Geesh people relax!!! It’s just a pinterest board! Wait ’til he sees my wedding scrapbook!


JUST KIDDING! I’d never let him see the scrapbook.

How to Ruin Your NYE in Seven Easy Steps (and my NYE epiphany)


Step 1: Find the cutest little furry boots to wear on NYE. Traipse around in them. Debate which cocktail would be best ro drink while wearing your cute new boots. Decide to drink mimosas made with champagne, orange juice and Grand Marnier (called the “Sultan’s Mimosa”). Sip. Admire cute new boots. Repeat. Drink another. Repeat for 2 more rounds.

Step 2: Wait a really long time to eat dinner, say, reservations at 8:50 pm in a very chi-chi French restaurant? Then wait some more until they seat you. Just in case you were like, REALLY hungry.

Step 3: Order (unknowingly) the greasiest item on the menu: braised beef short ribs. Notice the inch-thick strip of oozing fat on the meat, scrape off and eat most of the dish anyway, out of sheer hunger. Feel the strange bubble of horror growing in your stomach. Ignore it. Sample some of your boyfriend’s creamy lobster bisque. Wash that down with creme brulee. Lactose intolerance be damned!!

Step 4: Feeling kinda funny inside? That’s ok! Head to the nearest dance party in your cute furry new boots and gyrate as much as possible, churning your stomach’s contents into a high-velocity tilt-a-whirl. Still feeling funny? Put your big girl panties on, and walk it off. You’ll be fine.

Step 5: Until you puke in a public restroom. And get sick on your shirt. Barely miss hitting your new furry boots with the upended contents of your stomach. Maintain a tiny portion of your dignity by turn the shirt around backwards.

Step 6: Finally acquiesce to the BBE, who is insisting on taking you home. Limp through the parking lots in your new furry boots until they hurt so much that you – GASP! – take them off in the parking lot, walking to the car in your socks while the BBE carries your new furry boots. Watch the fireworks from your car while being driven home, huddled under the BBE’s coat, shivering in shame and sickness.

Step 7: Top off the night and ring in the new year! Make it home just in time for splashdown #2 (which as least happens in the comfort and privacy of your own bathroom) Finish the night in your pajamas with a trashcan by the bed in case of another incident, being handfed small bits of raisin toast by the BBE as you whimper quietly, vowing NEVER to eat short ribs or have the Sultan’s mimosas EVER again.

On a brighter note, the BBE was incredibly sweet and thoughtful throughout the whole thing, and reassured me repeatedly that I DID NOT ruin New Year’s for everyone (although I am still not convinced of this). He also helped me removed my sickly clothes, confirmed that I didn’t puke on my new furry boots, rubbed my back and put a cool washcloth on my neck while I kneeled to the porcelain god. If that’s not love, I don’t know what is. So I guess I can say that, if anything, I might have missed the fireworks but I started the new year off with love. 🙂 …and some untainted and super cute new boots.

Earlier in December, I spent an afternoon at Magic Kingdom with the BBE, and in a fit of nostalgia decided to ride the spinning teacups after sharing a huge pineapple ice cream with the BBE. I am 33. Clearly, this had escaped me as I hopped into our teacup and began merrily swirling around the teacup ride, shrieking with delight. At least it was shrieks of delight UNTIL I began to feel woozy. I went from woozy to downright nauseous in less than 5 seconds, resulting in stumbling out of the teacup at the end of the ride, and being helped to a set of nearby benches by the BBE. I sat with my head between my knees for 15 minutes before I started to feel better. In an attempt to be a good sport, I agreed to ride Buzz Lightyear’s Space Ranger Spin before we left.

Big mistake. HUGE. I barely made it home.

The whole led me to an epiphany: I can’t do or eat the things like I used to when I was younger! Not that I’m a geriatric already, but dang! Couldn’t I have had the sense to ride something a little tamer (like, say, ANY OTHER RIDE IN THE PARK?!?)? Apart from being lactose intolerant and therefore having NO business eating dairy, I certainly shouldn’t have climber my 33-year old ass into that effing teacup, thinking it would all turn out fine. I certainly thought that I’d learned my lesson. At least, I thought I’d learned my lesson until I ruined my New Year’s Eve using the Seven Easy Steps listed above.

I also had an epiphany on NYE: I am not as young as I used to be, and with that, I cannot drink like I used to, nor do I have the cast-iron stomach to handle all kinds of foods like I used to. I did not have much to drink that night, but the little I did have just combined in my stomach with the disappointing (and EXPENSIVE) cuisine to become the gastronomic equivalent of Chernobyl. I haven’t been able to eat a regular meal for three days without feeling sick or dry-heaving. Young people don’t have this problem!! And to drive this point home, JUST IN CASE I MISSED THE POINT, on Sunday morning I found yet another GRAY HAIR! Getting old sucks. But what’s the alternative?

 Hoping your New Year’s started off with love!

 – The Sunburnt Peach