Taming of the Hef

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Over the past thirteen months, the indomitable has undergone radical changes. I would like to personally take credit for a large part of this. When we originally started dating, I told him I was only in it for fun; he told me he was in I t to become “house broken”. After dating for a few months, I realized that I shouldn’t let another woman reap in the rewards from my hard work.

fat hef
This is a picture of the indomitable (on the far right) before I entered his life. At that time, he knew my name but didn’t care. In fact, he didn’t care about anything. His daily activities included things that would make his mother cry and his dad furrow his brow in disappointment. He was an angry, fat indomitable.

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This is the indomitable in September of 2006. We started hanging out in April and labeled it as “dating” in June. Notice that he doesn’t look as fat or angry. He still has red eyes, but that’s expected since he only took his contacts out once a month. Despite how rough he looks, you can tell a soul is starting to grow in the empty hole.

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This is the indomitable at my family Thanksgiving. It was the first time he met my family. He’s hair is short and he’s wearing glasses. This is probably the most sincere smile yet. In fact, he looks really happy, which is amazing. I would expect most people to run screaming and frantic after meet my genetic likenesses.

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Indomitable, today. I convinced him to cut his hair short and that it was okay to put hair product on his mane. Personally, I think he looks damn sexy. Over the past thirteen months, he has lost 70lbs, gained 125 (that’s me), and become dead sexy. Oh, the things that the love of a good woman can do!

I Still Think They Taste Like Toothpaste

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This is a picture of my lifelong friend, Pittman, that I took in 1997 on my first 35mm SLR. Pittman and I had met the year before at the county fair. I was in the eighth grade and he was a freshman. Since we lived in rural Arkansas, the annual county fair was one of the highlights of our year. It was a Saturday night and the last day of the weeklong festivities. I ran into my friend and fellow band geek, Justin. Justin was accompanied by a hot fellow that I didn’t know. He had long, silky blond hair that was a mixture of cool rebel and Hanson band member. Justin introduced him as Pittman. I thought that was an interesting name, like boys named Lucky or Beau on soap operas.

Much to our dismay, that night it rained and ruined our fair fun. The three of us wandered around the business booths, collecting candy, and gossiping. Eventually Justin had to leave us, and Pittman and I found ourselves sitting on a wooden bench. It wasn’t a private setting. After all, the entire population of the county was inside the stuff, dusty, humid building, but I was in pure heaven. A cute boy was speaking to me! True to junior high form, I was overly dramatic when we argued the value of green peppermints.

That night I went home high on thoughts of Pittman. I daydreamed about him the rest of the weekend and experienced those ecstatic hormone rushes that only early teens feel. Somehow I got the nerve to be daring. During those years, I had settled for boyfriends that were easily accessible and had already shown interest in me. But I like Pittman, and I wanted him to like me back. So on Monday, I snuck into the band room instrument closet and slipped a note inside his saxophone case with three green peppermints. Though we are now just friends, my life has never been the same.

Happy 26th Birthday, Pittman!

Daisy Mae, Do You Take Bubba?

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Yesterday I decided to release my tight grip on wedding coordinating and hire a caterer for the reception dining. However, I’m having a hard time choosing the kind of atmosphere I want to create. The decorations have been finalized: lots of candles and outdoor lights. I’m hoping to create a warm ambiance. I just don’t know if I want to have classy hors d’oeuvres or Mexican food. There is a fine line between great party and white trash wedding reception. And I’ve planned for a cheese fountain so the redneck atmosphere is already locked into place. I guess I could use chocolate in the fountains, but I’m not sure if chocolate compliments Mexican and beer. Everyone tells me that I should do whatever I want, but it’s a constant battle between my anal-retentive self and the low-key gal I want to be.

Richard Hoover, You’re My Hero

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During the past few days, the indomitable and I have enjoyed the company of our friend, Hoover. He’s a grip and recently moved to New Orleans to film a cheesy made for TV movie. I’m going to miss Hoover. In honor of him, a script of our first conversation after someone had introduced him as Hoover.

sleepingKelly: “Hoover, what’s your first name?”
Hoover: “Richard.”
sleepingKelly: “Hoover it is!”

Hoover

The Taming of The Hef

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I wish I had the wits to document my and the indomitable’s relationship from the beginning. At the time, I didn’t think he would have a major role in my life. We decided early that it was just for fun, no strings attached. I liked him, but I wasn’t looking for a serious relationship. Plus the indomitable was a messy, chain-smoking, opinionated, slightly barbaric dude. (I mean dude by the crude cool guy definition.) On our first date, he was involved in two fights, and I almost had to climb a tall chain length fence in a really short skirt to avoid further altercation. Since those first days in April, Chris has stopped smoking, lost 60lbs, cut off his tangled mane, and, as his mom has stated, “Sanded off his rough edges.” I can’t take full credit for the metamorphosis. The indomitable is a stubborn guy. He doesn’t do anything he doesn’t want to do.

This morning I was greeted by a sweet surprise. It’s moments like these that reassure me that I’m not another evil woman forcing her man to change. Still, I wish I could have gotten it down on film.

car

Old Ball and Chain

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The indomitable and I decided we’d quit playing house and get hitched. The official nuptial date is June 8th. It’s a Friday, and it’s going to be awesome.

Goodbye to Auld Acquaintance

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Tonight is one of those nights when I cannot sleep. Though I am exceptionally tired, my mind is filled with thoughts that I need to vomit upon a keyboard. Nothing valuable or exciting, I just need to write.

2006 is over. I don’t want to write a clichéd year end review, but this one has been monumental for me. I started the year trying to reconcile with my ex-husband, and I completed the year in a relationship that can only be described as bfawesome (butt-fucking awesome). I realize that is a huge jump from one point to the other. It is definitely not one that I wanted or planned on, but I feel like it was given to me by God.

Before meeting Chris, I always looked for multiple paths to a certain as a way to justify my decisions. I know that’s a loaded statement so let me explain. For example, my ex-husband and I met through work. However, if I had not have met him that way, there is a chance I could have met him through his sister, who went to college in the same town as I. For some reason, I always think that God has a backup plan in case we make the wrong choice and he has to divert the course.

This year has helped me accept myself for my flaws and mistakes. I am really good at forgiving and forgetting others, but I have a tendency to repeatedly batter myself for poor decision. Falling in love with the most wonderful man was the result of a bad decision. Chris and I met through work. I got the job because my ex-husband’s aunt worked for the company. Had I never erred by marrying him and lived three miserable years of married life, I would have never felt a love so deep that my naturally frowning face stays in a permanent smile.

I am so thankful for 2006. I look forward to the adventures of 2007.

The Road Less Traveled (because who the hell goes to Arkansas)

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I spent the last two hours of work asking my best friend slash co-worker to kill me and put me out of my painful half-assing misery. Unfortunately, she didn’t humor me. She just mumbled something about how I’m taking Wednesday off and she has to work. I’m not sure she has a leg to stand on there. Eight hours of a lackluster day of work in an empty office versus spending 7 plus hours in an SUV with my cat and my cat-allergic boyfriend traveling through the back country of Arkansas. Though the upcoming journey through towns like Portia and Bono sound exciting, I think sitting in my comfy office chair with the internet is equally appealing. (Note that neither actually sounds fun.)

Tomorrow is a big day. One that I’ve cried about on and off for the last month or so. Chris is meeting my crazy family, and I’m giving my kitty to my sister. Both are huge hallmarks in our relationship. Since we are becoming domestic housemates, I decided it was in our best interest for me to give up Cat. Chris’s whole face and body swells into one gigantic hive anytime he gets within a mile radius of my apartment, and since he already suffers from asthma and I suffer from his snoring, I thought it would be best if I didn’t introduce a gray fluffy ball of feline dander into his home. Though I absolutely adore my precious little bitchy kitty, I love my boyfriend too. I don’t want him to be inflicted with illness anytime he spends too many consecutive hours in his own home. And something tells me that it would end up in conflict, either between me and Chris or Chris and Cat.

I’m also hesitant for Chris to meet my family. He’s grown up in a very wholesome environment. His parents are still together, and from what I can see, everyone is normal. We live on opposite ends of the spectrum. While most people have to figure out their in-laws and how to act, Chris will need to get a feel for three very different individuals. Just like kids and foreign languages, I grew up with it and can switch back and forth easily. Chris will need to learn the difficult task of translating.

However, I think he’s getting, in the words of my mother,“mentally prepared” for it. Today Chris was exerting his I’m-an-independent-man-ness and doing things in spite of my requests. When I entered our relationship, I knew that he was stubborn and hot-headed so the occasional contentious attitude is expected and easily ignored. He did cross the line with too many jokes about women clearing the table on Thanksgiving day while men watch football and nap. Finally, when I asked him about his recent machismo banter, he stated, “I think I’m getting it out of my system knowing that I have to do what you say for the next few days.” Whether this is true or not, I’m going to accept the answer.

Tomorrow will definitely be a journey, both in mileage and milestones. One that I plan on capturing in a photo documentary. We’ll see what’s in store.

The Beginning of a Beautiful Relationship

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I found an abandon kitten two weeks before my divorced finalized. The first few days she was in my home were ridden with anxiety about the responsibility of caring for another creature. I wore my friends out with worrisome talk. Ever since I decided to keep her, I have driven my friends crazy with stories expressing her undeniable cuteness.

The week my divorce finalized, I began to tell my friends and co-workers that the guy I had been seeing was Chris. My timing for this disclosure was completely independent of my court date and was actually prompted by his department moving from our company’s main campus to my department’s suburban branch. I expected some sneers and looks of concern because of my quick transition into a new relationship. Instead, I was greeted by relief from one friend, “I thought you were going to turn into the crazy cat lady!”

I guess my acerbic words about marriage and my inexhaustible feline chronicles scared her.

I Heart My Big Foot

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Chris is the oldest of three boys. His middle brother, Curtis, lives in San Francisco. The youngest, Jonathan, is a high school senior here in Nashville. They are all attractive and gifted in their own right. Chris is, by far, my favorite Hefley brother, but the kick ass family makes me love him more. (Please note that I don’t have to be diplomatic about my preferred Hef, as I am not their momma.)

Last night, in Chris’s recent effort to reinvent himself, he shaved off his beard. Never have I suggested he do this. In fact, I have vocalized my attraction to bearded men. He also decided to keep this event to himself, and this morning, when he came to my cube to tell me “Good Morning”, I was rendered immobile with disbelief. For the rest of the day, I stared at him with a furrowed brow and a befuddled look.

My coworkers told me I was being cruel, and after the hair incident, I can understand why. But once I emailed them a picture of his brothers, they appreciated my disgust. I just hope he can grow hair like Sasquatch. Until then, I will not kiss Curthan (or Jonatis).