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It's 7 o'clock. Do you know where my husband is?

Did I ever tell you the story of when a Salt Lake City police officer came to our house to question me about the whereabouts of my husband?  The husband to whom I had not spoken since shouting "I love you!" before slamming the door on my way to work, more than 12 hours earlier.  The husband who was not answering his work or cell phones.  The husband who owns the same make and model of car the cop was telling me had been involved in a hit-and-run accident.  Did I know where he was?  Did I know if he had any business in Bountiful (which is about 15 minutes north of our house)?  Did I know his license plate number?  Could he be mistaken for a average height woman, with long blond curly hair?

With the exception of the last question, I didn't have any answers for the police officer that day.  (And if you're wondering: Joel is a tall drink of water with short brown hair and a beard.  Nobody's confusing him with a lady.  Unless we're killing Nazi Zombies and then he's my bitch.  Just kidding!) It turned out to be some weird case of mistaken identity (note: eye witness accounts are notoriously unreliable), but for about half an hour I was convinced, CONVINCED, that my precious husband had been carjacked and was lying in a ditch somewhere between our house and work.  I called his cell phone about a million times in that 30 minutes and finally, when I heard the key turn the lock in our door, I flung the door open and I squeezed him harder than anyone has ever been squozen in the history of the world.  I have never been so happy to see anyone in my life!  Phew!

So, it's times like today when I have to think back on that day and remember how scared I was at the thought of losing him.  I have to remember how much I love him and how I'd be lost without him.  Really, I would.  I've only known him for, what, like 4 years?  And, at the risk of sounding (even more) overly schmoopy, he makes me really understand what all the fuss is about; I finally know why so many books and movies and plays and songs have been written about love.  I've never been more happy in my life, which is why my family has embraced Joel so wholeheartedly.  They can see how happy he makes me and it makes them love him because I'm not such an almighty bitch anymore.

Hey! I have a huge deadline in two days!

And I'm on here writing this instead of concentrating on writing an appeal brief!  Amazing, right?  WRONG!  I am nothing if not a master procrastinator.  I was going to make myself a certificate, but, well, I saw something shiny and got distracted and ended up eating some Girl Scout cookies instead.

So, there are a few things I'd like to discuss with you today.  First, our house is fantastic!  I love it and wish I had met it before I met Joel so I could have married it instead!  We're still getting settled in, but we're getting there.  I've invited some friends over for dinner in a couple of weeks, so that gives me a deadline.  A deadline that I will ignore until the very last minute until I am going crazy cleaning 15 minutes before they're supposed to get here and complaining about how this happens EVERY TIME and WHY do I even HAVE friends, in the first place?  I'm a horrible person!  No one should want to come to my house! 

Perhaps, one day, I will post pictures of the house.  Alas, that day is not today.  Sorry.  Suffice it to say, the wonderfulness of our house has brought some to tears... and this time it wasn't because of the weird odor.  It was because it was actually wonderful!

Secondly, I think we have a renter for our condo.  Finally.  I was so excited that she actually returned our rental application that I almost sent her flowers and a promise come tuck her in every night. 

Also, after some real soul searching, I have realized that the reason the condo hasn't rented yet is my big fat mouth.  Joel helpfully pointed this out to me on Sunday, after I told a prospective renter that, if he's lucky, he might get a front row seat to watch the cops hassle the homeless people hanging out across the street at the library.  Who doesn't want that?  I once saw a cop talking to a homeless dude and the dude whipped it out and started peeing on a wall right in front of the cop.  Amazing, right?  Not really a selling point, or so I've been told.

Next up: Tomatoes.  We are growing some tomato seedlings right now and I am peeing my pants because I'm so excited.  Every day, I go home and gaze at them lovingly just as if they were my own newborn children.  Every time a new sprout comes up, I make sure to tell it how happy it will be making me in about 3-4 months.  So, so happy, you guys.

In other news: I need to know where I can get a panda.  I think that God wants me to have one, because why else would he provide me a house that has a bamboo forest in the back yard?  Yes, the previous owners planted a bunch of bamboo because... who can say?  I have no Earthly idea.  But what I do know is this: Pandas eat bamboo.  It makes perfect sense to me, then, that we should get a panda.  However, apparently, pandas are pretty rare and hard to procure.  So, I think I will have to settle for this:

 
Hey! You got your dog in my panda!

Lastly, I have invented a new pseudo-swear.  The next time you're surrounded by children/grandparents/clients/Jesus, instead of dropping the F bomb, simply replace it with "firetruck".  Example: "What the firetruck?"  Or maybe: "Shut the firetruck up!"  It's pretty awesome, right?  Right?  Well, if you don't think so, you can go firetruck yourself.  See?  Awesome.