So basically, Ryan's awesome. I could technically end the post right there, but I'll go on. Recently, Ryan and I have been doing lots of future planning because we're almost done university. And by 'almost', I mean that Ryan will successfully complete a Bachelors of Administration while his wife, me, will end up with an Associates Degree at the end of next year (Thanks to poor planning and absurd advice from the Arts Department at a 'nameless' post secondary institution). So now I'll give you somewhat of a chart/timeline of our lives as per the next three years.
Fall 2011
Ryan: Begin his final year of his Bachelors of Business Administration.
Whitney: Begin her 4th of university with no end in sight.
Winter 2012
Ryan: Finish his degree, while probably getting a full time job while taking 4th year courses. A slight possibility of homework and a large chance of mastering Donkey Kong on the Wii.
Whitney: More willy nilly courses.
Spring 2012
Ryan: Start a job at an esteemed accounting firm in our hometown. (CONGRATS, honey, for scoring your dream job a year before you even start!)
Whitney: Set up house- paint, shop for furniture. Take the same job I've had for the past 5 summers. Pester Ryan about having kids.
2013
Ryan: Moving up in an esteemed accounting firm because he's a genius.
Whitney: Register for more online courses in hopes to eventually finish some sort of degree. Pester Ryan about having kids.
2014
Ryan: Become Chartered Accountant and make millions.
Whitney: Pester Ryan about having kids.
Again, Congratulations to my wonderful husband for getting your dream job!
Wait...does this means we can have kids*?
*Kidding!
So after realizing that I haven't blogged nearly as much as I wanted to in May, I figured that I should share Ryan's latest...experience. Heat stroke.
After a fantastic golf game celebrating my mom-in-law's [29th] birthday, Ryan said he was a tad queasy. So I tossed him a water bottle, and he went to lie down while I watched the finale of Survivor: Redemption Island (Season 22: yes, I'm still watching). Just as Isla, my niece, and I jumped for joy at Boston Rob's ten year awaited win, Ryan dashed for the bathroom and lost his lunch...in a few words.
"That's it!" I said, "I'm taking you in!" After equipping our bathroom garbage can with three plastic bags (just in case), we hopped, neh, I hopped and Ryan hobbled into the truck and off we went to the hospital.
Wait time: 45 minutes. Not bad considering that one premie, one toddler, and one seriously stoned adolescent were admitted before Ryan.
"KKKsshhhhh...RYAN.......RYAN.....KKKsshh." Translation: intercom.
As the woman behind the glass shield began asking semi-relevant questions about Ryan's condition, he was overcome, once again, and dashed to the bathroom, leaving no time to even close the door. Needless to say, the entire main floor knew that Ryan was...ill.
After an entire bag of IV fluids and a shot in the hip, Ryan was sent home to recover. So all in all, an eventful Sunday.
**May I also mention our golf scores.
Whitney: 50. Ryan: 51. It counts as a win :)
If any of you are 'The Office' fans, you are well aware of Creed's blog: creedthoughts.com/creedthoughts, which just happens to be a word document saved to his desktop that no one but Ryan Howard will every read. Anyway, wouldn't it be interesting if Kramer had a blog? I think it would. So I'm going to make up his thoughts.
Kramer's thoughts on The Olive Garden: It would be better if it was a pizza joint where you could make your own pie...like Subway, but with pizza.
Kramer's thoughts on the Wii: I throw things at the TV all the time...
Kramer's thoughts on the UFC: I know a guy; I could get you in for free if you'll trade him a chicken.
Kramer's thoughts on world domination: I once played a game of 'Risk' with Newman that lasted 6 days. I think I could handle world domination.
Kramer's thoughts on bath toys: Waste of time. I once made a full meal while in the shower, complete with a starter salad.
So I gotta feelin' that I should blog. I have no idea how this will end up, but I feel like I should share some random thoughts with you. While I was just writing the last sentence, my husband filled me in on a very exciting fact: Lyoto Machida will be fighting Randy Couture this evening alongside my all time favourite George St-Pierre!!!! So let's explore that, shall we?
And yes, they bleed. They bleed just like hockey players, rugby players, and rhythmic gymnasts bleed.
So, all you out there watching the PGA Golf Tournament I say to you: "That sport disgusts me! How could you sit there and watching another man carry around another man's clubs! Despicable." **Side note: I enjoy golf, I'm just trying to get my point across.
All you watching Dancing with the Stars I say to you: "You maniac! Two people chasing, lifting, and throwing each other around! Absurd." **Side note: I don't like DWTS, but I like dancing.
And all you watching the Canucks in the playoffs... wait, I think I already milked that enough.
Dear Canucks,
For once, you didn't choke. Unfortunately. However, let me just say that you'll never look as good in bright blue and bright green (which, by the way is a rather elementary combination) as Griswald does in white and red (with feathers because he like to accessorize).
Sincerely,
Disappointed
So I just wanted to share one of my latest experiences with you. It involves late-night Walmart shopping, child sized life jackets, an awkward stranger, my husband, and last but obviously not least: Sarah.
The Beginning:
Wal-Mart is tempting, you know? They carry pretty much anything your evening heart desires: Barbie Jeeps that were forever on your childhood Christmas List that you never got, Dr. Seuss' 'Oh! The Places You Will Go!' (very inspirational), fancy Kleenex box designs, and of course, infant sized life jackets to keeps us afloat during exam season.
So, picture this: Sarah, Ryan, and myself peruse aimlessly (having lost Kirsten in the laundry aisle at least twenty minutes prior). We come across the sporty goods section, and Ryan becomes entranced with a punching bag while Sarah and I hit up the boating aisle. Rods, line, bait, life jackets. Bingo.
The Middle:
Sarah's wanting hand reaches for the TinkleBell toddler size (14-27 kgs). She states, "I want this one" and dawns the jacket. To our astonishment, she actually gets it up past her elbows eventually reaching her shoulders. But of course, it's simply impossible to do up the front dual clips, let alone the crotch strap.
"You try," she states.
I try. It doesn't fit :( Once again, my Disney dreams are crushed. I've outgrown my childhood! It reaches only to my elbows and then gets stuck. I mean, completely stuck! It was at this point a lovely gentleman graces our presence in aisle 17. He pretends to peruse the plastic tackle boxes as he eyes our dilemma. I try and warn her, "Sarah, there is a guy in the aisle. This aisle. Right behind you."
It doesn't matter because it's too late! He approaches. He chuckles and looks to Sarah, "You look stunning." (Obviously, I don't fit the 'stunning' category as TinkerBell's face is being contorted while it pushes up against the crook of my elbow).
The End:
We begin laughing uncontrollably as I pry the jacket off of my arms and do the same with Sarah's. But then we realized we didn't have a picture to remember this moment. Sarah dawns the jacket once again. I pick out a more sensible size for myself (28-45 kgs). Enjoy.
Kirst, aren't you bummed you missed this?
So today I'm happy to announce that two of my besties have acquired rather desirable summer jobs that will provide them both with extraordinary experience, as well as much needed money to put them through another year of extensive studying/procrastinating. Congratulations, Miranda! I wish you well as you go on to carve out many-a-ruptured appendixes :) And Sarah, Congratulations! I wish you well as you murder many-a-mosquito (I say this because I don't really know what your new job entails other than pesticides; therefore=bugs).
I, however, will be working at the same job as I have for the past four years. I definitely would not classify reflective cover-alls and scratched safety glasses as attributes to a desirable job, but yet I am grateful--somewhat--to make enough moola to come back to this dreary city of rain for another year.
Kidding! I love my job--somewhat. Can't you tell by my terrified expression??
