Hi my name is Haley (Hi Haley), I'm a...I'm a Trekkie

Nate and I have always be pretty open about our past. I use to have a bowl haircut, he use to fold his man-panties perfectly in his drawer. I spent most of my high school career grounded, he was arrested for accepting stolen goods (a huge 7 ft Ronald McDonald statue). He was flashed by a girl for the first time when he was 15, my favorite outfit when I was 15 included a pair of bright maroon/pink sweatpants. He was a engaged to a cute blond, I was a Star Trek fan aka a Trekkie.

So you see, we both have a past that we don't go into much detail with. Enough details so we're not hiding anything from each other but not too much to bring up unwanted questions. It works for us, we're happy that way. We have a system...the other day I endangered the system.
Our way of life, our happy little world was shaken and it's all my fault.

The other evening we were watching a movie, I don't remember what it was. Nate and I were comfortably snuggled in one of our huge beanbag chairs, enjoying junk food and the warmth of a corn bag. The Christmas tree lights were twinkling in the background, the snow was falling so the world around us was clean and white. It was so peaceful.
As we watched the T.V. I mentioned to Nate that one of the actors reminded me of Worf from Star Trek: The Next Generation.
"That guy reminds me of Worf, you know, Michael Dorn."
Nate looked at 'me like I had lobsters crawling out of my ears.' He knew that I was a recovering Trekkie but he didn't know the real extent of my problem until that moment.
I realized I had made a fatal error in divulging my knowledge to Nate of the real name of the actor that played Worf. For over three years I had been able to hide the amplitude of my Trekkie past but all the untold secrets revealed themselves in true color as I tried to change the subject.
"Hey babe, want to get pizza?"
The diversion worked, but Nate is too clever to forget such a inexpiable secret.

I blame my Trekkie disorder on my dad. Some kids see their dad drinking so the kid ends up an alcoholic. Some kids see their dad's playboys laying around and the kid ends up addicted to porn. My dad was a faithful evening watcher of Star Trek. My early years found me playing around the living room, not really paying attention to the evenings episode of life threatening alien attack, but knowing full well that the high pitched "beep-beep" with the flashing red lights, meant "all hands on deck." Captain Kirk and Spock were skilled men, capable of getting out of any compromising situation.
My real problem began with Star Trek: The Next Generation. How I loved the accent of Captain Jean-Luc Picard , Commander Ryker had eyes that melted my heart, I was going to be a doctor just like Dr. Crusher. In fact, like giving an alcoholic keys to a liquor store, one of my elementary school field trips was to a space museum where they had a star ship Voyager. All the kids in my class got to pull positions out of a hat. There was a captain, 1st commander ect...those who didn't pull main positions were to be the little ensigns destined to be the first killed when the aliens attacked. Guess who pulled the job of doctor...yes, it was me. My fate was sealed before I had been born and Star Trek had been created.
My real love in the Next Generation was a dark skinned, wrinkled forehead, Bat'leth toting Klingon named Worf. My affection was so strong for Worf that along with the postcards I collected of him and his Klingon enemies (in case I ever encountered them, I would need to destroy them), along with the delta shield pendant that was worn by every Star Fleet officer, along with the Star Trek: The Next Generation collectors plate, I also had a well used Klingon dictionary and audio dictionary to learn the proper pronunciation of the Klingon language. My goal was to be fluent in Klingon before I joined the Star Fleet Academy (this would beef up my resume quite a bit, plus, I could proclaim my affections to Worf in his native tongue).

As you can see, this obsession was not as healthy as a parent would hope for. Other children my age were playing dress up and barbies. I ran back an forth from one spot to another pretending I had been 'energized' and was off to fight another intergalactic battle. "Hljol" (that means 'beam me up' in Klingon).

What saved me from a life of Trekkieness? It might have been all the reruns, oh wait, those weren't reruns, they were "new episodes" with a different alien and a different ensign dying each time. It might of been the night my folks told me there was no Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy and then to pour a little lemon juice on my broken heart, they showed me the hour long documentary of the making of Star Trek. My precious star ship Voyager was nothing but a plastic 10 inch toy that a string held up in front of a black star sprinkled background. Commander Ryker was an arrogant jackass and I'm pretty sure he wore contacts, his eyes had lost the melting power they once had. My precious Worf, oh Worf, I saw the process of applying his make-up.
My world was shattered, I didn't know what was real or fake anymore. I was just waiting for my folks to say "Oh, and by the way, you're adopted."
So is the life of a child who is forced to grow up too fast.

Hi my name is Haley (hi Haley), I'm a recovering Trekkie (sounds of surprise because Haley seems like a normal person). I wake up every morning and just take one day at a time (nods of agreement, that's all you can do). I try not to dwell on the past but at times when I'm alone, my mind wanders to what might have been (that's natural for everyone). I noticed when I walked in to this meeting that across the hall is a Star Trek convention (gasps, what will she do), it's ok, I walked by and ignored the sign asking for volunteer Klingon interpreters...it's time to say good-bye forever.

Heghlu'meH QaQ jajvam!
(It is a good day to die)

Cowboy Boots and her brother-in-law, Aaron

This is my brother-in-law, Aaron (with my niece Kacey).
I like the kid, he's the strong silent type but he's got a cutting wit so I need to remember never to get on his bad side because he would eat me alive.

After Nate and I had been married about a year, Aaron moved in with us. I enjoyed the time he lived with us, he kept to himself sleeping on a futon in our living room, keeping Nate company when Nate slept out on the couch. Between being married to Nate, Aaron living with us, and the technological blessing of web cams with Dustin on the other end, I have seen every male pair of Judd cheeks (except big Bob Judd's; but don't worry, we still have many years together).

One bright morning I left for work for the day. Nate and Aaron weren't working that day so they had the house to themselves. Of course their plans for the day included cleaning the carpets and scrubbing the tub, along with doing laundry and having dinner ready for me when I arrived home...
Nate was in our bedroom on the computer. The day was beautiful so he opened the blinds to let the sunshine in. We have huge windows in our place, they're great except for the equation: big window+ winter = gas is a beast.
Anyway, back to the sunny light filtering into our bedroom. Nate was focusing on the computer when he heard his little brother walk into the bedroom. Nate didn't turn around and Aaron didn't say anything for a few moments. Finally Aaron said "So, what are we going to do today?" Nate turned to answer Aaron. Nate found himself looking at Aaron. Aaron was looking at himself in the mirror. Aaron was looking at himself in the mirror flexing his muscles. Aaron looking at himself in the mirror, flexing his muscles,wearing nothing but whitey-tightey's. Aaron looking at himself in the mirror, flexing his muscles, wearing nothing but whitey-tightey's that he had skillfully tucked up between his two little cheekies to create a whitey-tighty thong.
I know, I know, I have the same mental image. Believe me it won't go away too soon.

As Aaron made eye contact at Nate and innocently asked "What?", they both heard a sound outside the big window. Aaron's eyes got big as he stood face to whitey-tighty face with the next door neighbor, with his tattoos, piercing and braided beard, who was unlocking his door to get into his apartment. There wasn't anywhere to hide, and if there was, the neighbor had gotten an eyeful anyway.
Aaron turned to Nate and said "Your neighbor just saw me through the window, I don't think he appreciated what he saw."
Nate said "You mean my gay neighbor? Oh, I'm sure he defiantly appreciated what he saw."

Miss you Aaron, do you miss me? Even a little bit?

When Cowboy Boots bond with the In-Laws

I was so nervous to meet the in-laws. Nate and I barely knew each other and now I was going to meet his siblings, his mother who gave birth to him and his law enforcement papa.

"What if they don't like me?" I ventured to myself "Of course they'll like me, just remember not to...not to what?" My mind went blank, what should or shouldn't I do. I need to make a good impression. I was going to marry their precious baby and they needed to be assured that I was the best girl for him. Gulp...please don't let me have to cook for them, I don't think my famous, well, I don't have anything famous.

My mind began to play tricks on me:

I could see my mother-in-law towering over me with clipboard in hand and a grading sheet as she critiqued my cooking, cleaning, laundry and the ease in which I changed a poopie diaper. "That's how you fold clean clothes?" she would say to me "interesting. I'm sorry, Nate only likes his underwear folded with the superman logo on top. You fail, thanks for trying to marry our son. You can reapply in 18 months."

His brothers and brother-in-law,their sweaters flawlessly tied around their shoulders, would say it was nice to meet me but then pull Nate aside and advise against us getting married "Sure, her booty is nice now but after a kid or two...that thing will mutate into 'the blob." Nate would look back at me and notice that my rear had already grown at least a size since we first met.

The sisters and sister-in-law would smile and hug me, careful not to mess up their perfect salon hair and newly manicured nails. Mentally at first and then later on to each other they would talk about Nate's last girlfriend and how they liked her much better. Casually they would walk up to Nate and ask if he's seen "old what's her name" she had returned from a shoot in Paris and had just finished her masters degree.

Nate's' dad would salute me in his starched uniform and begin to interrogate me. "What is your intentions with my son?" I would stammer something incoherent like "Um, well, he asked me to marry him, so I guess my intentions would be to marry him...?" *

As you can see, I had every right to be worried. And so, I decided that I needed to take a stand. I would have to show them that I was right for Nate, and right away. But how? The opportunity arose at dinner the first night after our arrival. As everyone was finished eating in the living room, I walked my plate to the sink and noticed that there was a nozzle to help rinse off dishes in the sink. You know, those ones that you squeeze the trigger, you can pull it out of the sink and spray off bigger dishes and get better angles.
A old trick of my dad's popped in my head as I quietly looked through drawers until I found a rubber band. I figured one of Nate's brothers would be finished eating next and so he would be the victim of my plan to help with my acceptance into the Judd family. I rinsed off my plate, turned off the water and then wrapped the rubber band around the trigger with the nozzle facing right where the first person to turn on the water would be standing.
To my delight, Nate's brother, Dustin, finished and went to the kitchen. I leaned over just in time to see him jump to the side. The spray had only got on his sweats a little bit. Darn it, I thought to myself, so much for that idea. It was at that point that I figured Dustin had taken off the rubber band so no one else would get sprayed.
My future father-in-law was next to stand up, everything slowed down as I glanced at the sink in horror and realized that Dustin had left the rubber band on the nozzle. I wanted to yell for him to stop but Dustin caught my eye and motioned for me to keep silent. Big Bob Judd turned on the sink but all his law enforcement training was not enough to save him from the spray of water that soaked his shirt. He did think quickly on his feet and was only sprayed for a few seconds before he collected himself enough to turn off the sink.
I would like to apologize but the whole event was too hilarious for formalities. Nate's dad looked at me and at that moment I became a member of the Judd family.

And so, that is how I bonded with my in-laws. My first meeting with all of them was wonderful, and every meeting after has been better and better. I like 'em, I think I'll keep them.

As a side note, just for funnsies I typed in Robert Judd in the google image search. The following is one of the first pictures that popped up. I think this is my father-in-law back when he was a model, I have no proof but I have my suspicions:

*Just for the record, none of them were like the monsters imagined in my crazy mind. Everyone was really nice and I have the best in-laws a girl could ask for.

When Cowboy Boots cook...

This last week I was feeling homey (not to be confused with homely) and decided to make apple crisp with some apples that weren't being eaten. I would impress my fellow employees and bring an award winning treat to work.

I grabbed my grandma's trusty ol' recipe book and after careful studying began to make the delightful dish.
As I was reading the recipe there was something that didn't seem quite right to me but it was grandmas recipe so it had to be right...it's always be right before um...except for the first time I made meat loaf for Natey-poo...

We had been married for over a year when Nate broke down and told me that I made the best chicken in the world "Sesame chicken, BBQ chicken, chicken fingers, chicken and stuffing, grilled chicken, fried chicken, baked chicken, chicken sandwiches, chicken soup...but baby," he told me "I don't really like chicken." Oh, I see...don't cry, don't cry, I had to tell myself but I cried. I was just trying to save money and cook something somewhat healthy since his diet consisted of and average of 1 Mt. Dew and 3 candy bars a day.

Fine, you don't like chicken? Well mister, you're going to regret saying that. No more chicken pot pie, no more chicken salad, no more chicken...(sorry, I just started crying again). And so, I buoyed my spirits and decided to turn our lives around and make...MEATLOAF.

I hadn't made meatloaf for years, and yes, I know you seasoned cooks are laughing in your aprons, but I wanted to look at a recipe just to make sure I hadn't forgotten anything too important to make the perfect meatloaf. I went for the most well known recipe book on my shelf, grandma's recipe book with the recipe for delicious meatloaf. As I prepared the ingredients, I felt comfortable knowing that Nate wouldn't have to suffer eating chicken tenders, chicken wings, chicken...(tear, sorry).

I went to preheat the oven but stopped short when I read and reread the cooking instructions: Cook at 150 degrees for 2 hours
"That's weird," I thought. Even with my limited cooking experience, I was pretty sure you shouldn't cook meat at 150, I would have thought 350 but it was grandmas recipe and grandma knows what she's doing.

I threw the meatloaf in the oven and went to take a nap, sure that the smell of perfectly cooked meatloaf would wake me when the time came near to take it out.

Two and a half hours later I woke up, hungry wanting meatloaf. I looked in the oven but to my dismay I saw right way that the meat was still raw. So I put the pan back in the oven and began doing something productive. As I continued to check the oven over time, I began to feel a little nervous. 6 hours is way too long to cook meatloaf. Chicken Parmesan would have been finished way sooner, you know?

Finally, with Nate crawling on the floor from being faint from hunger, I said a long, long prayer and started dishing up the perfect meatloaf. Nate took one look at the pearl pink meat with ribbons of red still glistening in the grooves and told me in his sweet way "There's no way in hell I'm eating this." I lamely said "But I followed the recipe" (plus an extra 4 hours to cook).

We dumped grandmas perfect meatloaf in the garbage and I happily threw a couple chicken breasts in our ever faithful George Foreman grill.
Later when I told grandma what had happened, she was mortified. "YOU COOKED MEATLOAF AT 150 DEGREES? YOU NEVER COOK MEATLOAF THAT LOW, IT SHOULD BE AT 350." Yes, grandma, thank you. I KNOW NOW!!!
Apparently whomever typed up grandmas recipe book made a pretty fatal typo....Marshall...was that you?

Back to the present, so I followed the directions in grandmas recipe book. And to my delight, I pulled out a sweet, crisp, delicious smelling apple crisp. It was beautiful. I almost wanted to tuck it away in a safe until the state fair came along next September.

I decided to take a little bite just to make sure the flavors were cooked together in culinary perfection. As I grabbed one of the cheap metal forks that we own, I called to Nate to come try some (even though he not really a crisp or pie person). He sweetly declined "I don't want any of that nasty stuff."

I'll never be able to taste that little crisp from heaven. For though it was beautiful, the top crisp was too hard to break through. My fork bent. I ran next door to see if the neighbors had a mini-concrete breaker, drill thingy. No luck, every moment passing meant that the crisp was getting harder and harder. It was not to be, I sadly packed my blue ribbon apple crisp in a pretty basket and towel and sent it where it would be put to good use. As a wrecking ball.

I think it's safe to say that my apple crisp days have ended, I can't face the pain of losing another apple crisp the way that I lost this one.

When cowboy boots and basketball shoes drive...

On lovely evening, Nate and I were driving to a store that he had never been to before. As we talked, I would interupt momentarily to tell him where to turn, afterwhich we would continue with our conversation.

As we were nearing our destination, I said "Turn right at the next light."
Nate smiled and started weirdly singing "Right at the light, right at the light. I'm gonna turn right at the light." While he was singing and making faces at me, he passed by the light and kept driving straight ahead.
"Nate, you were suppose to turn right at the light." I said.

He turned to me, looking annoyed and replied "You didn't tell me I was suppose to turn right at the light..." his voice trailed off as I looked at him like he was a loon and started mimicking his "Right at the Light" one hit wonder.
To this day he says he claims that he can't remember this incident, that's cool...that's cool.
"Right at the light, right at the light..."

When cowboy boots and basketball shoes fight...

This last weekend Nate and I got into a little argument. I would have jiu jitshued his cute little booty but I didn't want to get out of my warm bed so we had a war of words.
I won't go into the details, they don't really matter. All that you need to know is that he got mad at something I did and I got mad in return because he didn't need to be mad at me. I told him I didn't like it when he was so critical of me and I try my best. This is how the rest of the argument went:

Nate: I forgot you're so perfect. One day when I come home from work and you're gone I won't know if it's because you left me or because you were translated for being so perfect.

That was the end of the fight, I started laughing so hard and despite him still being a little riled up, he laughed too. Then I jumped out of bed and jiu jitshued his ornery butt!

Nate caught me...

Well, it finally happened, Nate caught me. It's been going on for a little while and now it's out in the open. There are no more secrets. Last night, the truth came out...

Nate works at night so naturally I get lonely in the evenings by myself. My sister, Logan, usually stops by for dinner and a visit before class on Tuesdays and Thursdays but the other days I have no one to keep me company. It started out innocently enough. First a little Jim Croce playing in the background, next lighting a candle to make the place smell good, turning off the lights while eating chocolate truffles.


Sounds romantic, eh? What is Haley talking about? What juicy gossip is she confessing too?


Actually, the truth is this:

Last night I was alone so I called my folks to see how they were doing now that they had an empty nest. I was also getting ready to jump in the shower but first I lit one of my favorite apple cinnamon candles (because I do want the house to smell good) and turned on the radio (I like to have a little music while I shower). I turned off all the lights but the ones in the bathroom (trying to save money and electricity) and started stripping down to my nothingness (you can't shower properly if you have clothes on).


It was about 10:45 and Nate doesn't get home until 1:00 or 2:00.

Imagine my surprise and delight when the door knob started turning and all of a sudden my husband comes home early.


Imagine Nate's surprise to walk into his house early and find the lights out, a candle lit, empty truffle wrappers laying on the ground next to a blanket, a little Phil Collins playing softly in the background and his wife standing naked in the middle of the kitchen (still on the phone with my folks, by the way).

"Who were you expecting?" he asked me.


I had been caught "Baby," I said "It's not what you think. I can explain." I quickly hung up the phone "I was just getting ready to jump in the shower and..."

He interrupted "Maybe I need to check the shower..."

And that my blogging friends, is a lesson to you all. If you want a quiet evening alone and set a relaxing atmosphere, think about how it will look to your husband if he walks in unexpectedly.