Hello, sportsfans. Those of you who read Chris's site will already know that his grandfather passed away on Saturday. The Alzheimer's took him years ago, so I think the family is mostly just relieved that his suffering has ended. However, between the travelling and the midwestern funeraling and whatnot, I'm sure you can understand why your favorite husband and wife blogging pair aren't holding up our end of the bargain. Additionally, I'm not getting any comment emails and all my domain mail is bouncing and my host is being less than helpful and I don't have time to yell at them right now.
But! Because I love you and always like to plan ahead so I will be prepared (wait, that's a lie, this is just a fluke), I had the following thrilling tale saved as a draft and you can read and re-read and ponder and discuss amongst yourselves until my life returns to something like normal, hopefully tomorrow-ish. No no, no need to thank me, it is the least I can do for you, my dear friends inside the computer.
Shannon asked: "How did you and chris meet, and how did he propose?"
You may remember that Chris and I went to the same college. We even lived in the same dorm freshman year. However, our paths never crossed. He lived down in the "Dungeon" which was full of loud, smelly boys, and I lived on four where I shared one bathroom with six other women. That isn't relevant, I just like to complain about it. We did have one class together, but it was one of those 300 person lecture things, so you can understand why we missed each other.
The summer after freshman year, I spent six weeks in Kenya with a wildlife preservation effort working to prevent the poaching of elephants. Coincidentally, Chris also spent a few weeks in Kenya that summer on in internship with UNICEF. We first ran into each other in a horrible little restaurant in Nairobi (that's where the "I picked him up in a bathroom" story comes from), but only got as far as exchanging names and a little mild flirting before my group was ready to leave. The next time we ran into each other was two weeks later in Tsavo East National Park (sort of between the Indian Ocean and the border with Tanzania). And the thing is, this next part of the story would take a novel to tell correctly and I am a little reluctant to post the details online because I think that technically Chris could still press charges, but I accidentally shot him. It was just in the arm, I never understood why he made such a big deal about it. Anyway, while we were on the way to get him some medical attention for his minor little flesh wound, we got to talking a bit and found out we went to the same school and he started joking about getting a restraining order and by the time we go to the aid station we were pretty much making out in the back of the jeep.
Five years later, Chris finally proposed, saying he was pretty sure I wasn't going to shoot him again but just to be safe he wanted to have me where he could keep an eye on me. He gave me a ring made out of the bullet I had inadvertently lodged in his arm, and which he has saved as a souvenier and to hold over my head to try to make me feel guilty. It never worked, it was as much his fault he got shot as it was mine. (Remind me later and I'll post pictures of the ring and his teeny-tiny little scar.)
Anyway, I don't generally recommend it, but shooting a man does seem to get his attention. Although, we have had to endure 13 years of jokes about how I "bagged my limit" and whether I want to have his head mounted on the wall.
(P.S. - my site is all kinds of screwed up today, sorry.)