Beary Cute

So let me start off by saying (for those of you who care about me) that this weekend was one of the most amazing weekends I’ve had in a long time with the most amazing boyfriend ever.

Today, Good Looking actually came to the mall with me.  He hates malls, but he came anyway.  Sweet, right?  I needed to go to American Eagle to buy a couple of jackets, since the only one I ever really wear is my England jacket (though it is the best jacket in the world).  Also, I have a teddy bear named Parker that I’ve had since about the fourth grade.  I still sleep with him every single night, and I don’t go anywhere without him (traveling, I mean – I go to class and stuff without him).  

So Good Looking started to get jealous that I have a cute little stuffed teddy bear and he doesn’t.  So among other things, getting a teddy bear for Good Looking was one of the main reasons we went to the mall today.  The first store I brought him into was the American Eagle “night wear” store called Aerie.  Essentially, they have bras, underwear, and pajamas.  He was very uncomfortable, so we left quickly.

After stopping in a few other places and buying a few things, we finally made it to the Build-A-Bear factory.  (I liked it better back when it was called Adopt-a-Bear.)  So the first step was to pick out which bear he wanted.  We chose a very cute light-colored one.  I believe the exact color was something like butter-cream.

Next, it was time to stuff the bear.  I, of course, had to pretend the bear was for me, so that Good Looking would not be embarrassed.  So I had to take a little red heart, rub it on my tummy so that the bear would never go hungry, rub it on my nose (I’m not really sure why), kiss it, and make a wish.  Then I put it inside the bear, and she stuffed it with white fluff.

Next, we were supposed to go groom the bear and give it some sort of strange air shower, but we skipped that part.  So we went straight to picking out the bear’s clothes.  Although Good Looking wanted the bear to be a girl, he also wanted the clothes to be ambiguous (because apparently Parker’s blue and green plaid boxers and white shirt are ambiguous as well).  So we picked out a very nice white robe for Good Looking’s bear to wear.

Then we had to go create a “birth certificate” for the bear, which meant we had to come up with a name.  Luckily, Good Looking had already come up with a name he liked while we were sitting down eating our slices of cookie cake.  So we sat down at the computer to type in all the information, so they could ask if I wanted to sign up for their special mail or email services.  No thanks!  But finally we got to the naming the bear part, where I typed in “Kitty.”  Kitty the bear.

We went to the checkout register to buy the bear and pick up the birth certificate, where we were asked if we wanted a house or a bag.  House, of course.  So for the rest of our mall trip, Good Looking had to carry around a Build-A-Bear house with his new robed bear named Kitty. 

When we got home, we introduced Kitty and Parker to each other and they immediately fell madly in love.  They’re currently lying in bed together, wearing their robe and boxers.  Though I can’t be sure how long they’ll keep them on.

Bear Hunt

Each night, I sleep with a teddy bear named Parker that I created at what was once called the Adopt-A-Bear factory many years ago.  (It is now the Build-A-Bear Workshop.)  Now, I know you may be thinking that it’s slightly childish to still sleep with a teddy bear, but let me assure it is not.  You see, after sleeping with him for so many years, cuddled up in my arms, I feel like something is missing when I don’t sleep while cuddling at least something.  When necessary, I can substitute an appropriate sized pillow or something similar.  Occasionally, I even wake up after a nap to find that I’ve been cuddling the remote control.

This past weekend, I stayed in the guest bedroom of Good Looking’s grandparents house while we were there for a visit.  Good Looking slept on the pull-out couch in his grandfather’s study.  Now, in this guest bedroom that I temporarily inhabited, Good Looking’s grandmother has placed many cute teddy bears on both of the twin beds.  I moved them all to the bed in which I did not sleep and kept my bed open for just me and Parker.

On the night of August 31^st, around 11:40 PM I was preparing to finally sleep.  But I noticed something was missing — Parker!  I thought perhaps he had fallen off the bed.  So I peered over the side, but I found no Parker.  Maybe he’s on the other side of the room, I thought.  So I got out of bed and walked over there, but still I found no Parker.  Is he with the other teddy bears?  I moved each of the other teddy bears around to see if they were hiding Parker, but still he was not there.  Then, a thought came to me.  Surely Good Looking didn’t take him.

I walked down the hall to the study, which Good Looking occupied.  The two sliding doors had a crack between them just large enough for me to slide my nose through.  So peered into the darkness, my nose in between the doors, and whispered, “Psssst.  Are you awake?”

“Yes,” was the reply I heard.  So I opened the doors a bit wider so I could squeeze through.

“Good Looking… did you take Parker?”

Silence.

“Good Looookiiiing…?”

Still, silence.  So I repeated his name once more and made my way onto the bed.  He still would not say a word.  I gave him a big bear hug (pun intended, of course) and felt something fuzzy in between his arms.  I was in shock!  Good Looking once thought it was fun to steal Parker from me and hide him, but I thought he was past those days.  Alas, he apparently still thought this childish game of stealing my teddy bear was funny.

But then, in a sweet, demure voice, I heard, “I was going to bring him to you in…” Good Looking paused to check the time on his phone, “17 minutes as a five month-iversary present.”

Now tell me that’s not the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard.  I do believe I’m the luckiest girl alive.

Where does my intelligence come from?

Despite the fact that I received only one comment on yesterday’s post, and despite the fact that it wasn’t even a compliment, I have decided to continue the blog. After all, I need something to do at work.

In today’s post, I will discuss the source(s) of my intelligence. Theoretically, one’s base intelligence would be derived from one’s parents. Other sources include teachers, books, TV, etc.

Now, for most of my life, I’ve believed that my parents are fairly intelligent people. After all, they’ve taught me most of what I know, and I consider myself to be a well-brought-up young lady/woman/girl. However, last night they each had their own moments which made me question where my intelligence actually comes from.

As a prologue to the first story, you should know that this weekend, my family and I will be taking a trip to our condo in Florida. Two nights ago, just after my father finished his dinner, he exclaimed that he was happy that only our family would be at the condo because all he wants to do is vegetate. End prologue.

Last night, my mother, father, and I were in the car on our way to the Apple store. My father once again asked, just to make sure, if it would be only our immediate family at the condo this weekend. My mother replied that yes, it would only be our immediate family. So my father exclaimed once more that he could not wait to just vegetate. My mother, however, replied that she didn’t understand how he would do this, given that my brother doesn’t eat vegetables.

I glanced at my father, who was also looking at me, and we began laughing hysterically. I asked my mom about seven times (no exaggeration) if she was kidding, but, alas, she actually thought that to vegetate is to eat only vegetables.

Can my intelligence possibly come from this woman?

Now for my father. After going to the Apple store, we all (my father, my mother, my brother, my sister-in-law, her friend, and I) walked over to BJ’s Brewhouse for dinner. While there, we discovered that my sister-in-law’s friend, whom we will call Vee for the sake of anonymity, and I have a great deal in common. Vee was saying that if she ever got stuck in an airport, she would curl up on the floor and lay her head on her Vera Bradley (a brand of luggage).

My dad, however, heard something entirely different, and became excited that Vee and I have yet another thing in common: apparently we both have bears named Bradley. The truth is, I do have a bear, but his name is Parker, not Bradley, and Vee has no bear at all (stuffed bears, that is). We do both have Vera Bradley luggage though.

Does my intelligence come from him?

I’ve decided that my base intelligence must have been very low if it came from the two aforementioned people. Either that, or I was adopted.