Whoa, long-time-no-see.

I guess that's what happens when you are married--life passes you by. We've been busy, to say the least. Forrest finished his two semesters at Front Range Community College and will start his first semester at Colorado State University (Fort Collins, CO) this fall. I finished my first year of my Master's program and loved it. I have two more years to go!

But, I just got my first real teaching job at a local charter school. I'm finally the high school English teacher that I always wanted to be. I am so excited to have a salary, but this means I need to take at least a semester off from my program to settle into my new job. But did I mention that WE CAN NOW PAY OUR BILLS. School can wait--shocking, I know. But I did finish my initial degree and then some, so that counts. And I won't be "quitting." I planned to get my Master's years from now, so technically I'm ahead of my plan.

But now I'm a teacher. A real, nerdy, "I need an office," teacher. And I am definitely excited. Two years after graduating from my Teaching Credential Program and three and a half years after my B.A. I'm ready.

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Forrest and I just celebrated our 1st Wedding Anniversary on June 25th. We were literally moving out of our old place and moving into another, waiting for in-laws to arrive, and I was going to interviews galore. We went to dinner, but that was it. I hear that "it's just another day" from many other married couples. Life moves at a faster pace than we like. But it was our first wedding anniversary!

I love Mr. McKay. He challenges me, confronts me, and more importantly, comforts me. I went on a week long training for my new job hours away and seriously missed Forrest. What happened? Before getting married, I was a total independent woman, but now I'm a hot mess. I was the one who was teary-eyed when it's usually Forrest! What the heck happened!

Through all of our crazy moments, he is there. He doesn't run off and do stupid, immature things like in some relationships. Being married is the greatest thing ever! I do not miss being single--at all (but that is me).

To 75 more years, Mr. McKay. Well, 75 means I'd be 102 and that is damn scary (and saggy). Eh, let's do it!

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We have moved to a new place with a yard! Oliver has no clue how to use the grass. It's annoying. But we have a yard!

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And finally, our racing weenie. Forrest found a Dachshund Race and we entered Ollie. To our surprise, he won 2nd place in his age division! He's never raced! Now it's on! Olympic training everyday, sun up to sun down.

Just kidding. Here are some of his pictures!

It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Winter!

The last couple of months have been so busy for both of us. Stephanie's been working full time and taking four Masters courses and Forrest is a full time student at the college. We've been working our tails off, while trying to be newlyweds. Not easy. Today, the weekend before finals, we took Ollie (who will be 1 years old in 5 days) out to the field. It snowed last night and he had a great time. Silly weenie.

We're in the paper!

Here is our wedding announcement in the Coloradoan.

The Photos Are In!

Our photos are coming in by the hundreds! Here are some of our favorites! Click on the photos for a larger view. I made them small so they wouldn't take over the blog.

This one is my favorite of Forrest. It melts my heart.

Want more? Visit Facebook!

Wedding Album 1

Wedding Album 2

A Farmer's Market Pot Pie

Now aren't you jealous. This little gem is a Larimer County Farmer's Market Inspired Pot Pie. There is chicken, purple carrots, potatoes, celery, peas and some amazing filling that makes me heart go pitter-patter. I used premade crust--sorry, I'm a working girl--and put egg white on once I make the inside layer along the cup. The egg white protects the crust from getting soggy. No soggy crusts here. Pop this magic in the oven and *PrEsTo* dinner.

Don't you wish I was your wife?

Changing my name on my Driver's License.

The Driver’s License facility is utterly painful.

And I thought California’s DMV was bad. I moved out to Fort Collins last year and needed to obtain a new driver’s license. That experience alone kept me out of the facility for months, that is, until I got married. I am now reliving the nightmare of the experience all over again. The Colorado Department of Driver’s Licenses in Fort Collins is an unpleasant place. In fact, it’s absolutely painful. My dentist at Alpine Dental makes it less painful to get a cavity filled than the Driver’s License facility to get a license. I’d rather see the dentist for several fillings than go to Driver’s License. I’m sure some might even go as far as to say that they’d rather get a root canal.

Now it doesn’t matter that they have moved to a new place on Swallow and College Ave, or their computers are slower until the official upgrade, move or whatever they are blaming their issues on. The entire experience is painful. From the moment one walks in the door, the monochromatic chairs all facing the front immediately drain the excitement you may have had to “just conquer” the Driver’s License facility. Why are all the patrons facing that way anyway? Obviously the staff isn’t bothered by the zombie-like stares that shoot from every angle of the room. And the smell. The combination of the new paint on the walls, the smokers trying to ease their anxiety outside and the smell of Teen Spirit all mixed into one fabulous concoction can make one fall ill. The walls are bare, white and cold.

The people waiting in the gray chairs represent may different groups in Fort Collins. My favorite are the teens with their parents. The teens are slowly dying on the inside, waiting for their number to be called. Five-Fifty-Two…Five-Fifty-Three…dying to take their test. Dying to find out if they have passed or failed. Hey, don’t worry kid…haven’t you seen some of the drivers out there already? At least you read that Colorado Driver Booklet from cover-to-cover so you will be just fine (and yes, it’s possibly the only book you’ve read like that in many years). Plug in that ipod and turn up some music—drown out the sound of the zombie like moans coming from every direction. Five-fifty-four. Five-Fifty-Five.

Another one of my favorite groups of people are the elderly. I love how they sit in the chairs, waiting patiently for their number to be called. Their etiquette should be contagious, but the annoying girl behind them, chewing gum like a cow while complaining on the phone to her boyfriend, never gets the picture. And why are the elderly waiting!? I’d be afraid that one might pass on before their number is called. The worst part was that the old, feisty man who had waited 3 hours to only find out that the staff hadn’t fully “unpacked” and he should come back at a different time.

Now why is there even someone at the little ticket counter? No matter which question you ask, her answer is, “Take a number.”

“Take a number.”

“No, that’s not what I wanted, I was wondering…”

“Take a number.”

I take a number and sit.

After trying to get an answer, I just took a number and hoped I had enough cash to pay for my new license.

“We only take cash and checks. No plastic…that’s what I said, no plastic.” This is in response to caller number 26.

Why is this place painful? Because it’s inefficient, but that’s a whole different opinion.

Is there a solution? Yes, but you have to take a number first.

Does the chicken in the store have arms?

Mrs. McKay hates cooking. She hates preparing, cooking, and cleaning up. She hates touching raw meat or even dealing with it. She hates figuring out if it's cooked all the way or if it's overdone. She definitely doesn't like to eat leftovers. When she has to cook, she ends up cooking the chicken until it is very, very dead. She absolutely hates cooking.

Now she is married and must fill some sort of shoe, some sort of stereotype. Cooking. No more eating at restaurants or ordering in many nights throughout the week.

Meet Winny.

Yesterday, Forrest and I went to the Drake Farmer's Market to check out the local goods. We ended up buying a whole chicken because somewhere in my mind, I thought it would be smart to buy a whole chicken and make several meals out of it. Not only was I going to save money, but I was going to be buying a chicken from a nice little farm where it roamed free and was happy.

The meat man flopped the frozen bird onto the scale and weighed our future meal. 4.5 lbs. Her name is Winny and she is my new challenge. Winny was quite expensive, $17 for a damn bird. She better go far.

Because the bird was as solid as a rock, I left her in the refrigerator overnight. Today, I pulled Winny out...right as Forrest came down the stairs! "Sweet, you get to pull out the nasty shit." He wasn't so pleased, but he stepped up to the plate. Winny was a little, eh, frozen on the inside which required a little more force than normal. Sorry Winny.

Winny stared, well not stared, but sat on the pan, waiting for me to become domestic and add something important. I stuffed Winny with oranges, rosemary and thyme. Then I gave her a EVOO (extra virgin Olive Oil) massage, salt and pepper scrub, then added some herbs under her skin. Into the oven at 350 degrees for 2 hours. Do your thing, Winny.

As I pulled Winny out of the oven to let her rest, I examined her. She had big arms (well wings actually, but I thought arms first). I never really noticed that chickens had bigger arms than their breasts. In fact, I never noticed the wings on a whole bird from the pre-cooked section at the grocery store. After asking Forrest if the chickens in the store had arms too, I noticed that she was an organic, free range bird and wasn't pumped with terrible things. Her breast was smaller, making her wings look bigger. Forrest started to take the meat off and saw that there were waaaay more body parts (or sections of meat) than he has ever noticed. Hey, don't judge. We is students.

See, I am, or was, a snobby girl and could only eat chicken breast. I would buy big-ass packets of chicken breasts and never anything else. Now, I will buy happy chickens with smaller breasts. This means that they didn't have to lug around their boobs during their short lives. Tell me about it, chickens, I lug around mine and it can be heavy. I totally get it.

We decided to make fajitas for dinner, save meat for other meals and I put the bones in the freezer to make soup later--a suggestion made by Forrest's vegetarian mom. Go Figure.

Everything turned out amazing and I was shocked at how domestic I could be. I filled a portion of a stereotypical wife's shoe today.

Then I cleaned the damn kitchen.