Who Are You?

My wife just set off to run 6 miles. She's a beast.

I've got a question for you:

Do you like questions?

If you don't, I apologize for asking.

If you do, then this is the blog post for you!

Here's the dealio: I really want to get to know you guys. I want an idea of who my faithful Bucketeers are and what they're like. Right now, I sort of feel like I've been shoved on a stage that is illuminated by blinding lights, and I don't recognize a single person in the crowd. It's kind of sad, really.

In order to get to know you a little better, I just have a few questions for you. And because I would never ask you to do something I wouldn't, I'll answer them for you as well.

Your Turn!

There was a lightning flash so bright last night that I swear God was taking a picture of me...

It's Suuuuuunday.

Around here at Life Before the Bucket, that could only mean one thing.

I get to shamelessly plug whatever blogs I want. It's a beautiful thing, really.

However, this Sunday is going to have a little twist. This Sunday, I need your help.

This is what I look like when I run out of blogs to read.

Usually, I link to whatever blogs are striking my fancy at the moment. I've discovered lately, though, that I don't follow nearly enough blogs. And if I don't follow enough blogs, it means I don't have as many friends as I could have, which always makes me a little sad on the inside. Plus, I want to be able to share as many awesome blogs with you as possible!

So here's what I'm asking. It's simple, painless, and won't cost you a penny.


Leave a comment that shamelessly plugs one of your all-time favorite blogs. If you see that someone has already beat you to it, think of another. I want to hear about as many blogs as possible! Doesn't matter what they're about, either. You could link up to a blog written by a 40 year old dog that lives on Pluto for all I care (and I would care, because that would be awesome!).

So let me hear it.  

What's your favorite blog to read?

Why I Love Ice Cream

Disclaimer: This was originally a guest post on My Husband Ate All My Ice Cream. However, I thought I should post it here, just in case you missed it! Enjoy!

My marriage is funny.

Seriously, it makes me laugh.

First of all, my wife loves cooking. This is definitely not a problem. However, her favorite thing to cook is sweets. Baking is her niche.

This is where things get funny: I don't like sweets.

I can't help it. I'm a man. I like meat. Meat and potatoes, with a side of corn on the cob and a cold can of Pepsi, to be exact.

Now I've only been married for two years, so all of this is subject to change. But what I've learned over the course of the last two years (and the three years prior to that while dating my wife) is that if she likes something, and I don't, she's going to suck me in and make me like it anyway.

I can't help it. She's so darn cute.

Home

Got to make an ER visit for the first time in a few years - it actually wasn't that bad. Until we get the bill, that is.

As you undoubtedly know (because you're awesome), it's Friday.

This means, as you've already predicted (because you're amazing), that I'm doing a Five Minute Friday post.

And thus, I must share with you the three simple rules that accompany this endeavor, via The Gypsy Mama.

Rule 1 - Write for 5 minutes. No more, no less. And no editing, backtracking, or any other sort of nonsense!
Rule 2 - Link back to The Gypsy Mama and invite others to join (that means YOU!).
Rule 3 - Leave some comment love for the 5 minuter who linked up before you!

Today's prompt?

Home

Ready... Set... Go!

The word "home" evokes a lot for me. For instance, I was born in Oceanside, California. However, I've never been there. And my parents (gotta love 'em!) didn't even know the correct city that I could call my "hometown" until I was 13 and we took a look at my birth certificate!

I also have a place that I used to call home for 12 years of my life. It was a small, 3 bedroom house, with 5 of us living in it, and many others occupying space most of the time. It was a tumultuous time in life, but it was fun.

Then we moved up in the world and moved next door. No lie. But it was a huge improvement. The basement was finished, and there were 4 bedrooms, which doesn't sound like a lot more than 3, but it is if you have the basement bedroom, and therefore, the basement, all to yourself. I loved that as a teenager, even if I see how it allowed me to distance myself from my family when I was younger.

Now, at 21, I don't know where to call "home." When we went to the ER two nights ago, they asked where we lived, and I am never quite sure how to answer that question. We are living with one of Kalyn's cousin's (who is awesome for letting us stay here!), but I often list my mom's address for my address in Wichita. Meanwhile, we also have an apartment in Manhattan, so do we call that "home"? Or is it where we are now?

An old adage says "home is where the heart is," which makes me realize something. My home has nothing to do with a street address or house, or how many bedrooms are in my house. It has everything to do with where my heart is, and right now, it's in a million places at once. So for now, this life, this place, and this house... This is my temporary home. 

STOP!

(I have to admit, I went over my 5 minutes. Barely. But only because I wanted to talk to my wife for a moment!) 

Do you know where your "home" is? What does the word "home" evoke for you? I'd love to hear from you about this (or anything else!) in a comment or an e-mail!

On Typos

Well, at least one Boston team won a championship this year...

Do me a favor. Tell me how difficult this sentence is to read:

Alll I wunt too do durin thee summer is sleap and swam.

Not terrible, right? EDIT: Wrong. Apparently it's only easy if you hold your breath, tilt your head to the left 27.4 degrees, and do the Macarena.

We can all pretty much decipher that it's supposed to say, "All I want to do during the summer is sleep and swim." Because we're all geniuses around here. Ya know?

But imagine if an entire blog post looked like that.

I don't want to - that's for sure. It just makes me cringe thinking about it.