Eric bought my engagement ring at a swanky French jewelry store in downtown Chicago called Christian Bernard. Everything you could possibly stereotype from just hearing the name of the store is true. Fancy golden gate upon the entrance, elegant white carpeting that doesn't show the slightest hint of dirt, and a smell that perpetuates the air of superiority. My ring originally came in a elegantly carved wooden box that was in turn housed within a beautiful royal blue velvet bag, that was in another golden box with gold embossed french lettering, and that was in a bag which depicted a french colonial scene of people merely being beautiful to one another.

Once last summer I was shopping downtown and meandered in to have my rings cleaned. A woman with an incredibly thick french accent took one look at my rings and began to lecture me intensely on how poorly I was treating my rings, even suggesting that I did not deserve to have them if I were to treat them in such a vile way. She tisked and shrugged and shook her head. I mentally travelled back to 4th grade Catholic school standing in front of Sister Fintan. I left in shame and have since that moment always remove my rings whenever I even think to apply lotion.

Last week, our insurance company asked for specific detailed paperwork on the ring in order to cover it in our renters policy. Yesterday my husband Eric and I decided to walk there to get it. Christian Bernard is located in the Watertower Plaza downtown, a roughly 35 minute walk from our apartment. It was 15 degrees outside, so we walked fast.

We braved the elements, glided up the plopping water escalator and journeyed up to the 5th floor. When we got to the top, turned the corner and faced the store, we did not see the establishment at all. We saw a volcanic eruption of cardboard red, white and black signs all slapped on top on each other, vying for space to breathe and be read. LIQUIDATION SALE! EVERYTHING MUST GO! BANKRUPTCY! EVERYTHING 60%-75% OFF!

We made our way through the crowd, who were grasping for every necklace, bracelet and engagement ring as if a giant diamond pinata broke. Customers grabbing for a sales rep to help them. And the salespeople's heavy accents spoke faster, more hurried, more eager than I'd ever previously experienced. They weren't dressed as nice, they seemed more tired, the carpeting seemed trampled on and dirty. My husband's face was quite surprised. After a bit he found the exact woman who had lectured me the summer before and explained what we needed. She told him that all paperwork was sent back to the corporate office, and they would have to contact them directly. There was nothing she could do. She barely asked us our name. Eric was pissed. What my husband heard was...."thanks for spending a small fortune with us, we could give a shit what happens to you now, we're desperately trying to recover what is left of our own ass."

The walk back home seemed colder, and we were getting hungry. The thought of the leftover spaghetti from the night before and the subject topic of random friends and family members got us home before we froze solid. Eric will have to call corporate next business week and I'll no doubt have to deal with a pissed off husband a little while longer. My mind went back to all those ugly red, white and black screenprinted signs....we might as well have entered a pawn shop.

A pawn shop with french accents and a golden gate that soon will be closed forever.

1. My experience of Eric serving in Iraq made me (oddly enough) a better, more grateful American.

2. Whenever I emotionally eat, I pretend I’m someone famous.

3. People who use their creative talent to create messed up movies like SAW sadden & disgust me.

4. In order for me to pray, I have to “write” it. In church I’m sure it looks like I don’t care, cause while people are talking/singing/whatever I’m writing in a small notebook.

5. I was the first girl to play little league hockey in my hometown of Dubuque, IA.

6. I LOVE the movie “Grease 2”and know all the lyrics to the songs.

7. When I was 11 I played “Toto” in the Barn Community Theater Children’s production of “The Wizard of Oz”. At the time I thought it was so cool and that I was a star, I had a thick fuzzy costume, tons of stage time and had my own little cooler of Capri Suns backstage (directors fear of dehydration - the cowardly lion had his own too). Later on as I was going through a rough patch of puberty I realized I was playing a dog....and was embarassed for many years afterward and did not openly admit or talk about it.

8. In 6th grade I bought Chippendales playing cards from a Spencers store in the mall and my mom confiscated them, shunning me for being a degenerate.

9. I didn’t like my Dad till I was about 30 years old.

10. I kinda want to run another marathon.

11. Half the things I say aloud I wish I could take back.

12. In 1998, I had a 15 minute conversation with actor George Clooney. Just him and me. He’s a really nice guy.

13. I HATE, no....LOATHE dealing with the United States Military.

14. Within a certain circle of friends my nickname is SHREDDER.

15. I was fired twice in my lifetime. Once for not having enough computer experience, and once for being too harsh to my students. Big effing babies.

16. I know all the words to the Kenny Roger’s song, “The Gambler”.

17. In college, I attempted to be bulimic but crapped my pants on laxatives.

18. The only fan letter I ever wrote was to Wayne Gretzky. He wrote me back.

19. I attended Game 2 of the World Series between the Arizona Diamondbacks and the New York Yankees. I went for free.

20. My favorite food of all time is Chocolate Milk.

21. I didn’t vote this year. My first time ever. Neither candidate inspired me and my heart was heavy about it.

22. I never would have gotten a scuba diving license if it weren’t for Eric. I merely wanted to impress him.

23. I LOVE the card game Euchre, (typically an old German mans game) and would like to play in tournaments.

24. I hope I never see again any of my ex-boyfriends except one.

25. One "single-girl" Valentine's Day years ago, I once ate an entire roll of Toll House Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough - and got EXTREMELY SICK.

Every place has it's purpose in your life. It forms you. For me, I was born and grew up in Iowa. Three weeks after earning my BFA at Iowa State I high-tailed it to live in Phoenix, AZ. Ten years after living in Phoenix I moved to Chicago, IL. I've lived here 5 years now and do not plan to move anytime soon.

Iowa: I grew up with 2 parents that love and like each other. I got to live in a house in a neighborhood that was safe and had other kids my age to play with. We went to church on Sunday and I even attended Catholic school throughout my grammar years. The American dream.

Phoenix: I took my twenties and embarked on a life that I excitedly got to create by myself. Where in Iowa I had a vast family to associate with, here I would go it alone. I wanted that. I cheerished that. I made mistakes and had successes. I figured out who I was.

Chicago: Full circle. I found that I adored city life, yet at heart was indeed a midwestern girl. I met my husband, developed my career, tested my skills and furthered my dreams and aspirations for myself. I'm closer now to my immediate family (parents, brothers, nieces and nephews) that is continuously growing. Close enough to Iowa, yet far enough to maintain my individuality and come full circle.

Since my growing up in Iowa was not a choice I freely made, I felt this extra tug at my heart to Arizona. I choose it. Those sunsets. That food. That warm weather all seemed to suit my personality better. For the longest time, I dubbed it my "hometown".

Whenever I'd go back there, visit my dearest friends, hike Camelback Mountain, eat red chile-marinated pork burros at Los Dos Molinos or kick back with a beer and watch the vivid purple and orange sunsets....I felt like I was returning home. This latest trip was different.

Last week I took Eric with me to Phoenix so that I could visit old friends and run in the Phoenix Rock-N-Roll Half Marathon. The weather was perfect, friends were wonderful, and I even ran my best time ever: 2:30 for a half. But it was no longer home. I found myself driving past places and telling Eric stories of a life that he was utterly clueless about, and maybe he didn't even care. I'd walk past people in crowds and search for a face that I knew or knew me. Nothing. As much as the scenery was the same, it was different. I did not live there with a monorail or an expansive downtown. People actually WANT to live in Casa Grande now.

Running the half marathon, I would look on the sidelines at people with homemade signs and tee-shirts, looking for a face that was somewhat familiar. Much of our route went through the oddest and ugliest parts of town, further reminding me that I was not welcome. This is no longer my home.

Once I realized that, I felt a sad peace. My mind traced backward to my last year in Phoenix when I sensed that I didn't belong, that I stopped making roots, making plans. I stopped building my life there. When I got to Chicago, everything changed. I bloomed within myself. The next phase of my life that I was searching for surfaced. Phoenix couldn't give me that....but without those 10 years in that amazing town - I would not be who I am today.

Directly after the half-marathon, I took my husband Eric to eat at a Phoenix tradition - Honey Bear's BBQ. Their catchphrase is, "You Don't Need No Teeth To Eat Our Meat". So good. We had ribs and cowbrow beans and I drank a cold beer to wash it down. I became grateful.

Maybe I ran my best time because I wanted to get the hell out of there. Who knows. Next weekend I'm cheering loud and proud for the Arizona Cardinals in the Super Bowl. I know I have no rights to them. Growing up in Eastern Iowa you cheered for the Chicago Bears. Living in downtown Chicago now, married to a Chicago guy....I cheer for the Bears.

But you know what? Kurt Warner is from Iowa.

Thank you Phoenix, Arizona....for all you did for me. I will always love you dearly....but Chicago is my home.

Okay....Tuesday night Eric and I went to THE CADILLAC RANCH, a cowboy bar in Elgin, IL. Eric apparently went there in his single days to listen to music, enjoy the beer specials, and pick up a dance or two. The idea of going to a country bar dancing on a Tuesday night fascinated me for no other reason than this would be one of the last things on earth I would think to do.

I'm taking a chance. I'm doing something different. Seems Eric is always doing what I want and now it's time for me to "pony up". I must admit, up until this point I was absolutely LOVING the fact that he had joined my life and all it's activities. The perfect accessory.

I'm not sure I'm a person who likes change. I'm trying. Because of Eric I have a scuba license now. I've climbed to the highest point in the Smokey Mountains. I've caught a Walleye and I've Karaoked in public. Now I'm about to learn how to 2 step.....

So here I am, in my sexy purple cowgirl boots I bought 2 years ago on a wimp and have worn only once before. I have a feeling by the effort it took to put them on that taking them off is not going to be the slightest bit of fun. Walking into the place was actually quite awesome. EVERY AGE was represented. I saw the most adorable 25 year old couples dancing right alongside 85 year old couples. Everything in between. And everyone was good....damn good.

I felt this enormous desire to do well. I was setting myself up for failure.

Eric knew a few things and tried to teach me. After a little while of struggling, nice couples would come up and show us things. People who have come to The Cadillac Ranch to dance every Tuesday night for years. Eric mentioned it had been over 3 years since he had been there himself, but he remembered quite a few of the faces. They were all friendly, happy and fun. Most people seemed to know each other. Every Tuesday night was a reunion.

I tried. I tried hard. I put every once of enthusiasm into it. I didn't want to let Eric down, and I didn't want to let these people down. I felt warmly invited into a club and I had no intention of wearing out my welcome on the first day. I smiled, I paid close attention, I listened intently to everyone who approached me with advice and guidance. I sucked. Nobody cared. I was grateful.

By the end of the night, I didn't suck as bad. Eric and I had the 2 step down and another dance that was similar. It went: Right, Left, Right...walk...walk....repeat. Something like that.

It seems important to Eric that we give this a go. A regular Tuesday night "date night". Who knows? Maybe I'll even get good at it.

Okay....I SHOULD be finishing the "pro-bono" website design I promised for Friday. I SHOULD be hunting for new business in 2009. I SHOULD do the dirty dishes in the sink and SHOULD do the laundry.

We have Belgian Chocolate in our freezer.

I've had 3 pieces now. Hot cup of coffee by my side and found a bootleg copy of "Marley & Me" on the internet.

I'll get to the website.....Eric can do the dishes & the laundry.

When this chocolate melts in your mouth with just a sip of hot coffee....it's freaking great.

I'll get to the website....

Okay, so I was used to doing all the work around the house (cooking, cleaning, fixing, etc., etc.) when Eric was in Iraq. The habit is still in me to continue to "do it all", only now with Eric home....my workload feels like it's QUADRUPLED. More dirty laundry to do, more food to buy and then cook, more messes to clean, and so on. It is my own fault that I have not been asking Eric to help....but he's not been offering.

Perhaps he's just not noticing.....it's not like I'm cleaning the toilets naked with a roast beef sandwich around my neck or anything.

With this extra workload though, I feel like I'm going a bit "Chihuahua". I may snap at any moment. It's not going to be pretty.

At this same time, I'm trying to be "a good wife" and I don't want to come across nagging or demeaning to my husband that I dearly love (I have been informed in the past by my other half that I have a tendency to do that) so I sought out the internet for guidance.

The best "Google" search I found was HOW TO MOTIVATE YOUR HUSBAND. Sounded good. Lots of reference sites popped up.

I tracked down quite a few informational sites, and they all followed the same advice path: MEN deep down are BOYS. Make him feel like a hero and that above all he is needed. Be incredibly loving and empowering in every opportunity. He is the big strong husband and he is required to save the day....blah, blah, blah, etc., etc.

I'm thinking "Are you effing serious? Justing flipping do what I tell you to do and do it right now! Why do I need to kiss your ass to do something that you needed to do to begin with? Uggghh!"

The amount of coddling that these websites say needs to occur for me to get the end result I want sounds like an enormous amount of time. Time enough that I could just do the extra work myself. But I didn't want to be stuck for the next 50 years of my life doing all the work. So I tried it.

So.....I had 4 different things going on in the kitchen, and had grab the step stool to reach something in a high cabinet. I went to slide the now folded step stool in it's place (between the wall and the refrigerator) which I have done many times before.....and it wouldn't slide in easily. The mop and broom were in the way.

As a training exercise....I called Eric into the kitchen. "Honey, I have dinner going right now and it's a crucial moment, could you please come over here and slide the step stool in? It would really help me a lot." I moved on to fill the sink with dishwater, turn down the crockpot, and test the banana bread in the oven.

He grumbly pauses his Zelda Wii game, and walks into the kitchen to the stool. In the most ego-manical cocky voice he says..."Babe, come here. Come here! Geezuz THIS is what you wanted?" He takes his hand and brushes the mop and broom to the side and easily slides the step stool in. "A damn trained dolphin could do that! What the hell is wrong with you?"

MOTHEREFFER!