My husband and I got together thirteen years ago. We found each other where one might expect, at a bar. He was dressed as Bamm Bamm and I was a Pink Lady. When we started dating in 2006, nothing was made to last. Nick Lachey and Jessica Simpson divorced, the solar system kicked Pluto out on it’s ass, and my relationship with chicken tenders was put through the wringer thanks to the bird flu.

 

But Ryan and I plowed through with ease. And twelve years later we finally decided to tie the knot. So far this marriage thing has been a breeze and a ton of fun. It’s like having ice cream for dinner.

 

Don’t get me wrong, we still bicker like any other couple. After all, too much ice cream gives you diarrhea. Just last week I lost my mind over him leaving his suitcase in the middle of the floor.

 

To drag your suitcase 20ft. from the garage and then call it quits in the middle of the kitchen is a mind-blowing move to me… and on the account of what? Fatigue? I mean the thing is on wheels… four to be exact. Don’t pump the breaks once you hit the kitchen island. Swivel that son of a bitch down the hall and power through to the bedroom. Be an athlete.

 

And don’t get me started on the laundry.

 

The man stock piles clean laundry on his side of the bed like it’s currency. I mean for the love of Tide Pods this isn’t The Sims game, my guy. You can’t save up your clean Polos and chonies and cash it all in for a heart-shaped bed and a hot tub. This is real life. Put that shit away.

 

Let me be clear. I’m no super hero. I’m a real nightmare to live with. I’m hyperactive, I’m very particular, and anytime we have a contractor work at the house, I ask them if they want to stay for dinner. It’s too much.

 

And if we were to do the math, I’d say in the thirteen years we’ve been together we’ve probably spent a total of two years looking for my purse and cell phone. We’ve probably spent another six months asking Uber drivers to turnaround and go back to the bar because I forgot to close my tab. I’m a real piece of work.

 

So anytime we get a chance to celebrate not killing each other, we do. And traveling is our favorite thing.

 

We recently celebrated our one year wedding anniversary with a trip to California. While we were there we decided to take-in Napa Valley by way of hot air balloon.


I’m not sure why, but I’ve always wanted to ride in a hot air balloon. When I really stop and think about it, they make little sense to me.

 

The entire experience is contingent upon wind and clear skies… neither of which are in human control.

 

I guess we like them for the views? We can get the same views with helicopter or a plane, but unlike helicopters and planes, a hot air balloon isn’t a reasonable mode of transportation. Using an air balloon to get from A to B is as practical as driving a Zamboni to work. So how have hot air balloons survived?

 

In 2019, aren’t hot air balloons just antiquated drones? They’re about as useful as phone books and provide as much function as a message in a bottle.  

 

Nonetheless, we did it. We woke up at 4am and headed to a vineyard. I’m not a morning person. I didn’t care about being at a vineyard in Napa. I wanted to take a Napa.

 

Climbing into the wicker basket was no joke. The basket was massive. I struggled to get my short little putt-putt club legs over top. I felt like my mother. Me climbing into a hot air balloon looks exactly like it would if the Special Olympics added an American Ninja Warrior obstacle course to their games.

 

Ryan finally flipped me over the basket like a flapjack and up, up, and away we went.

Once we were in the sky I started to understand the appeal a little more. Flying in an air balloon is whimsical. It has a fairy tale feeling to it. There’s something very Walt Disney about floating in the clouds. The feeling was so distracting, I almost forgot to drop folks’ Amazon Prime packages over the side. Close call.

 

And yes, the views were unreal. The sky was clear and we could see all the way to San Francisco Bay. We even saw Aunt Becky standing on the stoop of Full House, banging on the door, apologizing, and bribing… I mean begging to be let back in.

 

Landing the balloon was pretty primitive. We slowly let the air out of the balloon while catching pockets of wind that led us to an open field. Then braced for impact.

 

Overall it was an amazing experience. And in hindsight, riding in a hot air balloon was the perfect anniversary activity. It gave us a unique perspective.

 

Everything looks so small from up in the sky. It was a great reminder to me that suitcases may land in the kitchen and clothes may pile up, but what matters most is the person you float through life with.

 

Right now we are on the top of the marital mountain, but winds will inevitably shift. If we keep the bigger picture in mind, we will be sure to land in one piece. So brace for impact, Ry. We have a lot of years left and I can’t seem to find cell phone again. Call me from the living room if you’re reading this. I know it’s in here somewhere.

 

To Do List: Hot Air Balloon Image result for check mark