Sunday, March 28, 2010
Little toes are disgusting. It's like God had left over callus and a little tiny bone, and your hands and ears were full and he was tired and the feet were the very last part and he thought, "Aw, fuck it!" and stuck it on there with a little tiny nail that is only there to keep the callus from growing to unbelievable proportions and overtaking your entire foot, and eventually your whole blasted body. Or maybe the nail's there so the little monstrosity didn't look so obviously out of place next to your normal toes.

It's totally up to something.

Let me be serious for a moment. Feet are gross. But it's almost like your little toe is there to remind you that feet are actually cute in a gross way. Like Pugs and English Bulldogs and deformed babies. There are only two possible reasons for the little toe's existence, and that's the first.

The second is that it must serve as some sort of social barrier. Like farting and burping. That's one of the very last things you do around a new partner. I think the little toe is the absolute last thing you let show. Sometimes I'll be hanging out with Boyfriend with my shoes off, and he'll be watching tv or reading, and I realize that I have my shoes off and I panic. What if he looks at my feet, and realizes I have this tiny toe stuck to the side of my foot, and all it does is get blisters and look gross? What if he sees the gross blister skin and the tiny little excuse for nail and my poor attempt to paint that little sliver of protein and he realizes that he can't really love me because someday I'll get a blister so bad that the nail will pop off and go flying across the room and it might hit him in the eye, and then he won't be able to run away from the callus as it envelopes my body and then his, and we'll both die and he's just not ready to die in such a gross way, and he'd rather just date a super model because they have plastic surgery to remove what evolution should have generations ago.

Artist's rendering of Boyfriend's murder by my little toe callus.

But then I remember that I've seen what his porn looks like, and I think that I'm too thin and pretty for him anyway, and he'll probably dump me because of that, and not because of the little mutant freak on the side of my foot.

I've also just realized I don't know what his little toes look like. I know what his big toe looks like. While we were watching tv the other day, I was admiring it, and thinking about how his big toe and his thumb are similar enough that you can tell that they're part of a set, but are still very definitely a big toe and a thumb. But I think because of my own little toe phobia, I subconsciously blocked his little toes from my memory.

That's the only possibly explaination.

UPDATE: I wrote this back on February 8th, I just never got around to posting it until now. I don't really feel like writing a blog today, or drawing. But I managed to draw two pictures for you, and I'm putting them up. I hope blogger cooperates.

Since writing this though, I made a point to look at Boyfriend's little toes. But now that I'm reading this I can't remember what they look like! I remember how I felt when I looked at them. It took me a little while to work up the courage to even look at his little toes because I was afraid they might be as gnarly as mine and then a little part of me was worried that maybe I would stop loving him because when we have babies they would have super ugly little toes that might take over the world with their super evil out-of-placeness, but I managed to do it. I remember thinking that it wasn't such a big deal, because his little toes matched the other four, and his toes look different but similar, like they should all be hanging out together. Like those twenty-somethings that play teenagers on TV shows that are supposed to be middle class kids but they all have expensive hair cuts and no acne so they look like a matching set of novelty salt and pepper shakers and cream and sugar bowls. Like that. Boyfriend's toes look like they have expensive TV show haircuts. That's an exaggeration, but I realized I like his toes. Not in a foot fetishy kind of way, but in a normal appreciation for a loved one's body parts. I'm much fonder of his hands (I could look at his hands all day), but his feet weren't horrifying. Like mine.

He's not allowed to read this blog. I don't want him to look down at my toes and be like, "Holy Christ, what is that villianous deformity!?"

Thursday, March 25, 2010
I started this blog back in Seattle, before we left for tour. But with intermittent internet access and electrical outlet availability, my posting of some of these blogs is getting quite delayed. This blog was originally started on 3/2/10, just FYI.

Boyfriend and I woke up to a call from G, inviting us over to the band house for Split Pea Soup. It's Boyfriend's recipe, and OMG, is it good. I hate peas (almost as much as I hate Bono), but I love his Split Pea Soup. It has bacon and onions in it, which is probably what makes it so effing awesome. I bet if Bono were made of bacon and onions, I wouldn't hate him so much.... but anyway. We went over early in the evening, and had our soup while we watched Fox (because that's the only channel they get.)

I can feel my hate for him lessening.

After soup we packed up for practice, and when we got there, the guys went inside to start, while I grabbed Boyfriend's car keys (with the e-key for the practice space) and hiked up the hill to the hotel. I wanted to grab my laptop so I could work on the band's site while they practiced. While I was by myself in the room, I indulged and grabbed one of the oatmeal craisin cookies I had splurged on when I went grocery shopping. (I figured I'd be PMSing and the leaving-the-nest emotions would hit midweek, and I would need cookies.) So with my laptop bag in one hand, and my cookie in the other, I started back down the hill. I got halfway down before I realized I had locked the keys inside the hotel room. Stupid dried cranberries and your delicious mind control powers!

Up the hill I went again. I got the front desk guy (who Boyfriend and I had nicknamed 'Buster' on the birthday visit because of his resemblance to the youngest brother on Arrested Development) to follow me up to the room and open it for me. There sat the keys in their little nook by the door. All ready to be stowed in my pocket. I grabbed them and started back down again. Classic Lori behavior.

"Heeey, guests."

After practice we went back to the band house to watch Deadwood and sneak some PDA in while G and D weren't looking. We intended to smoke hookah while we did, but we had to watch it in Boyfriend and D's room, and so didn't want to bring hot coals all the way in there from the kitchen. (For the record, Boyfriend and I are extremely anti-drug [one of the many things we love about each other] and we only smoke sheesha in our hookahs. Don't worry.)

When it was time to leave, we decided to hit Jack in the Box on our way back to the hotel. We stopped to get gas, right next to a Jack in West Seattle, but decided to go to the one nearest the hotel so it wouldn't be cold by the time we got it back to the room. When we finally arrived at the Jack in Ballard, our little fast food craving hearts were crushed. The lights were out at the 24-hour burger joint. Interior, exterior, street sign. All dark. What the hell, Jack!? It's four in the morning and I need a GD Sourdough Jack!

Having lost all faith in humanity and 24-hour fast food chains, we walked back to our hotel, burgerless. We hung our heads and the Charlie Brown theme played.

Ok, not really, but that would have been awesome.

Instead, I thought of Hyperbole and a Half (which I do far too often), and started appreciating the city. There is something surreal and special about a city in the middle of the night. I've always loved having familiar blocks of city to myself. I know the area around my childhood home like the back of my hand from the nights I would spend wandering around them in the wee hours. I think you truly get to know a city during that time of day. You can really see it. You're not distracted by cars and pedestrians and noisy tenants. It's just you and the city. Which is nice, considering I'm just getting to know Seattle. So far, I love it.

And coinciding with my new romance with Seattle, was a scenario in my head of Boyfriend and I fighting Zombies. We would be really good at that. I'd draw a picture of that, but all I can think of is Allie's drawing of her drop kicking a Zombie in the head. And I know I'd just be posting a poor imitation. So I won't.

But I just want you all to know where my brain went. This is probably what my thoughts sounded like right then; "I love night time. I love this city. I love this city at night time. I love it because it's just me and Boyfriend.... and maybe ZOMBIES!!!??!?!????"

This is pretty much how all of my thought processes are.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Boyfriend totally saved my life today. He gets Gold Stars everyday for the rest of ever.

We went for a walk today around San Antonio. We were waiting to cross a street, patiently standing on the sidewalk corner, waiting for the light to change after we hit the little pedestrian button.

The light changed, the little orange hand turned into a little white walky dude, and I stepped off the curb.

Then POW! This giant city bus speeds through his now red light, right in front of my face. Boyfriend dove in front of the bus, tackling me and shoving me out of the way, just in time. The bus driver swerved (so Boyfriend wasn't hurt, either), and one of the people across the street screamed and babies were crying and a little old lady fainted and everyone cheered. (About me and Boyfriend not being roadkill, not the old lady fainting.) The bus ran up on the side walk, and hit a fire hydrant, and water shot ten thousandteen feet in the air. And then the bus exploded. (But no one by the driver was hurt, cause the shooty uppy water put the fire out.)
Ok, not really.
What really happened starts out the same. The light turned red, my 'Don't Walk' hand turned into a 'Please, please walk across now, it's ok' white dude. So I stepped off the sidewalk. Luckily, Boyfriend was paying attention, and since we were holding hands, pulled me back before I could take a second step. The bus really was so close that it made me ponytail smack me in the face and weird street dust and pebbles swirl in the air around me. So thank you, Darling, for saving my life. I owe you one.

Although, on the walk back to Starbucks (where D and G and Ogre the Van were) we discussed how it totally would've been the bus drivers fault, since I had the right of way, and if I just stuck a leg out instead, we could have made bank. Oh, well.

Bus: 0, Boyfriend: 1 - Suck it, bus!

Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Drunk on St. Patty's with Boyfriend, and trying to not let his parents see how inebriated we are... Good times!

He's better at playing sober than I am.

UPDATE: I just went upstairs to take off my shoes and one of my layers of shirts. I couldn't find the light switch, so I used my cell phone as a flash light. When I left our guest bedroom (home for this week) I decided I knew it well enough that I didn't need no stinkin' light. On the top step was Boyfriend's long haired family cat, Jack. My first thought was not 'Oh, cat sitting on the top stair in the dark.' it was "Holy shit! DEMOOOON!!!!!"

Because I am a crazy person.

UPDATE 2: I told Boyfriend this and he only laughed. Then we decided we are definitely not cut out to be alcoholics, cause being drunk for almost 12 hours straight is not so fun after about 8. Especially when you're trying to fake sober for your parents (which is counterproductive for me, cause mine totally read this, but whatev.) But I guess my mom will be happy to know that I don't actually aspire to alcoholism. I don't think it would really help my career, as I can't conjure words of more than three syllables when I'm three sheets.

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Seattle, United States
During this course of study, you will come to learn much about the strange eating, sleeping and mating habits of the Instrospective Lori under stress. We will observe as she moves halfway across the country to start a life with her own Captain Wentworth, takes a year off of work to pursue a writing career, and incessantly references Jane Austen.
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