Monday, December 19, 2011
After a quite stressful week leading up to the wedding, I finally had a bit of time to relax. My awesome aunt, who traveled down from Idaho for the wedding, pulled me aside, handed me $35 and said, "Go get a pedicure, relax a little bit." It was exactly what I needed. After finding a little hole in the wall salon and getting a pedi and mani, the inner girl in me (and the cause of all my Bridezilla outbursts) was finally given what she needed; a good foot rub.

Stress with the band/van ordeal, and general money woes, had made the week leading up to the wedding nearly unbearable. (I'll post all about that soon.) After that magical foot rub, I was able to just take a deep breath, be okay with the chips falling where they may, and focus on the fun part of my wedding.

And just to clarify (and toot my own horn a little bit) I was stressed out about the wedding. For over a year now, Husband (I love calling him that!) and I have been introducing each other as husband and wife. We've been referring to the wedding as "A Big Party and a Piece of Paper." Because that's really all it is. Marriage is a state of mind, one that has existed between Husband and I almost from the beginning of our romantic relationship. In my stressier, pre-pedicure moments, Husband would hug me and say, "We're getting married. This wedding is happening. We have a suit and a dress and the rings and a license. That's all that matters." What I was stressing out about was the wedding. Orchestrating a big party on a tiny budget and a tiny amount of time. The marriage is what was able to get me through it all.

Sunday evening I went flower shopping, found all of the flowers I wanted/needed, and headed back to the big, pretty rental house my parents had for the week. The Bestest, her Boyfriend, and my family were all hard at work, preparing the cake, the zombie figures (yes, you read that correctly), the favors, the candle holders, the food; everything. My Bridezilla melt down (which involved tears and an indulgent door slamming) after some bad van news on Saturday morning had made everyone come together to help me pull off the last details. My dad made a miniature Thanksgiving dinner, since we wouldn't be able to travel for Turkey Day, since it so nearly followed the wedding.

The bottles were candle holders for the reception. Tom Selleck up there went on the cake.

Everyone stayed up pretty late that night, but by 4am it was just Husband and I, the Bestest and her Boyfriend. That was when we decided it was time for a burrito run. Oh, how I already miss that shady but delicious Mexican fast food.

I finally passed out at 5:15am, but Husband stayed up all night, since he'd woken up permanently at 3am. I got back up at 6:30am to start my wedding day. A quick shower, a cup of coffee, and the running around began. We loaded up the car that Husband's parents loaned to us for the weekend, and took the decorations down to the reception hall to pick up the key at 9am. We quickly set up the tables and chairs, ran back to the rental house for the forgotten decorations and our wedding clothes, picked up the champagne from the liquor store, and came back. At noon the hairdresser (a girl I grew up across the street from and sister to my oldest friend) and the make up artist showed up. Husband (wisely) ran out to grab us some lunch from a little Greek joint around the corner, while my preparation for cuteness began.

Everyone else began trickling in, and after my face was properly painted, Husband took a break from decorating the reception hall and we were able to eat. After that it was a whirlwind of hair doing and decor approving for me. As the time for photos neared, I had to silently pat myself on the back for telling everyone the time for photos was 3pm, when it was really 3:30pm. Go me! Planning for tardiness.

By 4pm, though it became apparent I hadn't budgeted enough. Husband and I ran over to the venue to decorate that, too, before getting pictures started. We hid upstairs and did a few more photos while the crowd began to gather down in the courtyard. (We also snuck a little airplane sized bottle of Jim up with us, to help us get rid of the nerves.)

The time came to line up and get ready to walk down the aisle. Husband and his father started out first, and stood up front. The music changed and my bridesmaids got ready to go. My dad took my arm and I was only able to blurt out, "I have to pee."

Everyone laughed, and my father said, "Too late for that, honey!"

Then my cousin Jinx, my Oldest Friend and the Bestest were all walking down the aisle. My Oldest Friend had recorded a song for me, and I couldn't even hear it. As hard as I tried, I couldn't hear the music over my own nervousness and excitement. Then the flower girl walked down the aisle. She's nine years old now. I've known her since she was only four. And there she was, walking with straight posture, carefully scattering the artificial leaves I'd given her.

She scattered artificial autumn leaves from a plastic Jack O'Lantern trick or treat tub.

Then it was my turn. I was straining over my own nerves, trying to hear the music. It had been so important to me, and now I couldn't hear it. It felt as though everyone there at the wedding was cheering for me... cheering for me and Husband, and I couldn't hear the delicate piano arpeggios being playing over the sound system.

As my Dad and I reached the front of the aisle, Husband joined us, and he took my other arm in his. And as the officiants (my Mom and the GBF) began the ceremony, all I could think about was the tear that had run down my nose, and was now hanging on the very tip, refusing to just drip off. I was hoping that the Bestest's Boyfriend (who served as our primary photographer) wouldn't be able to see that dangling tear with his super awesome camera. (It didn't!)

My nerves took hold of me, and it took all of my energy to not cry. I was at that stage of nervousness/excitement where I can't stop smiling. Seriously. I tried, at it resulted in a strange little twitchy smirk that made me look like a crazy person. So I just smiled. I realized, halfway through the ceremony, that I had been so worried about locking my knees and passing out, that instead I had been doing an awkward, pseudo-pee pee dance. I haven't seen any video yet, but I just hope it wasn't too obvious to everyone else.

Then it was time for the vows. I was most worried about bursting into ugly cry face during this part, but strangely enough, it was the most calm I felt during the entire day. Husband held my hands, and looked me right in the eye, and recited the words we had carefully crafted together in July. We wrote our own vows;

I, Husband, take you, Lori, to be my wife, my constant friend, my partner for life. I promise to love you without reservation, and to be open and honest with you always. We will stand together in times of joy and times of sorrow, in times of plenty or times of want, in sickness and in health; to love, honor and cherish unconditionally. I will be faithful to you. I will love you alone all the days of my life.

The ceremony only took eight minutes. It felt even quicker than that. It was strange that all of that planning, fussing over all the weird little details, were over in eight minutes. I knew going into it that there were certain elements that no one would care about or remember but me (like what my bridesmaids were wearing, and our flowers, hence the $7 dress for my 'flower' girl and the grocery store flowers.) I remember that when it was over, I was thinking, "Already?"

But then it was over, we were Husband and Wife, and that was that. Time to party!

The Reception was at an old building just two small blocks away (most everyone walked). My parents and the Bestest's Boyfriend did almost all of the cooking, with help from one of my Aunts. They also made the cake. While the ceremony was mostly Autumn themed (we had tiny Jack O'Lantern lights on the arch), the reception is where we went spooky. There were fake spiders and skulls all over. Candles were sitting on top of the wine bottles I had made labels for (potions and various potion ingredients.) It ended up feeling like a slightly spooky, whimsical family meal. There was almost no dancing, as people were too busy eating and talking. The food, by the way, was Penne with Meat Sauce, and Rotini with Spinach Alfredo, a veggie tray, a meat tray, and fresh bread made my the Bestest's Boyfriend. (He seriously saved the day. The wedding wouldn't have come together like it did if it weren't for his tremendous amount of help.) There was also a desert table, with Pumpkin Cheesecakes supplied by one of Husband's fans, who became a good friend of mine, a bowl of jelly beans with Bertie Bott's mixed in, and a plate of cream puffs. Each table also had a trick or treat tub full of candy. I wanted to make sure that if people gave up their Halloween to celebrate with us, they still got their sugary goodies.

I suppose the rest of the story I can tell in pictures;

By the time the reception was drawing to a close, Husband and I had managed to eat one plate of food each (over the course of the night, which is more than a lot of bride and grooms get at their weddings), and said hello and goodbye to everyone that had come. It was hectic, and as the center of attention, we were pulled in many directions at once. But it was lovely. The Bestest caught my bouquet, and her Boyfriend caught the garter.

The best part of the night, I do have to say, is how everyone just suddenly pitched in and helped us clean up and put everything away. It wasn't even coordinated. It started with my Oldest Friend and her sister (the one who did my hair), and it just spread from there. Once all of the decorations were packed up and the tables and chairs folded and away, everyone stood around and socialized, and even got a little bit of dancing in. I was blown away by how everyone came together to help us make this little shindig happen. If it hadn't been for the generosity of my creative and talented friends and family, I don't know how we could've done this. It truly moved me to see everyone pitch in to help us out.

After the night was through, we piled back into the cars with all of our decorations, and went back to the rental house (a gorgeous 4 bedroom with a giant back yard, pool and tiki bar) to crash. We brought in what needed to be refrigerated or would melt in the sun, and everyone collapsed in bed, asleep. Except for me. I had to take off the false eyelashes and the professional make up and all of the curls. It took almost as long to undo all the pretty as it did to heap it on. By the time I finished my shower and got into bed, Husband was sound asleep. I didn't have the nerve to wake him, so just crawled into bed and fell asleep next to him.

I figured we had the rest of our lives to do 'husband and wife' things. You know, now that we'd had our big party, and signed that piece of paper.

Wednesday, October 26, 2011
I am a very happy Lori.

Very stressed, but very happy. Today I turn 26 (on the 26th!)... and I totally forgot about it.

But then I logged into Facebook, and saw that 68 friends of mine had written on my wall, and I was like, "Whaaa...?" And then I remembered.

And the best part is that it was people from all over the country and all over the world. (Cousins in Italy count!)

So no picture/cartoon today, because I am entirely too stressed out and busy with wedding planning (the wedding, which, if you're following, is in only 5 more days.) Instead of thinking off all of the things I haven't done, I'm thinking of the things I have.

Today, I got my wedding band (a place holder until I have the time to get the real one sized). And most importantly, we got our marriage license. Which means that as far as the actual getting married part, we can do that. The wedding just might not come together the exact way I pictured. But really? Oh well. As long as we both say 'I do.' when we need to, it doesn't really matter if I finish tying the ribbons on all the favors.

So I'm enjoying a drink, working on the little photoshop bits of things that I can, and enjoying a drink while (Future) Husband makes dinner for me and my family.

And honestly, I'm kind of thinking of just enjoying a round or two of Plants vs. Zombies...
Friday, October 21, 2011
Alright, the final countdown is on.

Ten days from now, Future Husband will lose the 'Future' portion of his name, and I get to officially adopt a new alliterative moniker.

At this point in the game, I have so much stress from the planning stages over the last year (not to mention the hell of a summer we had), that I'm just ready for it to be over. Is that strange? I already feel married, I just haven't had a big party and signed a piece of paper yet.

Although, that big party is going to be pretty awesome...

I haven't really gushed about my wedding on here (my facebook friends will say otherwise), so let me give you the highlights real quick (because I still have SOOOO much to do in the next ten days.

-The wedding's in Arizona, at a coffee shop that we found out we both frequented as teenagers, before we knew each other. It's gorgeous. I can't wait to post the pictures.
-The wedding is on Halloween. We wanted November 1st, (so our anniversary would be 11-1-11), but you'd be surprised at how hard it is to find a reasonably priced wedding venue for a Tuesday.
-Everyone in the wedding party is wearing Chuck Taylor's.
-Instead of flowers, we're decorating everything with Fall Leaves and Pumpkins.
-No YMCA or Chicken Dance at the reception. Instead, it'll be Thriller and The Time Warp.

Great Googily Moogily... I am SO EXCITED to share pictures!
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
*Warning!* - Another seriously old, seriously introspective blog! Proceed with caution!

When it comes to being a Hero or Villain, there are definitely shades of gray. With all of the 2007 turmoil, I didn't consider Future Husband a Villain. Conflicted, yes. Foolish, definitely. But I was just as much to blame for the mess. When he told me about his feelings, I could have told him that I reciprocated, but that he needed to end things with Crazy Ex#1 before we started carrying on. I initially did that, but the longer it took, the harder it was to resist him. Eventually it was a full fledged affair. And when it went sour, it hurt all three of us involved, and split our once tight social circle into two distinctive sides, even those that didn't want to be involved. Even today I say the bulk of the blame lies with Future Husband, but I'm not responsibility free. I know that.

And I'd like to think I'm smart enough to not make the same mistake twice... but I did.

Though in my defense, I didn't think I was making the same mistake. And the scenario wasn't exactly the same: It was actually worse. When Future Husband and I finally got together I lived in Oklahoma, and he lived in Seattle... with soon-to-be Crazy Ex #2. I thought that it would just be a fling, and he would finally be out of my system and out of my life. But it was the exact opposite of what ended up happening. Even when he started pushing for a relationship, I suggested we be friends while we were apart, and lovers while we were in the same city. Because, apparently, I like to make things unnecessarily complicated. Just like before, I didn't resist him for long. He promised to break up with Ex #2, just like he had with #1. I hoped that he had enough courage to do it, but was terrified he wouldn't. But something had changed in the years in between. Maybe finally being with me entirely was enough to make him realize I was worth fighting for. I was worth being a Villain for.

During the weeks between us becoming us, and him returning to Seattle from tour, he vented all of his frustrations and insecurities to me. He hated that he had to be a bad guy, but he gave himself the pep talks. I just agreed. He decided he would just blame the band for his reason for leaving Crazy Ex #2. I advised him that this was a bad idea, but if it's what he was comfortable doing, to go for it. He thought it would soften the blow. He also didn't want her to stab him or set his record collection on fire. I couldn't blame him, there. I'd heard through the web of mutual friends that she was just like Crazy Ex#1.

When he got back to Seattle, he followed through, broke up with her, and moved out. Things weren't easy, but he didn't make the same mistake he had in 2007. He chose me, this time. However, things didn't stay peachy for long. It turned out that Crazy Ex#2 had suspected me for a while, and had been facebook stalking me. A few days before Christmas, she was able to track down 'proof' in a comment I'd left on someone's page. She understandably blew her gasket.

She acted like a love torn 13 year old. It was embarrassing. Like those awkward comedies where you laugh because you feel so very bad for the person. For a woman who's almost 30, her behavior was abominable. She logged into Future Husband's social networks, sent out emails to his family and friends, and then changed his passwords so that he couldn't get back in right away to delete everything. She sent me numerous emails. She even sent one to my father on Christmas morning, preaching sisterhood, all the while sending drunken emails to Future Husband about how much she hated me and how I had ruined her life. Me. Not Future Husband for cheating on her. Me.

She harassed me for a few weeks online (she only tormented Future Husband for about a week), and even her mother and two friends got in on it. Months later, when she found out I was going on tour with the band, her nasty messages to me started back up. With only one friend getting in on the action the second time, so I guess that's an improvement. Though, she did threaten me. I'm not sure if she threatened to somehow use the internet to find me and cause me physical harm, or if she meant that she'd find my personal information and like... I don't know. Ruin my credit? Either way, the threat (thankfully) never panned out. Which is fortunate for them, too, because while I am not violence prone, I am vindictive, have a long memory, and have many beefy, violent Italian men that are wrapped around my little finger and willing to do literally anything for me. (Seriously. Back in 2007 when things imploded with FH, I argued with two of my cousins about giving them his home address.) Even now that my family (all of it) is happy with Future Husband, since the engagement I've gotten a few, "We're happy for you, but does he know that if he hurts you again, he's still dead?" It's the Italian in us., what can I say?

Although, on a side note, after months and months of Crazy Ex #2's online harassment, I finally gave in and replied. I never sent a reply to any of her emails (though I wrote a few) and never acknowledged her. I figured ignoring her would probably anger her more, and it kept my own muddled feelings from exploding and making me feel worse. After her last snarky comment (actually on this blog) I gave in to my mischievous side. I had her email address (and home address, and phone number, and work number - because she apparently assumed that I don't know how to use google) and decided to be naughty. After she stalked me and wrote me horrible nasty things for months, after she wrote to my father on Christmas in an effort to ruin our holiday, after she tried her hardest to hurt me (because she assumed I knew absolutely nothing about FH's history, flaws or dark side)... I signed her up for Midget Porn. Yep. You read that correctly. Midget Porn. After her hurtful words and hostile behavior, I threw a rubber chicken. I thought it was hilarious. I had one angry email from her even crazier friend after that, but since then she's left me alone. Never underestimate the power of miniature dominatrices.

What bothers me, to this day, about this situation, is that she considers me the Villain. Not Future Husband. Sure, I was a bad female. I was knowingly the 'other woman.' She even used the word "stole" in one of her tirades. That's always bothered me. It seems like the women who loudly proclaim that they do not want to be objectified are the first to accuse another woman of 'stealing her man.' It's not like I snuck into her backyard one night and took Future Husband because she forgot to lock him up. He's not a bicycle. He's an adult; fully capable of making his own decisions, good and bad.

We (thankfully) haven't heard from her for a few months now, so we're hoping she finally came to her senses, and has recognized that Future Husband treated her horribly. He pretty much used her as an excuse to get away from Crazy Ex #1, and then as a place to live so he wouldn't be homeless when the band moved from Arizona to Seattle. He even told me (before we became a couple) that he knew she was more in love with him, and that he felt bad about it. On the whole, he was truly villainous towards her, and yet she still seems to hold him up on a pedestal. I understand despising me (I would, too), but she's never met me. I don't know Crazy Ex #2 and hold nothing against her, aside from her atrocious behavior towards me concerning this fiasco. She should be angry at Future Husband. She should loathe him. And for some reason, I get the impression she doesn't. She still thinks I stole her bicycle.

Evil Lori will steal your man, and your Penny Farthing. All while wearing a jaunty hat!

In her story, he was Willoughby, and she just can't figure that out. Jane never lets us see Ms. Grey/Mrs. Willoughby. We only hear how Willoughby relates her to Elinor. So who knows how accurate that portrait was, given his past history of self preservation? So if you're still cyber stalking me, Crazyhead- forget Willoughby. Go find yourself your Colonel Brandon.

(On a side note, it seems I'm painting a really horrible picture of Future Husband and I. I guess I'm just trying to clear the air, and my conscience. I'm not perfect, neither is he. He's the Hero in my love story because he's perfect for me. Not because he's Clark Kent. We've both done bad things in our social lives and our love lives, but who hasn't? I'm just willing to share mine.)

Crazy Ex #2 has been intermittently on my mind since we went public with our engagement. I don't think I'll hear from her ever again, but I wouldn't be surprised, either, if there was another little flip out when she finds out that we're getting married and I'm not pregnant. Maybe the new batch of angry messages will come in November, after the wedding. Who knows? Let's hope, for everyone's sake, that she realized what a Douchey McDouchebag Future Husband was to her. That he was a villain in her story, not an anti-hero. Let's hope that she's come to the mature realization that harassing me (It's actually legal harassment - I looked it up. I could press charges if I wanted to.) isn't going to make her feel better, or help her move on.

And how do I do it, you ask? How do I sleep at night being a Villainess? After being instrumental in the heart break of two different women? Well, there are three things that keep me from feeling guilty for more than a few seconds;
1- Future Husband knew me before he know either of them, and in his own 2007 words, fell in love with me the night he met me. It's almost like they were the 'other women.' I was the original.
2- I was only an instrument. My favorite analogy; if you get stabbed by someone, you don't get angry at the knife.
3- Completely good heroes are boring. ;-)
Sunday, August 21, 2011
**WARNING!** Serious Lori ramblings lay ahead. In fact, you will see the darker side of Lori in the following paragraphs. Not 'Making Cartoons in MS Paint' Lori, but 'Sitting in the Dark and being Unhealthily Introspective' Lori. You have yet to see this on this blog. Proceed with Caution!

Okay, I'll soften the blow with a cartoon.

Warning #2!! - I wrote this blog months and months ago, but just never posted it. Which is a pity, because I dearly love the above cartoon. I've decided, in the interest of getting back in the habit of blogging, to post this. A pretty sizable contributing factor to my lack of posting lately has been that I feel I can't really say what I want to say. Self censoring, in a way. Mostly because I've been afraid of offending people, should they happen across my little corner of cyberspace. Recently a few things have happened that have made me stop caring whether or not I offend someone by telling everyone the Emporor's naked. So I decided, before I start venting my frustrations by showing off everyone else's dirty laundry, I would expose a little of my own.

It probably doesn't come as any surprise to you that I enjoy writing fiction, as well as over exposed diary entries. I mean... blogs. So I've been mulling over the idea of Heroes and Villains. And in the good stories, there are no differences in their motivations. Each character believes they are doing what is right. The Villain doesn't know they are the antagonist, or at least, have not set out to be the bad guy. It seems that in the best stories, the Hero and Villain don't even know they're the protagonist and antagonist, they just are.

I've had the word 'fairytale' thrown at me as an insult by both friend and foe, and I fully admit that my coping mechanism is storytelling. I put things into a linear storyline so it's easier for me to swallow. I know perfectly well that life doesn't always happen that way. People don't even behave in a linear fashion, usually. Many factors motivate people, not a sequence of events. Literature, Life and Fairytales alike begin and end in medias res. Life is told in chapters. I've been translating my written world way of thinking into real life, and I've realized that we are all both Hero and Villain. Even the people I love most - me, my family and friends, Future Husband - we have all been both.

Okay, maybe two cartoons.

The Tale of Crazy Ex #1


Lately, I've been thinking a lot about Crazy Ex #1 and Crazy Ex #2. It's well known among Future Husband's friends and family that he has terrible taste in women. The joke is that he's just very lucky that I have strange taste in men, and we ended up together.

(Seriously, when I met his parents for the first time at Christmas 2010 I could tell they were uneasy. Even in March when we stayed with them for two weeks, it seemed like they were a little reserved, just waiting for me to take a sudden detour into Crazytown. It took them a while to realize I wasn't going to go kookoo bananas anytime soon.)

Future Husband and I met before he'd even met Crazy Ex #1. Which is how I've been able to justify being a terrible female by allowing him to cheat on her with me, back in 2007. Things didn't turn out very well for me then, which I suppose is exactly what I deserved. In the beginning I made the mistake of trying to become friends with Crazy Ex #1, so when everything went to hell in a hand basket, she not only had to deal with her boyfriend being unfaithful, but someone she thought was a friend betraying her. That is what I feel awful about. I never should have tried to be friendly with her. After everything exploded spectacularly (I won't tell the story here, as it's the subject of an entire novel I'm writing), Future Husband had a lot of back peddling and butt kissing to do. Their relationship only lasted another year, which delighted me - he lost forever with me for one more year with a crazy girl (or so we thought). In that year, he got her name tattooed inside a heart on his arm. It's also a common man's name, so it's kinda funny. We humorously took care of that in Denver. But he also made the mistake of entering into a Domestic Partnership with her. We've been working to dissolve that, and we're almost done, but that's why she's been on my mind lately.

Thinking of Crazy Ex #1 has made me feel something I thought I never would, especially where she is concerned. She is a spectacular waste of space and, in general, a lousy human - nothing to contribute to mankind on an intellectual, creative or humanitarian basis - but that doesn't mean she deserved to be treated the way I treated her. That doesn't raise her on the human bean scale at all, but it does seem to lower me. I'm disappointed in myself for behaving so poorly towards her, and not doing myself justice. I purposely manipulated her, used her, and thoroughly despised her during the entire duration of our 'friendship.' I felt territorial over Future Husband. He knew me first, and yet she had somehow wiggled in line in front of me. She's a pretty loud, 'out there' kind of personality. While I was flirting subtly with young FH, she was bold and socially aggressive. Of course, now I know that FH was just as unsure of me returning his feelings as I was of his. So it's understandable why a 21 year old boy would go for the girl that made her feelings readily available and easy to read. I can't blame him for that. I can't blame her, either.

A long time ago I made a joke to Future Husband about Crazy Ex #1, and he said, "Well, we know how that turned out. You won."

It ruffled my feathers a bit, because I always considered her to be the competitive one. (Towards the end of the craziness in 2007, she kept lightening her hair, and flat out told me she wanted it to be the same color as mine.) I realized something when he said that; I hadn't cared about winning where she was concerned, I'd cared about being right. I've always been one of those stubborn kids that has a hard time admitting they're wrong, and on the same note, backing off when I'm right. To me, Crazy Ex #1 and Future Husband just didn't make sense together. They were incompatible. We made sense. We fit; we were right. They weren't. That's why I was territorial. Why I was uncharacteristically competitive, manipulative and mean.

Now, with Crazy Ex #1 on my mind while Future Husband and I work on getting rid of her paper trail, I am prepared to do something I rarely do. Crazy Ex #1 is unintelligent, uncaring, spiteful, competitive and manipulative. And I lowered myself to her level.

So if you ever come across my little corner of the blogosphere, Crazyhead, on that long walk I want you to take off a short pier... know that I'm sorry for the way I treated you. I was genuinely terrible to you, and I should not have been. Your inferiority to me did not give me the right to behave badly.

I was wrong. I'm sorry.

As far as Crazy Ex #1 is concerned, when the credits roll on her life story, I'll be billed as a Villain, and justly so. I'm the Hero of my own story, and she's simply a plot point. But I was a terrible person towards her, and she has every right to feel that. If she's capable of human emotion (I have my doubts.)

Maybe it's the time and the distance between the shit storm that was 2007, and now; maybe it's just that I'm older and a little wiser, but I feel more forgiving towards Crazy Ex #1's behavior towards me. Granted, just because I was horrible, doesn't mean she was Pollyanna, she's bar fight kind of crazy. Once she realized I had feelings for Future Husband she was just as manipulative and mean. Now I can see why, though. How horrible to realize that someone you thought was your friend was actually using you just to be closer to your boyfriend. Major suckage. And honestly, I probably would have acted the same. But when the manure did hit the oscillating air dispersal device, I got mad at Future Husband. In fact, I was mad for years. Sure, I wasn't quiet about recognizing what an awful person Crazy Ex #1 was, but I didn't write blogs about how angry I was at her. Because I wasn't. I didn't turn into one of those ridiculous Springer-esque kind of girls that gets mad at the girl. I got mad at FH for using me, and treating me horribly. Like I should have.

Crazy Ex #2, however, can't say the same about her behavior.... be continued.
Friday, August 19, 2011
It's been ages since I posted, I do realize this (two months and two weeks, to be a little less vague.)

I could give you a long list of excuses, but instead I will just eventually tell you the crazy stories from my crazy summer. Most of them involve working two jobs with conflicting sleep schedules, and being in a ridiculous girly funk because my other half was miles and miles away. We are eight and a half months through the year, and Future Husband and I spent four of those months apart.

We did, however, just reunite after two weeks apart, and a lot of emotionally burdensome things happened in those two weeks.

In happier news, The GBF (Gay Best Friend) is moving to Seattle in two weeks. YAY!!! This is the GBF. We love him like a brother. He's always smiling, always laughing, always making the world a more pleasant place for everyone around him. Also, he is the mutual friend that FH and I met through. Hooray!

Also, he's the first Blogger Stick Figure to have ears. Huh.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
"WTF?" were Future Husband's first words when he saw me. Not abbreviated, of course.

But let's go back a little bit further.

I finished writing my blog about the San Diego snafu about 9:00am, but decided to schedule it to post four hours later, just in case something else funny happened that I needed to add to the story. So I spent the rest of the morning texting FH about how much I missed him, talking about silly things, talking about naughty things. Usual text banter for us. By 11:00am I was so nervous I was pretty sure I was going to throw up. Or die. Or both.

I'd gone over in my head exactly how I wanted the surprise to go. He was going to come through the back door, and I would be in the living room, which is situated a little behind the door, but with a clear view of it. He would see my things on the kitchen table, and I would wait until he looked to be at the apex of confusion, then walk up behind him and say something witty like, "Did you figure it out yet?" or something romantic, like, "Hello, Handsome." I pulled all of the blinds down, so he wouldn't see me when he walked through the back yard.

By 11:30am, I knew he had to be nearly to town. And ten minutes later I was told they were at a friend's house, unloading the equipment. That's when my palms started sweating. I knew I would be seeing Future Husband for the first time in two months. It felt like longer; it felt like three. The tiny week he was home between tours didn't give us nearly enough time together. The more I watched the clock, the faster my heart was racing, and the knottier my stomach was becoming. I forced myself to focus on silly things, like Mah Jong and But it wasn't working too well. All I could do was run over the upcoming moment in my head. I wanted it to be perfect.

Finally, about 12:15pm, I heard voice outside. I dropped everything (literally, hours later I recovered my cell phone from under the couch) and ran to the window, careful to not be seen through cracks in the blinds. I could see the big white Ogre, and could hear a few different voices. The front door rattled, but was still bolted.

Oh, crap. I thought. He's trying to come through the front. Did she say she left the key up front?

My nerves disappeared. I no longer worried about what I was going to say to make the moment perfect. I knew the plan was out the window, so I had to improvise. I ran to the front door (seriously, I ran) and flung it open. G and D turned around and shock flashed across their faces.

"Holy shit! What are you doing here?" G said.

"Surprise!" I laughed. Future Husband was no where in sight. I looked into the van, hoping maybe he was pulling something out from under a bench, but no luck.

"He went around back," G said. Crap. My plan totally could have worked, but I got impatient. G hugged me, and I nervously explained my being in Arizona (which in hindsight, was probably barely coherent.) As I was rambling on, G looked at something over my shoulder and pointed behind me.

I turned around to see Future Husband in the doorway, his eyes wide and disbelieving. "What the f***!?" He grabbed me into a tight hug, and I giggled as my head swam with dizziness. It was finally here. After weeks of planning and scheming, and long hours spent pining after him, he was finally back in my arms. Scruffier, smellier and a lot skinnier than when I saw him last on April 5th, but back. With me. My heart stopped racing, and my palms stopped sweating, but the shaking had started. Every part of me, especially my hands, were quivering. We hugged and kissed, and tried to finish getting his things out of the van.

"I... I just can't even think right now," he said, after I asked him if he'd gotten everything. Over the next few hours he told me I was 'fantastic' and 'amazing' and 'awesome' and other wonderful adjectives to be described as. We got him showered and fed and well... I'm sure you can guess what else.

So I didn't get to say any of the clever or romantic I had rehearsed endlessly in my head. Nothing ended up going according to plan. But when all was said and done, the moment was still perfect. And now we're reunited, and it feels so good.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Ok, remember how I said my grandmother had gotten sick and taken a turn for the worst in April? (I know, this is a pretty craptastic way to start a blog with 'comedy' in the title, hang in there...) I flew down after Future Husband left town for the second, longer leg of tour. I got to visit my Grandmother for what could have been the last time (it wasn't, thank goodness!) and while I was out there for a long weekend, had Sunday dinner with my Future In-Laws.

Let me just say that both Future Husband and I are incredibly lucky. We both have In-Laws that are easy to get along with and adore us. My parents have been crazy about FH since he beat my mother at Scrabble many, many years ago (she had been undefeated for 30 years previously) and his parents have loved me since they realized I was intelligent and sane. (Which, compared to his previous girlfriends, is a vast improvement.)

So while I was having dinner with them that first Sunday in April, I ran the idea past them of me potentially coming out to Arizona at the end of May/beginning of June to surprise Future Husband. He and I had discussed me flying out for a weekend to visit him, but then when we crunched the numbers, we realized a round trip flight, a few motel rooms and food would end up costing what me being away for a whole month of the next tour would be, and it just didn't seem logical. But it got my wheels turning. I scrimped and saved, and since April was a three pay day month, I was able to buy a one way ticket out to Arizona.

I waited until Mother's Day to bring it up again, and let the In-Laws know I had indeed purchased a ticket, and reminded them of our conversation in early April. They said that of course it would be alright for me to fly out and spend a day or two with them before Future Husband rolled into town.

The surprise is my goal. Yes, we'll be reunited two whole weeks sooner than originally planned. Which is effing fantastic. But it's the element of surprise I'm most excited about. It's so ridiculously hard for me to keep a secret from Future Husband, even with things like Christmas and Birthday presents. So the fact that I've been able to keep my mouth shut this whole time, and not accidentally give him any hints, is well... awesome. I'm very proud of myself.

So since April 19th I've been sitting on this secret visit of mine. Diligently counting down the days with FH until I got to see him again, while all the while keeping a real countdown simultaneously. I was going to fly out to Arizona on May 28th, and made sure my visit was on a need-to-know basis. The cousin that picked me up from the Airport, and the cousin that would drop me off at the In-Laws. A few friends got informed over the weekend, but told to keep it under the strictest of secrets. Mainly, to maintain Facebook and Twitter silence. (Oh, this modern world of ours!)

The day finally came. I woke up at 5:30am after a three and a half hour nap (after a 37 hour day) and caught a bus to the airport. By noon I was landing in Phoenix, and later that night I was staying with a cousin. Doing my best to not let on to Future Husband that I was in Arizona, spinning a web of little whites lies about what I was doing. "Oh, I'm talking to my cousin." Hoping he would assume on the phone or online, and not in her living room.

So Sunday evening I had this cousin drop me off at the In-Laws' house. As we were pulling up and I was giving directions I said, "My sister in law's car should be out front." But it wasn't. I had her drop me off anyway (as I'd talked to my Father in Law on Thursday and reminded him of my secret visit.) No one was home, so I just assumed that they were out at the store, or perhaps some sort of car event, and would be back soon. So I sat down on a seat on the porch, plugged in my laptop, and caught up on some articles.

Then I got a call from Future Husband...

Without a preceding text or two asking what I was up to, if I was available for a call, etc.. We usually check with each other to make sure batteries and surroundings are ready for what might turn into a lengthy call. He began his call with, "So I just got off the phone with my dad..."

My heart sank. I could hear the weirdness in FH's voice. I just knew his dad had let something slip about my presence in Arizona.

"...and he and mom are in San Diego." A mixture of feelings erupted in me. 'Yes! He doesn't know I'm in Arizona!' and very quickly followed by, 'Crap! I'm locked out of the house and I really have to pee!'

I composed myself quickly and said, "Oh, no! I just reminded him earlier this week that you'd be in town!"

While I was talking to Future Husband, I got a text response from his sister, since I'd asked her if she was having dinner with her parents that night. Her text told me the same as FH just had. I shot a text back quickly, "Oh no! I'm on their front porch waiting for them! Don't tell Future Husband!!"

While FH and I discussed how he could get into the house (Sister in Law has a key, and was going to come by Monday evening to take care of the animals) I got another text from her. Luckily, the first band started playing just then, so Future Husband ended his call (after we'd brainstormed that he would have to go pick up the key from her before going back out to his parents' house.) I called her right away.

I quickly explained the situation, and that it was a surprise for Future Husband. She agreed to bring the key out to me, and we schemed about the cover story we'd tell FH. Just as we settled on the idea that we'd tell him there was a key under the mat, when really there was just a future wife in the house to let him in, FH sent me a grumpy text, telling me that G didn't want to make a 40 mile detour.

For a moment I was stuck. I couldn't say anything that might give away my unique position to help him, but I had to depend on Future Sister in Law to not accidentally spill the beans. I told FH to call FSiL and see if she could work something out.

A few moments later, he replied that he'd just spoken to her, and she told him the cover story she and I had discussed earlier. With a triumphant, "Yes! She rules!" text, I was finally able to rest easy.

When FSiL and her boyfriend arrived to let me in, the first thing she said as she got out of the car was, "I called dad and told him what happened, made him feel bad. He thought it was next weekend."

As I was telling my cousin earlier that very day, I was worried about FH's parents accidentally letting him know I was in town. They're both ridiculously intelligent people. Both well read and educated, clever and witty. Their awesome children are a product of their own awesomeness. But they are a little... flighty. I already refer to them as 'Ma and Pa' when I talk to them, and already care for them a great deal. I can honestly see myself growing very close to them over the next few years. Like I said, Future Husband and I really, really lucked out in the In-Law department. But still, I recognize that his parents are not always the most... attentive. That's a nice word for it. Really, it's probably just that they got involved in their own work and social lives and lost track of the dates. Lord knows I'm no stranger to that. Regardless, it makes for a pretty humorous story.

"That's okay!" I laughed. "I hope he doesn't feel too bad. It's actually kind of funny. And it worked out alright."

With a combination of the Future In-Laws losing track of the dates and G's somewhat justifiably douchebaggery; and after a panicky (yet hilarious) twenty minute period, I've come to see the silver lining; Future Husband and I get the whole house all to ourselves for our surprise reunion. I am a very happy Lori.

And now it's just a waiting game. Future Husband is currently somewhere between Albuquerque and Flagstaff, and I'm waiting anxiously, all alone, at his parents' house. Going over how I want to surprise him, trying to think of something clever and romantic to say when he walks in and unexpectedly sees me.

I'll let you know how it goes!
Friday, May 27, 2011
I am a terrible blogger.

I mean, I do pretty well with the writing part, it's the frequency with which I post, the varying subject matter (sometimes funny, sometimes introspective.) But I guess this just makes me Versatile, according to my lovely cousin Sara, who has awarded me with the Versatile Blogger award. I've gotten a few of these little awards before, but I'm horrible about actually posting these things that I'm supposed to. (An example of my bad bloggerhood.)

For these Award things, I'm supposed to post things about myself that you all may not know. Seven seems to be the most common number...

1 - I have three kidneys. You may have seen me mention this before (a la kidney stones last April). We found out when I was 14, amidst trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I started my freshman year of Highschool 5'7" and 180 lbs. Four months later in December, I was a 1/4" away from being 6' tall, and weighed 270. This was while I was running a mile every morning in PE, playing soccer after school, and eating very little because of my insane Prep School curriculum. Factor in the concern that I had a full C cup, all the normal hairy gifts puberty gives you, acne to rival a teenage boy's, but no monthly visit... Well, Mom and Dad realized something was quite wrong. We originally thought it was a thyroid thing, but after almost a year of doctor visits and blood tests and ultrasounds, they discovered it was something as simple as Poly-cystic Ovary Syndrome. 10% of the female population has it. Yet my doctors looked into cancer and leukemia first. Go figure. One of those tests they put me through was a dye treatment and x-rays of my abdomen... in which we discovered my third kidney. Fully functional, too! So while I was anxiously awaiting puberty as a child, hoping for some flashy mutant power like Jubilee, or something useful like Jean Grey, my mutation only gives me the power to pee more frequently. Oh, well.

2 - I was almost in Forest Gump. I was a pretty little kid. I had a pretty long awkward phase (about 8-20) but I was cute as a button before my eighth birthday and some unfortunate hair decisions. My parents used to take me out to acting and modeling gigs and auditions. When I was a baby, my grandmother used to ask me, "What are you going to be when you grow up?" and I would proudly proclaim, "Actisss!" Because, you know, 13 month olds aren't so good with enunciation. My mother was an actress, and later director, so nepotism awarded me my earliest acting roles. Credits like, "Crying Child" and "Baby." But when I was 6 years old, my parents took me to a Cattle Call at a hotel in Phoenix. After the initial day there, making cut after cut, reading lines, looking cute and mugging for pictures, I was told to come back at a later date. It turns out I was in consideration for the role of Young Jenny. "Run, Forest! Run!" could have been my line. I was rejected, in the end, for being too tall. But it was between me, a little girl from South Carolina, and the girl that got the role.

See, I used to be cute.

3 - I got my first tattoo when I was only 15. My parents asked me what I wanted for my fifteenth birthday. I told them I wanted to get the cartilage in my ear pierced. They told me it was too dangerous. My mother had seen horror stories about infections that resulted in hearing loss and partial amputation of the ear. I tried to reason with them, but they still refused. As a counter offer my mother said, "How about a tattoo?" I was stunned for a moment, then said, "Wait, really?" To which my mother replied, "Sure! They're much safer, and if we go with you to the parlor, it's legal." I agreed wholeheartedly, and began researching artists and parlors and thinking about what I wanted. A few months later, I had an inch high treble clef on my right shoulder blade. It's so tiny that it's blurry now (I can't believe it's ten years old!) and I've added four more to my collection.

4 - I was a virgin until I was 23. It seems like super personal information, but I don't mind sharing it. (I hope you don't mind reading it.) It's something I'm rather proud of, now. When I was younger, and all of my friends were making foolish bedroom choices, I felt a little left behind. It wasn't so much that I hadn't had an opportunity to lose the V-card, but I'd chosen not to. Nevertheless, it left me feeling conflicted. Should I? Shouldn't I? I got my first offer at 17, and in the end said, "Thanks, but no thanks." I'd fooled around a bit all through my late teenage years and early twenties, but I just wasn't ready to sleep with someone I wasn't in love with. I wasn't ready to open myself up to that sort of emotional vulnerability. Factor in being pudgy and tall, with that aforementioned acne still lingering... yeah, not so much with the confidence and self esteem. A lot of people used to ask me if I was waiting for marriage, and I would always reply that I was simply waiting for love. So by the time I finally got some hours of the mattress tango on my resume, I'd already graduated High School, earned an AA degree, gotten three tattoos and had four novels written. I don't regret waiting at all, in fact, I'm very glad I did.

5 - I am allergic to Bell Peppers. It's the weirdest food allergy, I know. I've only come across one other person that has it, and even then, it was his wife, not the actual afflicted party. Strangely, my reactions aren't always the same. I've had the puffy, throat swelling, hive-y kind of reaction, but I've also accidentally ingested small amounts, and just had terrible indigestion. It seems the green ones are a more potent poison. Go figure.

6 - I love to cook. I'm sure I've mentioned this before. In fact, my cousin Jinxie has featured some of my recipes on her blog. I have my own food blog reserved, but I haven't posted on it. Yet. Once I do, I will definitely be promoting that shamelessly. Cooking for me is like another artform. I'm constantly thinking of new things I could try, looking up and tweaking recipes. When I lived with my parents, my father and I would just watch Food Network all day, and try out things we had seen for dinner that night. Food is an adventure. A tasty, tasty adventure.

7 - I want to be famous. Like, ridiculously famous. Girls screaming and bursting into tears when I walk into the room kind of famous. Boys staring at posters of me on their ceiling, famous. Basically, I think I want to be boy band famous. I know it will never happen, though. And that's because I'm not willing to do stupid shit, or compromise my morals, or give up my creative integrity for it. So I guess it balances out. Kind of like my teenage and early twenties years. I was the horniest virgin ever. I wanted so badly to be sweaty and naughty, but I wasn't willing to be promiscuous and risk my health/sanity/reputation. I know I'm never going to be famous for writing a blog. Chances are, I'll never be famous if/when any of my books get published. But that doesn't stop me from hoping. Or practicing my autograph.

Time to pass this along. I think I was supposed to pick fifteen, but jesus. No. I'll pick the blog I'm digging the most these days.

Mrs. Biscuit rocks my socks. She's seriously -so adorable.- She lives in Arizona, but she actually wants to be there, she wasn't trapped by birth or circumstance, like the rest of us were. (She must be just a little insane.) She's always posting links to adorable things on Etsy or cute stories about her cats or her new Husband (Mr. Muffin.)

But also make sure to check out The Frisky Virgin and Sara in Le Petit Village, who have both given me awards before.

I'll get back to the funny stuff soon, I promise!
Friday, May 6, 2011
One blustery day towards the end of March, while I had Future Husband home for a week between tours, our new friends Josh and Ali from JayLee Photography took us out and shot us.

With their cameras.

Sometime around Birthmas I had posted an ad on Craigslist, seeing if any budding photographers wanted to build up their portfolio with an Engagement Shoot. There was one fellow we were strongly considering, a photographer that had many years experience with architecture and nature shots, but was wanting to transition into the Wedding business. And then Josh and Ali came along. Already quite seasoned in the biz, they offered to do a shoot with us, and we couldn't resist after seeing their beautiful photography.

Having dabbled in photography in college, it's hard for me to not look at someone's work and immediately start critiquing it, even if I like it. I don't mean to imply that I could do any better, it's just simply that I know the technical side of what goes into a photograph, and it's hard for me to turn off the analytical part of my brain. I'll wish they'd used a different aperture, or shutter speed, or hadn't gone crazy with the photoshopping. With Josh and Ali's work, I don't do that. I look at it, and feel something first. So much so that it takes real effort for me to critique it. Their photos are full of whimsy and romance, and seem to capture the essence of the couples they work with. Their pictures aren't posed and plasticine. They are all little views into candid, happy moments with the couples they worked with.

Needless to say, Future Husband and I were massively excited about working with them. And we were not let down. Some of these pictures even moved me to tears, they so well captured FH and I.

You can see a nice selection of our shoot here. Though I highly recommend checking out their portfolio. You won't be disappointed.

We were so happy with the shoot, even if it was wet, cold and windy (it's Seattle, what else would it be?) and thrilled with the photos that came from it. Thank you so much, Josh and Ali!!!
Saturday, April 30, 2011
I know, I know, it's been over a month since I've posted. Believe me, I would love to be keeping you all updated, in the most comical way possible, on how miserable being a Tour Widow is.

But a lot happened this April. A LOT.

I'll keep my list of excuses short, but give it to you nonetheless:
1-My grandmother took a turn for the worst. She's been in and out of facilities since January, but at the end of March she was moved to Hospice. The first weekend of April, I flew down to AZ to visit her one last time. She improved during and after my visit and was moved out of Hospice. I got a call Thursday night, that she's been moved back again.
2-I'm working two jobs. Which, while Future Husband is here, isn't so bad. But with him gone, I feel like he took half my brain with him. I'm miserable, lonely, and all I want to do is sleep. But when I crawl into bed alone, all I can think about is how much I miss him, and that keeps me awake.
3-We're moving. We've been looking for an apartment since February, but it's ridiculously difficult for many reasons. What little free time I have between work and trying to sleep has been sucked up by the fruitless search. (Oh, I have such tales to tell.) We finially found a place yesterday, right as we were starting to get desperate.
4-Our Roommate got picked up by Bounty Hunters. No joke. I wasn't able to post on my blog all about my roommate drama, because she was always online, always reading my blog, always commenting on my facebook. Now that she's in jail, I can say all the things I've been wanting to say. You, dear readers, will get quite a lot to read on this subject.

But that will be at a later date. I have to finish packing up the crappy Roomie's stuff, find her pets new homes, finish packing up my stuff, move it all into our new home (by myself), and somehow still find the time for two jobs and sleep. And maybe flying to AZ for a funeral.

Wish me luck.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
A few weeks ago, I told Future Husband a funny story from my childhood about an incident with an Albino during a school play. He said it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard. I immediately pictured what I would draw in MS Paint to accompany the story.

This is not that story.

It is, however, a funny (if not sad) story about my first day of Fourth Grade at a new school. My education has been a source of much frustration, as well as humor. I attended public school for three years; Kindergarten, First and Third. I skipped Second. During the spring of Third Grade I started working on my Fourth grade coursework while the kids that were a year older than me continued on their due course. My teacher (an amazing woman and educator named Mrs. Adams, whom I stayed in touch with for years) approached my parents, and recommended looking into private or charter schooling for me. We couldn't afford tuition on our own, so we went looking for scholarships and advanced charter schools. My Godmother got wind of my giant brain and offered to pay the tuition to send me to a private school, and that is how I ended up at Queen of Peace Catholic School for Fourth grade.

Now, to understand the social suicide I was about to commit, you have to go back a few months. Maybe a little further. Both of my parents are theater geeks. My mom was an actress, and later a director, and my dad is the gayest straight guy I know. Seriously, he loves musical theater. So as I child I was in plays and musical reviews quite frequently. Sometime before I became obsessed with Grease, but after my Peter Pan phase, I went through an Annie period. As a child, I had ridiculously straight, lifeless hair (oh, if I only knew then what puberty would bring) and hated it. After months of obsessively washing my hair with a 'Curly Formula' shampoo and seeing no results, I convinced my parents to let me get a perm. That was during the winter. By August, it had grown out. A lot.

Lori, circa 1994

The unfortunate result being my severe resemblance to an overfed poodle. Did I mention that I had started to gain that pre-puberty chub that girls get, right before boobs show up? Also, I'm Italian, so I've always been well fed. Having been somewhat popular at my old school, or at least, never picked on and never short of playmates, I was worried about the kids at my new school liking me, especially since you advanced every year with the same kids. So I would be with this same group of kids up until Eighth(!) grade. That also meant there were going to be kids in my class that had known each other since, *gasp* Kindergarten. That's like, half their lives. (Or so my brain told me.)

So after dinner Sunday night, my parents made me lay out my new school uniform, check my back pack against the list of required school supplies, and hop in the shower. Standing in the bathroom, staring in the mirror, I became highly concerned with what my new classmates would think of one particular feature.

The eight year old mind is a mystery.

In my infinite wisdom, I decided that the problem with my appearance was my unibrow. So I decided I would just borrow my dad's razor, and trim it down a little. Not in front of the mirror, mind you... but in the shower. Just using my fingertips to feel if they were even.

After my shower I dried off, changed into my pajamas and came back out into the living room to watch TV with my parents. For some reason, I didn't think to check my impromptu eyebrow grooming in the mirror. I sat down next to my dad, who promptly said, "Lori... what happened to your eyebrows?"

Afraid I would get in trouble for using a razor without permission (trying to shave my legs for Easter had resulted in a weekend's worth of grounding), I froze. I replied the only thing my academically super-powered but sense deprived brain could come up with. "What eyebrows?"

"Exactly," my dad said.

I caved a few moments later, and confessed that I had tried to 'trim' my unibrow in the shower, since I was starting a new school and was worried that someone might make fun of my big, Deigo eyebrow.

The next morning my mom woke me a few minutes early, so she could pencil on the rest of my eyebrows. Make up was against the school's uniform code, so to hide the drawn on brow, mom made me wear my glasses. The ones I had outgrown in Kindergarten.

Did I mention they were hot pink?

And that's how I started at my new school; 6 inches taller and one year younger than everyone, with missing eyebrows, glasses too small for my face, and a grown out perm.

Needless to say, Junior High was miserable.

Don't worry, I'll tell you the Albino story later.
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Okay, the time has come, few followers of mine. (Can I call you minions yet? Please?)

I'm sure I've mentioned it too much, but I've been working on a book about Future Husband and I, and our crazy, teenage, young-and-stupid stumble towards wedded bliss. I didn't know it was leading to wedding bells, mind you, when I started working on the book. But ta da! It is.

I titled that book quite a while ago, and since I am still young enough at heart to not-so-secretly crave Rock Star status authorhood once I'm published, I've also titled the two subsequent books in the trilogy. Thanks, Jane Austen, for always writing your books in three acts. Now I do it, to.

Only a few months after we got together, I decided that I wanted to write a fourth book. Maybe not part of the 'trilogy' per se, but a book that could stand alone or be read in sequence. The title, which was amazing, ifIdosaysomyself, came to me almost instantly. So I've been sitting on it for about a year and a half, much longer than I've had this blog.

Honestly, I probably should have given the blog that title from the get go, but I didn't want anyone to come along and steal it before I can use it.

But the other day, as I was talking to Future Husband about it (because I'd mentioned it to my cousin Jinxie and she loved it) I said, "I'd love to rename my blog, but I want to use it for a book, later on down the road."

He asked (he's always so good at helping me see the things I overlook), "Why can't it be both?"

And I paused for a moment, but couldn't think of a good reason. So voila! Some time in the next few days I'll be changing the name of my blog. The address will stay the same, so no need to worry. Just keep an eye out in your 'Blogs I Follow' section.

Saturday, March 12, 2011
Hey guys, doing a little more layout changing.... which I'm pretty sure is why my title disappeared. Oh well!

Hang tight, I'll get it all set, I promise.
Firstly, let me say that Future Husband hates the expression 'Tour Widow.' Probably because he takes it literally. Which is probably because I keep warning him to drive safe, not be too tired, or drunk, or let either G or D be incapacitated. Not to make me a widow before I can actually be one.

But, I mean, c'mon. How much would it suck to have your fiance die right before the wedding? You're losing your husband, but there are no legal benefits or responsibilities. So you're powerless in a time of personal crisis. Then add on to it the fact that there's some sort of social stigma. Like, "Oh, your boyfriend died 3 months ago? Why aren't you dating again?" compared to, "Oh, your husband died 3 months ago? I'm so sorry. How are you feeling?"

Still, though. I like the phrase 'Tour Widow' and I've seen other bloggers in my situation use it.

And my situation is this; there wasn't room for me in the van for their short Seattle to Austin migration. (Seriously, the Seattle music scene is a ghost town right now. Everyone's flying south by southwest for the Spring.) They're sharing a van and equipment with another band. It's a smart choice, both economically and for their career. This band is a little bit bigger and well connected, and was able to get them into some good SXSW shows.

So when the tour started last weekend, I followed them down to Oregon in my little Hyundai, named Francine. Future Husband and I stayed in cheap motels and did our best to enjoy the last few days of each others company. Unfortunately, with the work situation, the driving and the two shows, we got maybe 10 hours sleep between Wednesday and Sunday, total.

We parted ways in Central Oregon on Sunday morning. I did my best not to cry, and he kissed me tenderly, and called me 'Wife' with a wicked little smile. He climbed into the bigger van and started towards Lake Tahoe, and I got back into Francine and started back to Seattle.

When I finally arrived back at our house, I crashed for nearly 14 hours. It was lovely. Except that it made me wake up 5 hours before the start of my first job. So I decided that I should use this abundant energy to my advantage, before my brain realized just how far away Future Husband was.

I cleaned our room, picking up bits of trash that had accumulated over the last two weeks. Sorted the laundry, and got all of the dirties picked up off the floor. I even managed to decorate a little bit, putting up one of the good pictures from our Engagement Photo session in January. I drank half a pot of coffee, and wore real clothes and listened to music while I cleaned, like a normal person. (My usual cleaning routine is pajama pants and a Jane Austen movie on in the background.) After cleaning I ran to the bank, the thrift store and grabbed a quick lunch out before going to work. I was a whirlwind of productivity.

Day 1: The rare but productive Lorinado.

But after nannying, getting ready for my night time job, and a long, frustrating night, I was exhausted. Add to it the fact that this new night time job I have is for the same company that Future Husband works for, and that he trained me, and it's a strange emotional roller coaster. Whenever I had a question about what I should do, I couldn't just go to him and ask. I sat alone at lunch. And while I got to talk to him briefly during the break, it just wasn't quite the same. So when I got out of work at 8am, feeling tired and lonely, getting lost was the last thing I needed. I turned the wrong direction out of the parking lot in the fog, and ended up two miles away before I realized my mistake. I was able to eventually turn around and find my way back and get on the right track home, but it was insanely frustrating. And it delayed me enough that I was stuck in horrific morning rush hour traffic. What should have been a 35-40 minute drive, turned into a 90 minute one. A few minutes in, right after I had gotten on the right freeway, some silly, mopey, lovesick song started blaring out of my iPod, and it started the waterworks.

So there I sat, stuck in foggy, bumper-to-bumper traffic, thinking of the cute way Future Husband walks with his hands in his pockets and the quirky, non-sequitur things he'll say to make me laugh. Even though it wasn't the longest we had gone without seeing each other since we've lived together (which was 3.5 days in July, when I flew down to AZ for a wedding), I knew that it was going to be a lot longer. So I felt the full brunt of missing him, because I was too tired to think rationally and stave it off.

Day 2: Sad, in so many ways.

The rest of the week has alternately flown by or dragged on. Every moment he's away feels supernaturally elongated, but sitting here on Saturday, looking back at it, it's like it was over in a flash. I've had similar ups and downs emotionally, but have done my best to let my brain hold the reigns over my heart.

We'll see how the next two weeks feel.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
My cousin Sara reposted this blog, and I felt I had to repost it as well. I'm pretty sure every girl that reads my blog will identify with this, especially those that have ever felt romantically ignored. And I know quite a few of you will identify (probably a little too well) with the last sentence.


"Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was twelve.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag.She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her mug, the non-dairy creamer is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup of coffee.

Let her know what you really think of Murakami. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in song. Give her Neruda, Pound, Sexton, Cummings. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but by god, she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does.

She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.

Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who read understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilightseries.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching a book to her chest and weeping, make her a cup of tea and hold her. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or during a rock concert. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to the Cat in the Hat and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Keats under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes."
Rosemarie Urquico (via kblitz)
Sunday, February 27, 2011
I know no one else will find this as amusing or adorable as I will, but I had to post it anyway.

Future Husband's throat is sore tonight, which I'm sure is just the result of being dehydrated, playing a show (and therefore, screaming) and drinking beer. So I made him drink a glass of water, and now he's got a mug of hot coffee. I'm sure he'll be fine in no time.

A few minutes ago, I was about to run into the kitchen to top off his mug, but leaned in for a kiss first. But before I got there, he said, "My throat hurts when I talk."

To which I replied, "It's okay, we don't need to talk. We can just point and grunt. We understand each other." And kissed him. Our foreheads were pressed against each others, so I gave him another quick little peck.

Then he whispered back, "No, I'll just whisper"
FH: "Like a dying magician on his deathbed."
Me: "Okay, that'll work too."
FH: "I can finally tell you-"
FH: "-where I've been hiding all of those doves and rabbits."

At this point, I had to lean my face down and try to keep myself from doing that snorty kind of laugh. I looked back up at him, smiled and said, "Oh, I love you."

To which he whispered, still sounding as serious as he possibly could, "I love you so much. My little dove, my little rabbit... meine hossenfeffer."

After that, one of the little snorty laugh escaped.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
If you've been reading my blog for at least the last month or two, you know that I spent this Christmas with my Future In-Laws in Arizona, and that we earned our gas money by touring down.

So Future Husband and I didn't really get a chance to exchange gifts. Mostly because we couldn't figure out a way to fit them in the van to transport them back up. (We had a hard enough time getting the gifts we did get from the Rents in the van.)

When we got back into town, we picked the Friday after his birthday as the day we would celebrate Christmas. We jokingly started calling it 'Birthmas' (which yes, I realize is redundant.) We waited for our first paychecks to come in, and then went shopping. Not for much, mind you, we're still livin' on love.

Thursday was Future Husbands 27th birthday (god, I can't believe I met him when he was only 20!) and we celebrated primarily with food, since we both had work Mon-Thurs of that week. We started the festivities on Wednesday night, since his birthday started at midnight while he was at work. My contribution, other than cooking it, was putting on a pair of yellow kitchen gloves, a turtleneck sweater pulled up over my mouth and nose, and my glasses so that I could slice up some bell peppers for him. I'm allergic, you see. At the store I found the mom-est looking lady in the produce section, and asked her how to pick the ripe ones. I sliced them up, fried them with some onions so he could top his spaghetti and meatballs (to take with him to work) and for his fajitas (for dinner before work). When I woke him up for dinner, he said, "I thought I smelled bell peppers, but I knew it couldn't be true. But it is!"

Friday was an interesting day. When he got home from work I had a big Italian feast waiting for him - homemade Caesar dressing and croutons for the salad, Bruschetta, Shrimp and Zucchini Carbonara with extra bacon, and homemade cheesecake. We made it through everything, but decided to save the cheesecake for later, since we were so full. By the time we were done, it was almost 1 o'clock. Band practice was at 3. So we decided to stay up for it. Since we do laundry at G and D's house, we were stuck there til almost 7 o'clock waiting for the clothes to finish drying. We got home, cut ourselves a slice of cheesecake each, and then a second (seriously, we ate half the thing right there, and it was a double cheesecake in a deep pan.) We put the plate in the sink and just kept going at it with a spoon.

After violating the cheesecake, we went to our room and celebrated Birthmas. Earlier in the day, while we were waiting to do to practice, I'd cut out and taped together our little Birthmas tree, and used some thread to tape it to the ceiling. It fell down later, but we put it back up.

We put the Birthmas tree in the 'music and smoking' corner of our room.


We also used newspaper coupons from the grocery store to wrap the presents. FH's bow is made out of meat (coupons)

I got Future Husband a shiny new Wok (so he can cook me all sorts of delicious Asian-y things) and a new pair of real Chuck Taylors. Not the Payless knock-offs.

He got me... a Wii!!! I was totally shocked, and super stoked when I opened it. (He also got me a super cute card with two little cartoon spoons on the front that said something about how much he likes 'spooning' with me... and then a joke about 'forking' on the inside.) And some mysterious jolly man gave us Guinness and our favorite Mountain Dew flavor for our Call of Duty time.

After opening our Birthmas presents, we collapsed into 14 hours of much needed sleep.

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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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