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...

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!

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 Cracked.com 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!

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.


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.




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.


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.

New Year's Day was spent mostly in bed. Future Husband and I rolled out of bed about 5pm, mostly because we were painfully thirsty. Literally, in pain. My New Year's Eve got a little out of control. I was fine with what I was drinking, but Future Sister in Law brought Jell-O shots, and because you chew them, I forget that they are not food. So yes. I woke up at 5pm on January first, desperately needing a glass of water and missing an earring. I still haven't found it.

We came downstairs, and the Future Parents in Law had just finished eating all of the snacky deliciousness that was leftover from the party. Not wanting leftover Turkey and Dumpling soup (again) we decided to throw caution to the wind and use some of our Christmas money to go out to eat.

We ended up at Native New Yorker with hot wings, a meatball hoagie, a calzone, and trivia. And lots and lots of tea and water. Even though we joined the game late, we still won by 5,000+ points. Still, though... not the most exciting New Year's Day.

The second, however, was relatively eventful for us. FH had band practice, and I stayed behind to get ready for our Engagement Photo shoot. It wasn't like we hired a photographer, unless you consider paying his sister by taking her out to dinner payment. When FH got home from practice, and FSiL arrived, and I had finished straightening my ridiculously unruly hair (which only took a surprising 45 minutes), we walked over to one of the little grassy, park like areas near the FPiL's house.

(On a side note, all of these crazy abbreviations make me feel like I'm writing something of more importance than a personal anecdote.)

We got there, and were all a little confused as to what to do. We knew that most couples took happy looking pictures in pretty green places, so we had that down. We were losing light, though, and hadn't brought any sweatshirts or jackets, so it was rapidly getting colder. We even had matching out fits, intentionally, for once.

The results were pretty hilarious. Since none of us knew what we should do, we just kind of winged it. The only advice my mother had given me a few days previously was, "Don't make stupid faces. I don't know what it is about you two, but for such good looking kids, you always take horrible pictures. Don't mug and make faces. Just relax and smile."

We tried to relax and smile, we really did. But the problem with that is that we relax and start talking. And don't stop. And then laugh. So of the 55 photos FSiL took, 5 or 6 of them turned out nicely. If you don't count the one where we look good, but there is quite obviously dog poopies in the grass behind us. The other fifty or so... well. See for yourself;

Towards the end of the fall tour, G asked us if we would be down to do a small tour down to Arizona, just so he could be with his family for Christmas. We agreed, of course. And so here we are on Christmas Eve, at Future Husband's parents' house. It works out well, since we ended up spending Thanksgiving with my folks.

Today started off a little rocky. I'd gone to bed last night with a ridiculously sore throat for the first time in a week. I gargled salt water, took an Advil, and went to bed early. (And by early, I mean 4:30am instead of 6.) When my (almost) Mother-In-Law knocked on the door a few hours later to have Future Husband and I help with the Turkey and the various side dishes, I was surprised (but happy) to find that my sore throat had vanished. Hooray warm salt water!

So after giving the turkey a butter massage, and making sure it was thoroughly stuffed with oyster dressing, I settled onto the couch with a cup of coffee and a book. It didn't last long, though, before sleepiness set in, and Future Husband and I went back upstairs for a nap. There was another knock on our door four hours later from my (almost) Sister-In-Law told us a family friend was visiting. We got up and dressed, and went downstairs to visit for a while before it was time for our Christmas Eve dinner.

Once (almost) Father-In-Law got home from work, we started finishing up the last bit of dinner (gravy, mashing potatoes, adding the onions to the green bean casserole.) FH, FSiL and I ran to the only open grocery store for some last minute dinner rolls and a bottle of wine. Then we sat down for the big spread. It reminded me a lot of what I would have had at home with my folks; Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes and gravy, sweet potatoes, green bean casserole, corn and tomato casserole (something FH is always raving about), and of course... cranberry sauce. If you don't know me in real life, or haven't been reading my blog for a while, you should know that I freaking love cranberry sauce. You can read all about it here. (I only got made fun of once tonight for my cranberry sauce consumption.)

After dinner we all sat down and watched a movie together (Gentleman Broncos, "You stole my gnads, Dennis!") before getting on with the annual tradition of decorating gingerbread cookies. I made the cookies a few days earlier (in a mad baking marathon) and accidentally burned them. Resulting in darker than usual gingerbread men, and Future Husband making a racially insensitive gingerbread man.

I however, took the half man that was the leftover dough, and the cookie that got his head popped off. And made this;


Behold, a GingerZombie Cookie Attack. Merry Christmas!

Towards the end of the Fall Tour, G asked if we would mind going on tour down to Arizona for Christmas, so he could spend it with his family. It had been a few years since he'd been there since they moved up to Seattle. Even though Future Husband and I had been talking about how much we were looking forward to our first Christmas together (last year was thwarted by a freak Christmas Eve Blizzard in Oklahoma) and the possibilities - i.e. A Charlie Brown Tree, a pajamas optional Christmas Eve, etc., we agreed to go on tour down to AZ. So though we won't get our little sad tree and a Christmas all to ourselves, we will get to spend it with FH's family (Future In-Laws! Yay!). It fits nicely, since we spent this Thanksgiving with my family in Oklahoma. (Blog to follow... someday. I promise.)

Today we packed up and set out on our Winter Tour. Twelve days from now we'll be rolling into AZ, enjoying the frigid 70 degree weather, delicious burritos, and Christmas with my Future In-Laws and the few blood cousins that will still talk to me after my last blog.

Within a week of Boyfriend and I becoming 'Boyfriend and I' last September 9th, we knew we were altar bound. Just a day after we finally got our act together, he happily told me, "We have a lifetime of Scrabble ahead of us."

On September 14th of last year, he asked me to tour with his band. Turned out it wasn't even his idea. G and D suggested it, and of course, Boyfriend (and then I) enthusiastically agreed with it. That night Boyfriend told me he loved me for the first time. Within a week of that, he was telling me about the Domestic Partnership he had with Crazy Ex #1 from a few years ago. He said, "I have to get rid of that so I'm free to marry you."

Ever the self doubter and over thinker, I couldn't quite believe I'd heard him right, so I didn't ask him to clarify. That's what girls are supposed to do, right? Not talk about commitment, cause boys are afraid of that? But a few days later I jokingly referenced what our children might look like, and he called them, 'inevitable.'

It blew me away. I've been in love with Boyfriend since I was 19 years old. I never thought we'd actually be together, and the few times I allowed myself to actually think/fantasize about that, I never thought we'd make it for the long haul. I always thought we'd have a few happy years together, have a lot of fun, and then decide we wanted different things. I thought I'd go start a family, and he'd continue to live his rock 'n roll lifestyle. We would've stayed friends, of course, but it would have just been a fun relationship. I never thought I'd fall as hard as I did (or rather, didn't realize how hard I'd already fallen). But as soon as Boyfriend mentioned babies and marriage (and he brought them up first) I finally accepted how deeply I loved him.

On my birthday last year (which was epically awesome) after a couple rounds of Jell-O shots, I pulled my mother away from her palm reading station at the party and said, "I want to tell Boyfriend I want to spend the rest of my life with him. Should I?" Mom just laughed at me.

Later, in the bouncy castle (yes - there was a bouncy castle), Boyfriend and I were snuggling. The aforementioned Jell-O shots gave me enough courage to pull him close and say, "I want to spend every day with you. For the rest of my life."

His response? "I thought that was the plan."


Since that night last October we've occasionally mentioned forever. At some point over the last year we somehow arrived at a conclusion for the date. I thought it was awesome that we got together on 9-9-09, and jokingly said, "We should get married on 11-1-11. Then our rehearsal dinner could be a costume party."

"And that would be a super easy anniversary to remember!" Boyfriend said. (Even then, when he told his mother last month, he told her it was the 11th we wanted. Silly boy.)

Our second night out on my first tour, as we were walking to a party after parking the van a few blocks away, Boyfriend lamented, "I don't know how to introduce you to people. You're not my fiance yet, because I haven't gotten a ring, but you're so much more than just my girlfriend." He then changed the subject to what kind of ring I wanted. Smooth, that one.

The only hold up so far has been telling his folks. My parents have known since I knew. I'm extremely close to my parents, and tell them everything. Boyfriend, however, while he loves his parents and is close to them, he's not as friendly with his parents as I am with mine. And my parents have known him for six years. Boyfriend's parents met me last Christmas. His original plan was to tell his father he wanted to ask me to marry him, but things kept coming up, or getting in the way. It's adorable, really, how much he admires his parents. Even at 26, he's still worried about making them proud and not disappointing them. When we were in Arizona last month on the way back from tour, Boyfriend finally worked up the nerve to tell his mom. When Boyfriend told me the story, he said he was trying to lead her to the subject, and she brought it up. When she told me the story they next day (while we were getting our toes done), she said she told him he had to marry me. It's a disagreement I'm happy to let them have.

I jokingly told my future sister in law that even though we knew we were going to get married, and had picked out the date, we weren't 'engaged' because Boyfriend hadn't asked and there wasn't a ring. The GBF said that I couldn't call myself 'engaged' until Boyfriend made it 'facebook official.' Either way, though we've been discussing our wedding party, the menu for the reception, and where we want to honeymoon, we weren't referring to ourselves as engaged.

Until now.

A few days ago, while we were shopping for Halloween Costume accessories, a cheapy ring in the thrift store case caught my eye. (When we discussed rings, I told him he wasn't allowed to spend more than $20 on my ring. They're just symbolic anyway, I'm clumsy and bad with jewelry, and we can use the extra money to have a longer honeymoon.) Boyfriend said, "Hey, we're getting married a year from Monday, huh?" I answered positively, and he said, "We should change our facebook status."

Sunday night, a few minutes after midnight, Boyfriend left the couch, grabbed my laptop, and pulled up facebook. He went immediately to the 'Relationships' page, changed his status to 'Engaged to,' nudged me and pointed to it. I looked over and he asked, "Eh?"

I smiled at him, said, "Sure!" and he clicked save.

So 363 days from now, I'll be in a white dress in Arizona, celebrating with my closest friends and family, and calling my dearest friend 'Husband.'

25 years ago today, Marty McFly went to a parking lot to meet with Doc Brown. The rest, as they say is history.

Also, in a suburb of Phoenix, Arizona, my mom squeezed me out.

I know I haven't been blogging much lately. Tour puts a damper on my productivity (malnutrition, tiredness, lack of reliable internet connection), and now that I'm home I've been distracted with things like looking for work, working, and household chores. And Breaking Bad. Seriously, Boyfriend and I have put away almost three seasons since October 8th. That's a lot of sitting in front of a boob tube.

I don't think I'll draw any cute cartoons today, as I just want to put a blog up so you all know I haven't mysteriously disappeared. Also, it's my birthday. My 25th freaking birthday. It seems like a blog worthy day.

Birthdays have never made me feel any different. As a child, I always expected some sort of magical transformation over night, or at the very least, for the day to feel unusual. Like Christmas. There's this sort of stillness in the air on Christmas. I always expect my birthday to feel that way, but it doesn't.

This birthday makes me want to better myself, though. Like it's a chance for New Years-esque resolutions. Like I'm really starting my adult life now, with a nice, round, halfway to 50 age.

But here are my Quarter Life resolutions:
-Write EVERY day. 1,000 words on a novel would be nice, but that's not realistic. A paragraph or two, or a blog, or even just jotting down ideas of stories and novels... hell, even fan fiction, is better than not writing at all.
-Eat better. I've been doing a good job of it since tour, but I've had entirely too much fast food and too many restaurant outings this year. I don't feel good. Good food makes you feel good.
-Be smarter with money. Just because I have money sitting in my bank account, doesn't mean I have to spend it.
-Practice music more. I miss playing and writing and singing. It's an amazing way to express myself, and I miss getting lost in it.

I can't really think of anything else. I mean, I've got a great guy by my side, a wonderful family, and friends that actually care about me. The outlook from here is pretty swell. Honestly, I couldn't ask for more. Well, maybe a book deal or to win the lottery, but as far as practicality goes... this is Happily Ever After, and I'm lucky enough to have found it this young.

When we awoke from our well deserved nap, we joined my family upstairs (my Mom works swing shift and gets off at 11:30pm) for spaghetti and softball sized meatballs. Those made amazing meatball subs the next day, lemme tell ya. We were still pretty tired, even after a six hour nap, so crashed in the wee hours, along with the rest of the household.

The family cat had kittens in late April, so we enjoyed those for a bit before bed. My hairy, rock star of a Boyfriend playing with kittens is a precious sight. When we woke after another ten hours of sleep (so, so nice) we went upstairs into the main house for breakfast, thankfully spared from a ginormous feast. Instead, we had cereal and toast. My father is Italian, and my mother is Irish. So feeding house guests is one of their hobbies. Seriously. Every friend I've ever had, even if they're only friendly acquaintances, knows that Lori's parents will always feed you, insist on a second helping, and send you home with leftovers. I warned my parents a week before we flew out there (when they called and asked me to email a list of the meals we wanted during the visit) that we'd need to slowly stretch our stomachs back out, especially so soon after tour. When we stopped there for two nights (right after Easter) I was sure our stomachs were going to burst. A la pigeons and alka seltzer. Luckily, the 'rents took it easy on us for this most recent Tulsa trip.

Sunday we spent as nerds. We sat in my parents' basement, drank a 12 pack of Mountain Dew White Out, and played video games (Boyfriend breaking in his brand new PS3, and I reunited with my beloved Sims 3).

Monday we went down to the tattoo parlor and got corresponding/matching tattoos. Neither of us are newcomers to the ink world; this was his fourth and my fifth. When I got my most recent tattoo (about two weeks after we became a couple) we both lamented that we wanted more tattoos. I suggested that we go down and get tattooed together, on the same day. All but one of my tattoos were group outings. The idea sounds a bit trivial, but I think it's a fun way to bond with people. The idea stuck. A few weeks later, as we were discussing what we wanted for our next tattoos, I suggested corresponding tattoos. Personally, I think it's bad luck to get a lover's name or likeness inked. It's a jinx. In fact, Boyfriend has Crazy Ex #1's name on his upper arm inside a heart. GAG. My suggestion was to get art we already wanted individually in the same session. I've been wanting a black bird or an owl for quite a while now, and Boyfriend's always been a huge fan of the coelacanth. (He's a weird one. That's why I love him.) And I've always loved that old saying, 'If a bird and a fish fell in love, where would they make their home?' It rang especially true as our unrequited love become requited after five long years, when we lived 2,000 miles apart. When I posed this idea to Boyfriend, he said, "Who knew the answer would be, 'In a van'?"

So in April when we passed through Tulsa briefly, we decided we go down and make an appointment with an artist. Two days before we were set to do so, Boyfriend and I were discussing it and he said, "You know, I've been thinking about getting a dime tattooed someday."

The few of you that know us both really well and/or had to suffer through the aforementioned five years of unrequited love/torture, know the significance of the dime. My parents said at our wedding they're not going to throw rice or confetti, they're going to throw dimes. I told them that would really hurt and be a waste of $100. Long story short (and perhaps I'll blog about this later on), dimes have been a running joke between Boyfriend and I since the Great Dime Diving Night in December of 2004.

Boyfriend's been reading The Golden Bough for a while now (he's almost done!), and oak trees have taken on significance for him. So he decided that he wanted the tails side of the dime. I, of course, immediately thought, 'We haven't decided on what kind of design we want for our bird/fish tattoos, so I'll just get heads.'



The rest of our time in Tulsa was spent with The Bestest and my family, going on outings, having great family dinners, playing board games until the wee hours of the morning, watching movies, smoking hookah (No pot ever! Ew! Gross! Ick!), visiting my favorite bars and restaurants and putting off packing. Oh, and video games. Did I mention that Boyfriend and I killed five 12 packs of Mountain Dew White Out while he played Grand Theft Auto IV and I played The Sims 3? Yeah. We're a match made in nerd heaven.

When the big day came and it was finally time for us to load up my car, I quickly packed the piles of belongings into boxes (we'd take breaks from video games to stretch and sort a few things) while Boyfriend used his developed car packing talent (from years of loading and unloading musical equipment into cars of various sizes) to expertly put all of my things in my little baby SUV. We said goodbye to my mom and The Bestest (the brothers and Dad were out buying my youngest brother's first car.) I congratulated myself on not crying as we drove away.

It really was the best way for me to move out. Two week visits punctuated the six months we were forced to have a long distance relationship. Then we had tour, so I was on a BO scented musical adventure. Even with tour, I got to visit my family. So it was like weaning myself off of my very close knit family. It helped both me and the parental unit, I think.

We got a much later start than we had originally intended, partly because I put off serious packing until my last day (still though, it only took twenty minutes), and partly because I was dreading the moment I said my final goodbyes to the Fam, but mostly because Boyfriend and I decided we wanted to get a good night's sleep before we drove 2,000 miles in 3 days.

We stopped at Spangles (one of the regional highlights of tour) for dinner, even though we had originally intended it to be breakfast. After an uneventful, mostly dark drive, we arrived in Denver a little after 2:00am, and met up with one of my oldest friends to stay at his place. (On a side note, isn't it crazy how friends and family are scattered as we grow older?) We slept on his floor for four hours, then woke up to share a French Press worth of coffee and giant muffin with him before he had to leave for rugby practice and we had to hit the road again.



We planned to stop in Cheyenne for lunch, but the interstate only had fast food to offer, and we were craving Chinese something fierce.So we continued on through the bottom of Wyoming (a truly, painfully boring drive) until we hit Laramie. We saw a billboard advertising a Thai place, and decided to stop there. Unfortunately, we both neglected to remember the exit number. And Laramie has like, two exits, five miles apart. That's only a tiny exaggeration. We decided to pull off the highway for gas, and let the google search on my phone find enough of signal to function. As luck would have it, there was a Chinese Buffet across the street from the gas station. Unfortunately for me, there was absolutely nothing green on the buffet line that wasn't battered and deep friend. I'd had my heart set on some beef and broccoli... but alas. At least their wrapped chicken was so tasty it made up for the lack of vegetables.

Later we stopped at some of the weirdest little gas stations and truck stops we've ever been to. (And we've been to a lot.) One was in a tiny place called Point of Rocks where we got or giant sodas for free. I don't know if it's because we were probably the only tattooed and long haired people she'd ever seen, or if it was because she knew how horribly mixed their soda fountain was. We weren't able to drink the soda (almost entirely syrup and flat), but threw them out at another little truck stop that used propaganda type ads as advertising. A weird little place called Little America. It was like a tiny, manufactured city of a truck stop. They did, however, have the cleanest, nicest bathroom I've ever seen on the side of an interstate. Leather sofas in the waiting area of the womens restroom, floor to ceiling walls and doors on every (very spacious) toilet stall. It was a little oasis of cleanliness, which was much appreciated, even as Stepford-creepy as it was.

We drove on again, pushing ourselves to make it to Salt Lake City before nightfall, wanting to hit a Golden Corral (Boyfriend had never been, and it's one of those hokey things I simply adore) before we turned in for the night. Make up for our deep fried Chinese lunch with a salad and plate of vegetables.

Just as we thought we were going to go crazy from the boring, beige scenery that is Wyoming (Seriously, it's worse than Kansas and both Dakotas.), we crossed the state line. Almost instantly, there were trees, and green things, and real mountains. It was like Utah had given the corner of the land it didn't want to Wyoming. We were weaving through gorgeous mountain valleys that looked like something from a model train layout.

The hotel we splurged on that night was not anything to write home about. In fact, it's long hallways and single painting made it a bit creepy. There was a frame every ten or so feet, but they each had the exact same print in them. A lonely looking pink and gold chair sitting in a sea of white negative space. We decided (after a shower) that we'd hit a Golden Corral in Idaho on the way back home, and we'd just eat in the restaurant in the lobby. The thing that really stood out about this hotel, and made it a super enjoyable stay for us, was the bed. For once, I'm not being pervy. It was honestly the most comfortable bed I've ever slept in. It was a California King, which at 5'11" and 6'3" we appreciate more than short people will ever understand. We fell asleep after watching a movie. I woke four hours later, certain I'd slept through our alarm because I was so rested. I've never been happier to fall back asleep.

The drive from Salt Lake City to Seattle is 14 hours. We stopped at a Golden Corral in Boise, and stuffed ourselves. Boyfriend mostly on barbecue, and I mostly on Caesar salad and macaroni and cheese. We tried not to fall asleep as we drove through beautiful parts of Oregon. They were so picturesque it made me long for my camera, which was securely tucked away in the back. Unfortunately.

We stopped in Washington at the first open gas station. Oregon is one of two states that does not have self service gas stations. You are not allowed to pump your own gas. You have to stay in the car, while some junkie or redneck collects your payment and does it for you. The problem with this is not so much the inconvenience of not being self sufficient, but being nocturnal, or being stuck in Oregon at night when no gas stations are open. Grateful to finally be in our home state, we happily gassed up the car, got ourselves the biggest cups of coffee they had, and those little 5 Hour Energy shots. (Which are essentially vitamin B overdoses.)

It was a long trek, and by the time we got to the prettiest parts of Washington (the mountain passes between the eastern side of the state and the sound) it was pitch black, and raining. I was wired on energy drinks, desperately needed to pee, and became convinced that one of the truckers that kept speeding past me or riding up on my tail was actually trying to kill me. Seriously. Why else would someone who drives professionally be going 90mph on a winding mountain pass at 3:00am in the rain? Homicide seemed logical at the time.

We finally rolled back into our own driveway about 3:30am (unmurdered by crazy truckers), went promptly to our room, and collapsed into sleep.

Today was my last day in Tulsa.

Last visit with my student, which was fabulously fun. Last time getting my hair done (cause I totally won't be able to afford it for a few years.) Last time hanging out and eating junk food with my brothers. Last time meeting my friends for burgers and pints. Last sleepover with The Bestest.

My day started with a stop at the Post Office and a favorite pizza by the slice joint. A few days ago I went through my 4,000+ iTunes library and compiled all of the 10 year old friendly dance tunes I had in there. I ended up with a 6 hour playlist. We put it on shuffle, ate greasy pizza, addressed and stamped envelopes to each other, and danced around like maniacs. It was phenomenal.

When I arrived home, my brothers and I watched GhostBusters, and had the giantest, most epic milkshakes ever. Seriously. It was a 44oz. And I drank it in twenty minutes. I was regretting it by the time Sigourney Weaver's all floaty and slutty, but great googily moogily was is delicious. Chunks of fresh strawberries and creamy vanilla ice cream. Mmmmm...

After the movie I went and had my friend do my hair. She's ridiculously talented and gives me a pretty ridiculous discount. And we geek it up with Harry Potter and Zombie talk for most of the time. I got my first professional color (a little less Strawberry Blonde, a little bit closer to my natural sandy) with high lights and low lights, and an ultra-fabulous under color. I have no idea what it's technically called. But I call it under color. And then my inner third grader laughs cause it makes me think of 'underwear'. After it was all washed and dried, she asked if she could flat iron my hair. I told her she'd been playing with my hair for two hours, but if she wanted more, she was welcome. So she flat ironed my hair. It's probably the tamest and straightest it will ever be in my entire life. I am loving every moment of it, and hoping I can stretch it out for two or three days of straight, tamey, non-voluminous goodness.

I ran home and finished my last minute packing, checking and rechecking my list. I have everything I put on it (and I've been adding to this list since September) but I still feel like I'm forgetting something. Since the geeky hairdresser did such a good job with my hair, I decided to dress up after all. Granted, dressing up for me means jeans and gratuitous cleavage. And cute heels. The Bestest and I put on our make up together, while listening to The Fratellis with the volume all the way up. Dancing around the bathroom in our underwear between eyeliner applications.

We got to the pub, and The Bestest informed me that she had invited almost all of our coworkers via mass text. I was expecting only about ten people to show up. We requested a table for twenty, but had to get more chairs as everyone arrived. I knew that I was well liked at work, but I didn't realize people actually liked me. It's one thing to get along with everyone you work with, but another to spend time socializing together outside of work. I would occasionally head out for a drink if a big group was going, but there was really only three or four people I would spend time outside of work with. So to have twenty people show up to my impromptu going away party was incredible. I personally consider myself to be an antisocial bore. The kind of girl that hides behind books and words. Observing but rarely participating. I've said it before, but it bears repeating; I don't know how I got so lucky to have so many awesome friends.

When the pub crowd started to diminish about midnight, I got one last round of hugs from everyone and the promises to keep up with Facebook. The Bestest and I giggled all the way home, taking goofy pictures in the car and laughing about the most banal subjects. Hot cocoa for the Bestest, Coffee for me, and one last Tim Tam Slam before I left.

And now I am at the end of my last day. My mother is the last one awake, and it feels strange to be heading down into my apartment one last time while she's still up. But I need to go downstairs and check over my bags and lists one more time, and see if I can figure out what I've forgotten.

I'm sure I'll remember in Seattle.

Today was spent doing the last minute, hectic cleaning and errand running that usually occupy the day before I leave. Yes, I leave Thursday, not tomorrow. But tomorrow will be spent visiting my student one last time, getting my hair done and then running around wondering what it is I've forgotten. Even with my infamous to-do lists, I always feel like I've forgotten something. Last time what I forgot was the grocery list. Not a big deal, but still. I had forgetten something.

Tonight, however, was the last time I made dinner for my family, and probably the last time I'll make a meal for more than two people for a few months. I love cooking and baking, so to only cook for two people will be a bit of a challenge.

My family is made up of foodies. We use pretty much any excuse we can to make a nice, elaborate meal. This morning (technically early afternoon) when I came upstairs into the house, my dad was in the kitchen. The first thing he asked me was, "Hey, Kiddo. What do you want for dinner tonight? It's probably going to be your last home cooked meal for a while."

It struck me then that it was the last time I'd have dinner with my whole family before I moved out. Sure, Boyfriend and I will be back for a few weeks after tour, and a few weeks in the fall, but it won't be the same. I'll be visiting. So I started thinking about what I wanted to have for dinner, and the more I thought about it, the more I wanted to cook.

The first thing that came to mind was homemade creamed corn. It's something my dad came up with years and years ago, since I loved it, and the family's general consensus was the canned creamed corn was shit. I learned how to make it years and years ago, and it's still one of my favorite things. I mean, it's gravy with corn in it. It doesn't get much better than that.

Then I thought about other sides, I mean, it was a natural progression. Since I was coming to the conclusion that I wanted to make dinner, I've been wanting to make garlic mashed potatoes for a while now. Then I realized how heavy that would be. Rich potatoes, gravy with another starch in it... so needed something green. Grilled asparagus... Grilled zucchini... yessss.

The meat was the last thing. Boyfriend and I both love beef, so that's the usual meat portion of our meals. When I voiced this to my dad (I have a habit of thinking out loud) he offered pork chops with applesauce stuffing. We'd had that a little less than two weeks ago, so I opted out of it. Then I thought of chicken. I'd only made chicken once since I'd gotten back from Seattle, and there was a recipe that had been floating around in my head for a honey mustard chicken.

So yes, I made a ton of scrumdiddlyupmptious food. And we all gorged. It was marvelous.

We watched American Idol, played armchair quarterback and bullied the girls that weren't as good as Angela Martin. Then we put on one of our favorite food porn movies. You know, those movies about restaurants or chefs that show gloriously lit shots of the food being prepared and served, and the actors moaning and rolling their eyes back into their heads when they take the first bite. Yeah. That's the kind of movie we watched. And the kind of dinner we ate. There would be times when everyone would be talking, and suddenly, silence would fall. You could maybe hear the sound of chewing.

Glorious, marvelous night.