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...

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.


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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.

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!

So the silver lining to my cough seems to have disappeared. I woke up Sunday morning by coughing myself awake. We camped out with my Denver GBF until absolutely time to go. We watched silly movies and drank Bloody Marys. (Well, the boys did. I drank my orange juice and shot zombies for a while.) Future Husband ordered my ring online (Yay!), so now we can fulfill the bling requirement of our engagement.

When we did finally take off in the afternoon, we dropped the DGBF off at work, and hopped on the freeway til Colorado Springs. It’s a pretty short drive, and we managed to miss both rush hours. We arrived at our friend’s new art gallery, and found brownies (the safe kind) and a keg waiting for us, and pizza on the way. Future Husband and I ran down to the Starbucks on the corner and got some hot tea for me, as I’m not quite beer savvy again.

The guy that opened was amazing. Probably one of my favorite musicians that we’ve played with on tour. He’s a 19 year old wunderkind with a steel guitar and a hollow box he stomps on while he plays. I liked him so much I spent the $10 my grandmother sent me for my birthday on a shirt of his. (I had been saving it for burritos in Arizona.)

I always like the art gallery shows in Colorado Springs, because it’s always just a couple of friends, bringing other friends, for an intimate, fun show. We hung out for a while afterwards, before our friend handed us money for a cheap hotel room. He had told us we could stay with him on Sunday night, but then his mother came into town, and he hosted her instead (obviously.) So he strong-armed us into getting a motel room so we wouldn’t have to sleep in the van. But he also gave us enough money for cheap beer for Future Husband and D, and pizza and wings.

We headed to the nearest Motel 6 and grabbed a room for the night. I ran FH and D out to a liquor store to pick up a few brewskies, and ordered from Domino’s when we got back to the room. Then it was just a leisurely night of Adult Swim and hot showers. Sweet, wonderful, much anticipated hot showers.

And of course, a pre-sleep 10 minute coughing fit that made me sure an internal organ or two would spring forth any moment.

Today we had a day off. Great is an understatement.

The friends we're staying with in Medford have some football thingy with Direct TV, so G and D were super excited, as was the entire family. Future Husband and I really couldn't give two hoots. So FH busted out his PS3 and the new game my brothers surprised him with at Thanksgiving, and I did what I do; I cooked.

It sounds so Betty Crocker/Happy Homemaker of me, but I really do enjoy cooking. So last night I told our friends to not worry about cooking for us, to just sit back and relax and enjoy all of their football games. After sleeping in for quite a while this morning and afternoon, I dragged myself out of bed (a bed, not a couch!) and went to the nearby grocery store. I had a forty dollar budget, so loaded up on delicious things, and then went back to the house and made them into even more delicious things.

I first made finger foods; Barbecue and Pastrami Stuffed Mushrooms (I tweaked my mom's recipe by adding bacon, of course) and a Ham, Cheese and Broccoli Croissant Ring. It seems like there are far too many adjectives there to describe finger food. I would have taken pictures, but all the food disappeared pretty quickly, and I was prepping dinner. Which, no surprise here, was Carbonara. Over the last few months it's become my signature dish. Anytime someone wants me to cook for them for some occasion, they choose Carbonara. Future Husband and I have even decided to have Chicken and Spinach Carbonara as one of the dishes at our wedding. (We're going to save money and cater it ourselves.) Maybe someday I'll finally get my food blog up and running.

While I let everyone digest the h'ors doeuvres, I curled up with my book and killed a chapter. Then I went right back to the kitchen to start the Chicken and Shrimp Carbonara. Soooo yummy. Everyone (even the kids with their picky appetites) ate it. The teenage boys loved it especially. Then all of us (me and my guys, and our friends and their three kids) gathered in the living room and watched Anchorman together. After the movie we stuffed our faces with more food. This time Strawberry Shortcake.

The family headed to bed first, since Monday morning was approaching at an alarming rate, and left us nocturnal musician sorts to our own devices... which was more video games and late night comedy central. After FH and I watched the season finale of The Walking Dead (a bit of a disappointment, really) and a few more episodes of Modern Family before hitting the hay.

Days like today are one of my favorite things about tour; getting to spend time with various friends all over the country that I wouldn't have met otherwise.

In order to understand how a relatively intelligent girl (like myself) could be so ridiculously stupid, there are two things you need to know before proceeding.

1-I love to cook.
2-I hate spicy things.



So when I set about making 30 jalapeno poppers for a BBQ at our new place, I had no idea what I was doing. I bought fresh jalapenos, washed them, set the cream cheese out on the counter to soften, and got to deseeding the peppers. I cut out the middle seedy parts, and sliced them in half. About a third of the way through stuffing the halves with my cream cheese mixture, I felt a burning on my ring finger. I thought maybe I'd just had a paper cut I didn't know about. A la lemon juice paper cut detection.



About ten more poppers down the road, my thumb started to burn as well. I finished putting the cream cheese in the peppers, but paused before wrapping them in bacon to wash my hands. I figured I should get the oil out of the invisible little cuts I had by washing my hands. In hindsight, this was my first mistake.

Within twenty minutes, the heat was spreading to my fingertips and intensifying. I realized something was very wrong. I assumed my allergy to bell peppers might be a factor in my sensitivity to the jalapenos. I googled 'jalapeno burns' and found only other people asking if it was possible to get burned from the oil in the peppers. I tried washing my hands a few more times, finding temporary relief in the cool water.

After another twenty minutes, I realized that it was only going to get worse as time passed. Now all five fingers on my left hand hurt, as well as most of my palm, and the fingertips on my right hand had just started to warm unpleasantly. I grabbed a cold beer from the fridge, and held it in my left hand while I googled again with my right hand. This time 'home remedy jalapeno burn', and came back with pages and pages of results.

It seemed that most people recommended baking soda paste, while some recommended soaking your afflicted areas in vinegar or milk or yogurt. I tried vinegar first, with no relief. I washed my hands again, then tried the baking soda paste. It relieved the burning a little while it was in the paste, but taking it out of the bowl only brought the pain right back. I didn't let it dry into a thicker paste, as it felt like it only trapped the heat in my skin and intensified it.

The catch-22 of this situation is that in order to try some new remedy, I had to wash my hands, which only made the burning worse ten minutes later. I unfortunately lost my appetite (which was terrible, because everything Boyfriend and the new Roomie were cooking smelled amazing), but still forced myself to have a brat, so I could take some pain medication. I took five Advil liqui-gels, with two beers, which shows you how much I was hurting. Two hours in, it felt like I had put my hands on the stove.



There were other things I began to try. Dawn soap: nope. Sugar scrub: nope. Oil absorbing clay facial mask: nope. Soaking in milk: nope. Thicker baking soda paste: nope. I found a bit of relief from hand sanitizer, just enough to finish reading the home remedy search results. I read stories of people that had accidentally touched their eyes or nose, and all I could think was how grateful I was that I hadn't done these things. I would have lost the last little bit of composure that remained and been a whimpering lump on the floor. I would have looked like this;



Finally I stumbled across someone who said the nurse at the hospital she went to for her burns rubbed her hands in hydrogen peroxide, and followed it up with hydro-cortisone cream. A few other people swore by rubbing alcohol. Unfortunately, of the three, I only had hydrogen peroxide. By this point I was so nauseated from the pain (the Advil wasn't touching it) that Boyfriend was starting to notice that this was actually a problem. (That high pain tolerance has always made it difficult for loved ones to realize how badly I'm injured. Like the time I cut off the tip of my thumb, but mom didn't realize she needed to take me to the ER for twenty minutes.) He'd seen me trying different solutions, but I'd been so quiet about it all, and he'd been so preoccupied with manning the grill, that he didn't realize it was causing me actual pain. He took one look at my face, and asked if there was anything he could do. It'd been almost four hours at this point, and I'd already looked up hundreds of comments, and tried most of them. I decided right then I was going to walk to the Walgreen's on the corner and buy myself a damn bottle of rubbing alcohol. Before I left, I gave in and took one more Advil, and one of the Darvocets I had left over from the Kidney Stone incident in April.

On a side note; Poor Boyfriend! Both times I've been 'ill' since we got together, he's been unable to do anything to make me feel better. All he can really offer is comfort, which I appreciate, but I know he wishes he could do more. He got a stomach bug on tour, and it drove me crazy that all I could do was rub his back or hold his hair or offer him Gatorade. Eventually I'll get the Flu (or, knowing me, Bronchitis or Pneumonia) and then he can make me soup and cover me in blankets and bring me hot tea with lemon. You know you've got it bad for someone when getting sick is romanticized. Jeez...

But back to the story... Before I took off for the pharmacy, I grabbed my bottle of hydrogen peroxide, poured a little bit into my cupped palm, and rubbed it all over both hands. Instantly, I felt better. With my hands still damp (and doing that annoying, half itchy, half painful peroxide fizz thing) I held them in front of the fan in the front room. Sweet, sweet relief. I waited, sure it would be just as momentary as the other solutions had been. This one, however, gave me about ten minutes of relief. Just enough time for me to get down to Walgreen's, find the rubbing alcohol and purchase it. The burning was just beginning to return when I tore open the bottle outside the automatic door. I poured a little into my palm, and rubbed it around. Amazing.

I made it all the way home without having to use it again. After five minutes, however, it was coming back. It was greatly lessened, however. So begun the 90 minutes of alternating between peroxide and alcohol, all the while blowing on them or holding them in front of a fan. By this point, Boyfriend and I had been up for almost 24 hours. All that was keeping me awake was the pain, because god knows the chemical cocktail I concocted for myself was designed to take down a barn animal. After the peroxide had made my skin stingy and patchy and white (still preferable to being engulfed by invisible flames) I switched to simply soaking my poor hands in rubbing alcohol.

Finally, after six hours, my hands were cool enough that I could sleep. I had to have Boyfriend help me undress and get into pj's, because my poor little hands were bright pink, with little red sores on the fingers of my left hand. They were completely useless.

I woke about six hours later, when I rolled over in my sleep and put my hand on Boyfriend's bare chest. It felt like he was on fire. While my hands felt fine while they were held useless in front of me, if I touched anything, especially warm things like Boyfriend or my own body, it burned. Still! I was starving, since all I'd had to eat the day before was one damn brat, I decided I deserved a treat. After all I'd been through the day before, it only seemed fitting to reward myself for coming out sane and sans Urgent Care trip.




The weirdest part of the aftermath? My fingernails. The beds of my fingernails were all tender. Each one felt as though I'd smashed the tip with a poorly aimed hammer or a slammed car door. I didn't realize how often I reach over and scratch Boyfriend's back, or how often your fingernails are of use (buttons, zippers, opening anything), until I couldn't do anything with them. The skin on my hands (particularly the left) looked thin and shiny. They also felt ridiculously soft. I don't really want to repeat the chemical peel I gave myself for it, though. My skin looked and felt better after a two days. My fingernails, however, took four. And the moral of the story? Gloves. Gloves, gloves, gloves.

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.

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

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





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

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




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

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

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





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

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

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

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.

In yesterday's blog I briefly referenced some of the things I want to do before I leave Tulsa and my little family bubble. I started brainstorming these things during my most recent two week stint in Seattle, but didn't start one of my infamous lists.

So I'll do that now.

Artsy things I want to do:
-Learn a few songs on my new ukulele. Because, duh, that's what all the cool kids are doing. And I'm, like, totally cool. For sure.
-Sing some of my original songs in public. I'm thinking... coffee house open mic. Cause nothing pairs better with shaky stage fright than three shots of espresso.
-Play my guitar as much as possible. I probably won't be around one for a few weeks while I'm on tour, cause Lead Singer Boy is a lefty. Damn and blast!
-Start posting youtube videos? It's always something I wanted to do, I just haven't checked it off my to-do list yet. Perhaps I can get a friend to record me at open mic night...
-Write 10,000 words on my novel. It's not impossible. I've got twenty days left. That's only 500 words a day. I've written more than that on Facebook, other blogs and blog comments in the last 6 hours. That's completely attainable.
-Most importantly, not skip out on posting a blog every day. Seriously. I need to get back into my blogging habit. I used to be good at this. I wish I could make all of my myspace blogs available for public viewing. I think only about 40% of them are viewable to more than the dozen or so people my preferred list. And I need to be bloggably limber again in time for tour, as I'm pretty sure some hilarious shenanigans will transpire. If blogging was a form of athleticism, I'm as out of shape as a fat man on Tuesday night. Which brings me to...

Food things I want before I move away from my plump parents:
(This will surely be amended.)
-Chicken Enchilada casserole. Oh cheesey, saucy goodness.
-Corn Chowder. It has bacon in it. Come on.
-Apples, Onions and Sausage. Sounds strange, but is oh-so awesome. Also, a good heaping plate of it's cousin, Zucchini, Tomatoes and Onions.
-Stuffed Mushrooms. I don't even like mushrooms, but I like these.
-The Better Than Sex cake. It may not be better than sex, but it sure comes close.
-Cold Tuna Salad. Contrary to Food Network's opinion, this can be tasty if done right.
-Homemade Mac n' Cheese. Cheesey goodness is apparently my heart's true desire.
-More gravy! Because in my world, it IS a beverage.

Social things I want to do:
-Neapolitan! With a side of awesomesauce.
-Bar hopping and hungover brunches with the girls from work. Does this need elaboration?
-Moonlight Nights with Josh. Mick St. James + garlic toast = Vamptastic!
-Quality Harper time. I'll probably have to block out at least eight hours for this. At the very least.
-Aaaand pretty much every following sentence on this list would have the noun 'Abbi' as the object, so I'll just say, I wanna do Abbi. Don't even pretend to be surprised.