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!

*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.


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. ;-)

"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 Cracked.com. 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.

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!!!

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.


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.


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.

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.


.



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.

Looking back at where I was last New Year's time, and where I am now, is really sort of mind boggling.

This time last year, when I had to sit down and name this blog, I knew that I was about to undergo a lot of change. So I decided to call it 'Third Time's the Charm.' Not, as a certain Crazy Ex of Future Husband's alleged, because I was giving him a third chance, but because this is the third time I've had a big, life altering change.

A lot of my past blogs (and before that, diaries) have complained about feeling stagnant or lost, not really knowing where I was going or why or who with. When I was 11 years old, my family's home burnt down on New Year's Day. Since then, it's always been a strange day for me. Not so much a holiday, but more like a day of remembrance. Like when a loved one passes away. When the house burned, we lost literally everything. There were a few things we were thankfully able to save; some of my cousins dug through the rubble and found my parents' wedding rings, the contents of my mother's cedar chest (her wedding dress included), and the family photos the firemen grabbed off the wall when they realized we weren't home. We lived in a hotel for a while, then bounced around with relatives until the insurance company got us an apartment. The people at our church donated clothes and toys for us, but really, all we had left from before was what we had when the house went up in flames; each other.

Eleven years later (and funnily enough, the fire marking the middle point in my life), my family fell into financial ruin. We'd tried to keep our heads above water, but my mother and I got laid off within two weeks of each other. Me one week before Christmas, and her one week after. Only a few weeks earlier, knowing we were living paycheck to paycheck and fed up with Phoenix's price and weather, we'd had a family meeting and decided to move to Tulsa. We'd been through the city before on a family road trip, and fallen in love with the area. The cost of living was less than half of Phoenix's, and the economy and job market better. So when Mom and I were both suddenly jobless, we decided that instead of moving to Tulsa in the Summer of '09, we'd go right then. So in early January (again), we decided that it we'd start over. Again.

The two years I spent in Tulsa were some of the happiest of my life. I made friends, I made and saved money. I paid for two vacations entirely by myself, as well as helping support my family. I had a job I loved and finally lived in city I liked. I felt like I had finally found a home. But as everything started falling into place for me financially and personally, I found myself thinking more and more of Future Husband. At that point in time, he was still The One Who Got Away. Or rather, to him I was The One Who Got Away Because I Was A Stupid Git. We hadn't spoken to each other since May of 2007. As more and more of 2008 passed by, I found myself missing his conversation and company, and remembering all the fun we'd had together, rather than the heartache and sleeplessness and weepy self loathing he had caused me. Believe me, there was plenty of that, but that's not what I found myself thinking of in quiet moments. I missed him. I hated myself for it, and looked for answers in the bottoms of bottles. Because of the internet and our circle of mutual friends, I was able to keep tabs on him from afar. So when I found out in October of 2008 that his band would be playing a show in Tulsa in December, I seized my opportunity. I thought I might get some sort of closure out of it, but all it did was rip the stitches out of a wound that was not yet healed.

The rest, as they say, is history. Nine months after that, we were a couple. And I was faced with another big decision- try and tackle this incredibly significant relationship long distance (as if we hadn't been over enough speedbumps), or move to Seattle? Future Husband had said he was willing to quit his band and move to Tulsa, but I knew that he wouldn't be happy, and that he, G and D would miss out on something great. (Now that I live with them, and vicariously reap the benefits of a functioning band, I kick myself for not trying harder when I was in a band as a teenager. We could have been good, too, and we weren't, because I never took it seriously enough. One of the few regrets I carry.) I desperately tried to think of a way that things would work if I stayed in Tulsa, but there was just no way. Future Husband had mentioned marriage only five days into our romantic relationship. It surprised me, but the idea felt right. (That was even more surprising.) So I decided to leave behind everything I had worked to build up over the last two years, and move to Seattle, leaving behind the job I loved, The Bestest, my home, and most importantly, my Family. All for love.

So now I've started over for a third time. I'm hoping that this is the last time I will have to change everything about my life and begin with nothing. It probably won't be, but I sure hope it is. I like the idea of building a life with Future Husband, and slowly accumulating and accomplishing all of the milestones that couples pass.

I love lists, so I'm going to make a list of all of the crazy/awesome things that have happened to me over the last year.

-I moved to Seattle, a city I probably would have always wanted to visit, but never would have.
-I went to (or through) 18 states that I had not been to before, leaving 18 continental states that I have yet to see. (I'd already been through 12 of them.)
-I visited New Orleans twice.
-I became formally engaged.
-I lived in a van for 7 months.
-I visited three foreign countries, and got my first stamps in my first Passport.
-I was a bridesmaid for the first (and probably only) time.
-I've made new friends all over the country (and one in France!). Seriously. My facebook list is awesome.

And as I've been reflecting over this for the past few days, thinking of what would go on that list, I've realized that though I worry about things; like planning the wedding, and money, and being able to tour next year, I don't feel stagnant or lost anymore. I don't worry about not ever doing anything with my life. I thought that I felt like myself in Oklahoma, and undoubtedly without those years I wouldn't be who or where I am now. For the first time I can remember in a long time (honestly, probably since my pre-fire childhood), I finally feel like myself. I feel completely comfortable in my own skin, in my own life. I don't find myself yearning for things I don't have (except money) and comforting myself with the idea of 'someday.'

All of my somedays are happening.

Here's the best picture I was able to get myself. It's kinda blurry, but it was the clearest I took. We're supposed to have some pictures taken with a friend later this week, so hopefully there'll be some better, non-self-portrait pics later.

For those of you that don't keep up with the news, or are not astronomical nerds like me, tonight was a ridiculously rare event. Tonight is Winter Solstice, a full moon, AND a total lunar eclipse. The last time this happened was in 1638, 372 years ago.

Here in Arizona, there's an Italian restaurant that Future Husband's been wanting to take me to, called Baci. It's kind of out in the middle of nowhere, but seems to be doing well, which tells me they probably have a seriously loyal customer base. For dinner tonight, FH took me out for dinner to celebrate the Solstice. We started the night with an amazing Antipasto Salad. It was like Caprese Salad, but on delicious, meaty steroids. We chose soup over salad; I had Meatball and Orzo, he had Tortellini. For dinner, he had Shrimp and Scallops Florentine, and I had Chicken and Artichoke Limone. And desert? We split a Cannoli, of course. It was an amazing (and painfully filling) meal. And even though I've lived in a van with him for seven of the last ten months (and we literally cannot escape each others company), I still enjoy alone time with Future Husband. Especially date nights. It's one of the traits of my secretly girly side.

We drove home for a little pit stop until it was time to go out to see the eclpise. We chose to go to one of the county parks far away from everything, even the suburbs, so it was nice and dark. After getting a little turned around, we found the park and pulled Future Mother-in-Law's truck onto a little dirt road. We spread out sleeping bags in the back of the truck, and got to moon watching. Or trying to, anyway. Thick cloud cover had rolled in a few hours earlier, though. So we cuddled up under the sleeping bags (on the chilly, 55 degree Arizona night), and eavesdropped on the two other groups out in the park with us. We heard what sounded like a group of four teenagers talking about the Zombie Apocalypse. It was sooo tempting to sneak over to try and scare them, but we didn't. With my luck, I would've stumbled across a snake or scorpion, anyway.

As the time for the total eclipse neared, we realized we weren't going to be able to see anything because of the cloud cover. (Honestly, we spent a good deal of the time kissing anyway, so we wouldn't have seen much.) During one of our snuggly moments, Future Husband turned his face towards mine, and did that uber romantic, so-hard-to-not-get-fluttery-feelings thing where he puts his palm on my cheek and his fingers in my hair. You know, that super cinematic, really whimsical move to pull my lips to his. He kissed me eagerly, and when he pulled away, told me he loved me. He dug his hand into his pocket, and pulled out a ring.

So even though we're 'Facebook Official', and we're already knee deep in wedding plans, we didn't have a ring yet. We'd meant to get one earlier, but we hadn't run across one we liked, and practical things like not being in the country or not having a paycheck had postponed its purchase.

I smiled, and slipped it on, and Future Husband kissed me again. I held my hand up to look at my ring and saw this;


So I'll post a picture of it soon, once I have some light and Future Husband isn't kissing my neck, wanting to drag me away from my laptop. ;-D

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.'

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.

Sometimes my relationship with Boyfriend feels really weird. I've known him for almost six years, so most of the time it feels like we've been together that long. In reality, we've been together romantically for ten months, and only living together for four months. Granted, we lived in a van together for two of those months, so it kinda got fast tracked. Every once and a while, something will happen that reminds me how young the openly romantic aspect of our relationship still is.

Like when he does something ridiculously cute and I giggle more than I should, or find it much more adorable than it actually is. Like when he plays video games and laughs like a ten year old when things blow up. Or when he randomly tackles me in a hug and tickles me.

I got on my computer the other day and found this:

When I asked him what it was, he said, "Oh... that's me doing a handstand."

I laughed appreciatively and said, "I'm saving this."

He protested, "You don't have to, it's just a doodle."

"Nope. It's awesome." And so it's now on the front of my virtual refrigerator.

Today has been a strange day. Not so much bad, just not great. Or productive. I feel kind of emotionally hung over. Not really physically hung over in an 'I need lots of water, coffee and greasy food' kind of way. More like an, 'I need a hug and to be told I'm pretty even though my eyes are nearly swollen shut and my nose is three times its normal size.'

I simultaneously felt tired and restless, and didn't feel motivated to do much at all. Which, I'm sure, is entirely due to the emotional reeming I accidentally put Boyfriend and myself through. Remember how I mentioned in one of my earliest blogs that I have a tendency to bottle all of my insecurities? All my emotional jiggly bits? They all kind of came flooding out. Thanks, Sailor Jerry. You bastard.

So today I hung out in my pajamas - all day. And had Girl Scout Thin Mint ice cream for breakfast. Hell. Yes.

So last night I did something which has become a bit of a tradition with my friends and I. It started a few years ago with the Gay Best Friend and I sneaking a small bottle of vodka into the Lindsey Lohan movie "I Know Who Killed Me."

Last year, the Bestest and I took my mother to see Twilight, as she couldn't wrap her mind around how terrible watching Vampires play baseball was. Also, she didn't believe how Kristen Stewart vomits up her words until she actually saw it. Needless to say, she spent a good portion of the movie trying to stifle her laughs, so not to disturb the 14 year olds who were actually enjoying the movie. I however, did not. I laughed and mocked openly.

Last night we went to see New Moon, Sailor Jerry successfully hidden in my purse. Honestly, it's the only thing that got me through that movie. Twenty minutes in, all we had seen was Deadward and Mary Sue trying desperately to have some on screen chemistry and failing. Oh, and Jacob 'I'm the only decent character in this series' Black trying to smile and flirt his way into the plot. By the time we get to Bella's birthday party, we've been reminded every thirty seconds that Bella is now 18, and therefore older than Edward. And that is bad. Cause women should be inferior to the men in their lives in every possible way, right Stephenie Meyer?

I know it's bad form for aspiring writers to publicly criticize an established writer. I guess what is keeping me safe is that Meyer is not a writer. She's some dime a dozen romance novel reader who went to school to get her MRS degree, and decided to study literature. Then, suddenly she decides to write a book after having a dirty dream about a 17 year old vampire. She doesn't even use the word 'chagrin' correctly, though it's used at least once a chapter. The only reason she got an agent and a publisher so quickly is because they realized what a gold mine they had. They could sell this piece of nonsensical fluff to tweenage girls and voila, easy money. She's the Britney Spears of the publishing industry. I could go on and on about my loathing of Stephenie Meyer, but I won't. I'll leave it to one little paragraph and walk away.

My favorite moment of the movie, however, came when the rum had just made my head start to spin. Bella encounters the werewolves, and runs to her father to warn him that it's not a bear killing hikers. In her painfully strained way of barfing out her lines, Kristen Stewart manages to put forward her most emotion to get out, "They are not bears!"

For some reason (probably alcohol induced) I found this to be the funniest part of the movie. Other than the horrible CGI. I mean, really, could they have rushed this movie any faster? I've since been running around randomly saying, "They are not bears!" and laughing like a maniac.

The Bestest and I had a great time making fun of the terrible movie, the terrible story, and the terrible acting. But we did spend a good deal of the movie talking and having entirely too much fun. At one point, she leaned over and said, "One of the many reasons I love you is because you ignore my stutter."

I responded with, "That's because you ignore mine, too!"

We both laughed and she said, "Oh, I love us! Let's touch foreheads!" And we did. And we giggled.

And to round out this horribly disjointed blog, I'll close with some of my funnier text messages, and leave out most of the part of the night where I turned into a weeping, insecure shithead and accused Boyfriend of not really loving me. (Yeah, I'm that kind of obnoxious, ridiculous drunk.)

Me: This is a 2fer. I can make fun of mormonns and shitty bampires!
BF: Bampires!? You adorable lush!

My phone has a qwerty keyboard, which I'm still trying to get used to, even though I've had this phone for almost a year. And it makes for some mighty funny drunk typos. My mother, the Bestest and I were discussing the sort of murder Stephenie Meyer deserves to have acted upon her. We decided exsanguination would only be appropriate. And my mother came up with the brilliant idea that it should be by paper cut. One paper cut per page that she's had published.

Me: My teeth are numb, usy can we still stop be by suffer.
Me: One page by paper cut.
BF: What? I have no idea what those mean.
Me: I cant read englisjh!!!!

The other day, Boyfriend posted a link to a comic on my facebook. He just sent it to me because we both enjoy webcomics, but the website had a most serendipitous update between when he sent it and when I read it. It turned out to be an e-card marriage proposal. When I asked Boyfriend if he sent it as a humorous way to tell me he loved me, or if he was actually proposing, (We've discussed the 'somedays' of getting married and raising kids and being old together) he said the comic hadn't updated when he sent it to me, but he was very glad it had. That made me smile.

The closer I get to leaving the nest, the more I'm freaking out. I suppose it's natural, as this is a big step, not only for me as a person, but for our relationship. And we're ridiculously happy now, but we had to travel a very bumpy road to get here. Last night was a drunken flood of insecurities, and he weathered it like a champ (though, as the Bestest said last night, with everything he's put me through in the past, he's got a few years of putting up with me being an insecure bitch before we're close to breaking even.) Still, I don't like being a whiner, and I was a bit mean to him. However, after almost two hours on the phone with him, we sent a few goodnight texts back and forth. Primarily mushy stuff, but this one is funny. Mostly because of the Seussical ring it has to it.

Me: Also... I'm still drunk so drunk i will say, i want you to real propose someday. No comics. With a ring. Not an expensive one. Like, $15 sterling silver one.
BF: Trust me, I'll do something better than a comic.
Me: =) you've no idea that how happy makes me!!!!
BF: I plan on devoting a whole lot of my future to that end!

Good job, Darling, Gold Star.

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Like this, but with a hot gay man instead of a monkey.

Boyfriend and I laughed nervously, but kept watching Kill Bill. We were snuggling under a blanket together, but after the GBF's threat of party house eviction, we had both remained motionless. I kept watching the clock nervously. I knew I had to leave soon and get my parents' car back to them, but I didn't want to leave Boyfriend's side. I finally had my perfect opportunity to finally kiss him. It was June. We'd met in September. It had been nine torment filled months of sexual tension and amazing chemistry, with a couple of near kisses in November and December. Earlier in the night we had joked about having our hair pulled, and I had broadcast to the sausage fest that was my social life that I like having my hair pulled, being bitten, etc. and TMI. When the movie ended, and I knew I was going to have to drive far above the legal speed limit to make it home in time, I turned to Boyfriend. With a torso full of fluttery insects, I jokingly put my hand in his long hair and asked, "So do you like having your hair pulled?" But as I turned my face towards him, he leaned in towards me, sliding his hand into my hair, his thumb stroking my cheek. He kissed me eagerly, enthusiastically. He kissed me like I was Disneyland, and he was nine years old, and had been waiting through the entire school year for his summertime visit. The early morning sunlight made the living room look like a movie set. Everything was golden. I heard violins. When we finally parted, we rested our foreheads against each other for a moment. I don't know about him, but I was dizzy. My head was spinning. I felt light headed and out of breath and validated. I took a slow breath to steady myself while he moved his thumb gently across my cheek and kissed me again. It was probably one of the most amazing moments of my life.

The other top kiss of his, came the night (two years later) that he finally admitted he loved me. We spent the whole night talking and trying to strategize getting officially together (he had a girlfriend at the time, but that's another story... one so long that I'm devoting an entire novel and its sequel to it), and most of it was spent just sitting and being stunned that we had finally said in plain words what was so painfully obvious. The sky was lightening, and we knew we had to eventually part. Even though the word love had been thrown about, we hadn't touched any more beyond the occasional knee bump, or arm graze. We were sitting in a car, and our arms were on the center arm rest, millimeters away from touching. During a quiet moment in the conversation, I extended my little finger and put it over his. He grabbed my hand with both of his and interlaced our fingers, squeezing tightly. After a few more minutes of talking, we fell silent again, and he said, "I'm trying to figure out if we should kiss."

I looked up and met his eyes, only to find them pleading. It was surreal. It was like a scene out of a movie. Again. I couldn't believe it. "I... hold hands with my platonic friends... at scary movies..."

"What about the shoulders? The leaning...?" he asked.

"It's a pretty fine line..." I said, and squeezed his hand. I was running out of excuses and we both knew it. It was ridiculous to postpone it anyway. We both wanted to kiss, we needed to, we should. He told me he was in love with me and always had been. Why the hell hadn't we kissed in almost two years!? "Your hat's in the way," I said, and pushed it up off his forehead. He sighed heavily and leaned in and kissed me. He did that face cradling thing again. After about thirty seconds of the most emotionally packed kissing I've ever experienced, he pulled away, and put his forehead on my shoulder.

"I'm dizzy," he said breathlessly. Even though kissing is (almost!) a daily occurrence for us now, every once and a while, there's one that makes my breath catch and my head sway. Gold Star, Darling!

Lori + Stu = Awesome. It's MATH.