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

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

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

That's the only possibly explaination.



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


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

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

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!!!??!?!????"

Boyfriend totally saved my life today. He gets Gold Stars everyday for the rest of ever.

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

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



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



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

It's been weird breaking my blogging streak... I got rather used to posting something every day. It was pretty productive of me, even if it was a bit of a time suck. I suppose it's better to dedicate some of that effort towards my novel... but alas. (It looks like the ellipsis take over when I'm lacking sleep.)

I arrived in Seattle on time, even though my plane left Phoenix 45 minutes late. I don't know how planes work. Honestly. It blows my mind. I suppose there's not a speed limit up there, but still. Terrifying. A giant hunk of metal magically hurdling through the sky at hundreds of miles per hour. Bring me rum.




Boyfriend met me at the airport, and the PDA started there at baggage claim. Hooooraaaaay. I told him a few days ago that when I missed him hard, it was like being thirsty. Which is appropriate, given the face that kissing him and having his arms around me after being away from him for weeks feels like a cold glass of water when you're very, very thirsty.

But enough with the mushy stuff. We were both exhausted, and hungry, as neither of us had really gotten any food or sleep in the 24 hours leading up to my arrival. We checked into the hotel, and promptly sought out food. The hotel we usually stay in has roughly two bazillion restaurants nearby, but we settled on a place we hadn't tried yet. Bully for us! Especially since we're creatures of habit. Two spicy, delicious pulled pork sandwiches later, we were back at the hotel, deciding what time to set the alarm for so we knew how much nap we could fit in before Boyfriend had to go to work.

Work was probably the hardest part of the weekend. I got six lovely hours with him, and then BAM! Eight hours of him being away. He called it an appetizer. I told him I wanted to main course. That made me hungry, so I watched Food Network while I ate a peanut butter and banana sandwich. When he finally got back from work, I made a quite spectacular dinner, considering my tools and budget were rather limited (one sauce pan, one skillet, two burners, one Ikea steak knife, no cooking utensils).

Friday night was the first show his band had this weekend. It's at a little bar called Tiger Lounge, and the building totally used to be an old house. There are pinball machines in the basement, and the bar is in the back room. The front rooms have been opened up into one large room with tables and chairs for the pub grub they serve. There's a stage in one corner, zebra print covered speakers, and local art on the walls. It has a local bar/pub/everybody-knows-your-name feel to it. I love it.

The guys were playing second in a show of four bands, so we parked at the bar until it was time to play. Boyfriend got two free drinks since he was playing, so got me a drink with one of his tickets. As we were sipping the finest of the cheap beers, two friendly acquaintances from my last trip recognized me and came up. I got hugs. I felt accomplished. I'd technically lived in Seattle for only a week (and even then, my residency is very loosely defined) and I was getting hugs from two facebook friends.

They're fun to talk to, and fun to be at shows with, since they appreciate live music like I do. They, however, get into it a little more than I do. Maybe because I'm a musician myself, I am a bit of a snob when it comes to watching other bands. These two make me a little sad though, because I know what they do every weekend is what they've been doing since they were teenagers. They're like career band aids. They love a few different bands, and follow them somewhat faithfully. For some reason though, it just rings hollow to me. I don't really know how to go about getting to know them, or if I even want to. Remember that movie with Goldie Hawn and Susan Sarandon, about the groupies that were all grown up? Yeah, most people don't. But I did see it. That's what these women reminded me of. Fun to be around, but still a warning.



After the show the bartender (who reminds me a great deal of my favorite cousin) started giving me free drinks. I started getting free drinks before the guys did, so it was funny. I only had two or three beers, but she gave me some sort of pineapple juice and flavored vodka drink, as well as a shot of whiskey later in the night. I would have been just fine with the whiskey and beer, but the vodka... oh, the vodka. For those of you that don't know me in person, Vodka is my arch nemesis. Vodka lives in an ice castle (very much like the Fortress of Solitude) and plots ways to thwart me. Vodka watches me on monitors and bugs my phone calls, so it can show up on nights I want to have a nice, easy, fun time with my friends. And then he strikes. He swoops in, sneaks some vodka into my stomach, and then laughs maniacally as he poisons me with his subtle strength and ruins my night. Damn you, Vodka! Someday I will exact my revenge!




After the show Boyfriend and I hit Jack in the Box on the way back to the hotel. Sourdough Jacks. Mmmm... how I've missed them living in Tulsa. Then we did lots of things that were amazing and mind blowing and not appropriate to describe in detail, considering half of my followers are related to me. But it was awesome. And we had to sleep for ten hours afterwards.

Saturday we were supposed to meet one of my cousins for sushi, but he got shipped to San Diego for the weekend at the last minute. We'd been looking forward to sushi all week though, so we went to Freemont and loaded up. Spider Rolls, god. So, so tasty. Then he walked me around the neighborhood and showed me the Troll under the bridge. It was spectacular. Someday I wanted something that terrifying/awesome in my yard. The street you have to walk up to get to it is even called 'Troll Ave'. I poked around it for a few minutes, admiring it's general awesomeness and silently scolding myself for forgetting my camera. Then Boyfriend and I kissed for a few minutes in front of the troll. It was spectacular. It was also windy and I had my hair down, so any onlookers would have only seen two Muppets standing quite close to one another, and none of the offensive smooching.



Walking back down the hill to get back to the car was magical. It was a crisp night, but not too cold. And clear, which is unusual for Seattle (in my limited experience). The stars were visible, and coming down the hill you could clearly see the water and the homes on the other side. It was all trees and twinkling lights and the moon and stars reflected off the water. And I had a boy that's crazy in love with me holding my hand. All in all, the moment was pretty serene. And then we started talking about Zombies. It's what we do.

Sunday was their tour kick off show at a place called The Comet. Boyfriend and I had to park about half a mile away (the closest spot we could find) and hike. Which is pretty much what we had to do the other two times they played at The Comet while I was out there. The show went really well (in fact, a photographer came out just to see the guys and shoot them, then left right after they played) and we sold lots of merch. I came to a rather sad realization, and that's that I don't quite fit in with the crowd that comes to Boyfriend's shows. It's fairly obvious that I'm a goody goody. Everyone there was wearing black, and the only hints of color were red accents on guys' shirts and girls' plaid accessories. I, however, was wearing a bright red shirt, a normal shade of blue jeans (instead of black or very dark blue) and had my hair in pigtails. In my defense, the pigtails were there because of the amount of frizz present that day. Braids were the only way to tame them. But still. I felt like friggin' Pollyanna at a Black Mass.



Afterwards we got our standard post show meal of hot dogs with cream cheese (so good, trust me!), then headed back to the hotel to enjoy a bed and warmth and indoor plumbing for the last few days we were guaranteed to have it.