One Man's Treasure is Another Woman's Battle

As with most couples that are preparing to marry and share a home together, the woman usually finds an opportunity to “purge” the man’s possessions. I know- men are finding me heartless right now… but the women? The women want to take me out for a drink so they can tell me about all the crap they had to pry from their boyfriend’s white knuckles. But men, let’s be honest- most women do not envision a home with inflatable furniture and Bart Simpson décor. All men have possessions that women would just as well douse with lighter fluid and dance their celebratory ceremonial chants in the glow of its embers. It’s a fact that as a woman, I’m willing to admit. But, I’m not without compassion. I know that men have deep emotional bonds with that couch some roommate years ago picked up at a yard sale and left behind when they moved out. You know, the one that may be incredibly comfortable, but screams 1987. Why wouldn’t they be deeply attached? Sure, they’ve hardly sat on it because it mostly functioned as a laundry hamper, but it was a GOOD laundry hamper.

So, you end up with a man’s “stuff,” a woman’s vision, and enough emotional tension to suck the air right out of a room. I pulled up with the pick-up truck so Jon and I could load his two couches for a yard sale. We tried the large one first and couldn’t figure out how to get it out the door. As we were lifting, tugging, sweating, and cursing under our breaths, I kept using words like “honey” and “babe” to soothe the tension. He didn’t use any words… and that’s to his credit because I saw a lot of words on his face. We finally gave up and left it sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor while we tried the smaller one. By the time we got to the truck with the smaller couch, I felt the need to make light of the situation.

“Hey- this is the couch I fell off of when we were making out. Remember when I rolled over and fell off and hit the hardwood floor?” Yeah, we make out people… and sometimes it ain’t pretty.

I thought my dancing in the bed of the pick-up truck while I sang “Memories… misty water colored memories… of the way we were…” was appropriate. He finally asked me to stop singing that song. I can’t blame him.

He finally assured me that he still loved me, even if he didn’t like me very much for asking him to part with his stuff. It turned out that I couldn’t find any other men who needed a seven-foot, blue plaid laundry hamper, so Jon won in the end. Or at least it was a compromise- now he’ll have somewhere to sit in the basement.

You say toe-mae-toh, I say toh-mah-toe.

On the way home from meeting with the caterer, Jon and I decided to run by our new house and check on things, turn on some lights, etc. For convenience sake, we traveled through a "sketchy" neighborhood. Among other interesting sites, we saw a tightly-clothed woman in high hair and heels walking alone down the side of the street.

"Niiiiice- a prostitute. That's great," Jon said sarcastically.

"I can't believe we just saw a hooker."

"She could have been a crack-whore, not necessarily a hooker."

Yeah... that's better.

And the romance faded as quickly as the sun.

On our last evening at Edisto Island, SC, Jon suggested we go and watch the sunset. How romantic, right? The man I’m about to marry wanted to go and watch the sunset with me. We got down to the pier as the sun was beginning its descent. After finding the perfect place on the railing with the sunset directly in front of us, I settled in for some romance… just about the time he pulled a bag of barbecue sunflower seeds out of his pocket. I’m surprised I haven’t blogged about these things before because he eats them all the time and he knows that I won’t touch him with a ten-foot pole when he’s eaten them because they are so odorous.

“I brought my sunflower seeds because I can spit them here.”

“I hope you don’t think I’m going to kiss you if you eat those things.”

“Well, I didn’t think you were going to kiss me anyway.”

“What? You don’t think I was going to kiss you?”

“Well, I wasn’t thinking romance. I was just thinking it would be cool to watch the sunset.”

Great.

“Okay, I won’t eat them then and we can be romantic.”

The sunflower seeds go back in his pocket and I nestle up next to him as he stretches out his arm around me. We stare off toward the sunset. At least I thought that’s where WE were looking.

“Oh, that little girl in the water down there is going to be eaten by a shark.”

“JON, that’s horrible.”

“Oh wait, she’s on her knees. I thought she was out to her waist. Well, now all she has to worry about are eels and crabs.”

“Yeah, you really weren’t thinking romance, were you?”

After a few more comments about shark attacks and foot fungus (okay, he didn’t really talk about foot fungus, but shark talk had already killed the moment, so why not), he focused on the sunset and on trying to be more romantic. The sun sank down into the tree line and I was ready to move on from the moment.

“No, we’re not leaving until every hint of magenta has faded from the clouds.”

“Okay, I’m totally not telling any of my girlfriends that you just used the word ‘magenta’”.

He did.

Kingdom of the Vacant Skull

That’s what I’d call a movie about my life right now. And yes, I have seen the new Indiana Jones movie. Jon and I saw it yesterday, on the way home from vacation. Wait, let me write that word again- vacation. Vacation. Vacation. I’m saying it out loud and am clicking my heels as I type. If this entry stops abruptly, you’ll know my endeavor was successful. If not, then by the time you finish reading you may understand my erratic behavior and will offer to enroll me in the Liquor of the Month club. There is one. I checked. So, while you browse the site and choose the gift plan you’d like to enroll me in (tequila), I’ll tell you about my hollow head.

First, I’d like to apologize for my lack of blogging lately. Again. Yes, life has been full of activity- out of town guests, wedding plans, looking for a house. There’s been a lot to do, but honestly there IS usually time for me to blog. Time, yes. Mental energy, no. Every day is now full of an array of decisions- what kind of cake frosting, who’ll play the ceremony music, where to take a honeymoon, how do we find another seat in the church for one more person, tube top or spaghetti straps? Decisions, decisions! We’ve also been doing pre-marital counseling. What are three things you’d list as wishes for him to do? What do you think are your relationship strengths? Weaknesses? Decisions, decisions! Did I mention we are buying a house and closing in a week? So, now bridal registry decisions are complicated by color scheme decisions. I’m making decisions on rugs, shower curtains, tablecloths. I haven’t been to the grocery store in almost a month because I’m afraid I’ll snap when they ask me “paper or plastic?” I already know right now that I’d choose paper, but I’d be standing right there in the grocery line, browsing the candy bars (some people look at the magazines, I look at the chocolate), and suddenly they’d ask me for a decision and I’d snap. And break down. And cry. And start eating Reeses right there and they’d all look at each other and finally call security to get the crazily unstable lady who’s yelling “paper or plastic? paper or plastic?” with a mouthful of peanut butter and chocolate. I’ve been eating out a lot.

So, vacation was like therapy. Except it was relatively free. And no one wrote stuff down as I talked. Or asked me about my mother. Or made me cry. But other than that, it was just like therapy. Only something happened. I realized two days in that my brain had indeed been seeping out my pores over the past several weeks. For some, sweat would have been the first assumption, but I’m convinced I’ve been leaking brain fluid. Why? Because on vacation, I was suddenly incompetent. Incompetent, directionally challenged, and incapable of functioning normally. I didn’t know where we were going half the time. I asked idiotic questions. I was on vacation and I was stupid. On the fourth day, I finally had to try and convince Jon that I wasn’t normally that incompetent. I’m normally the one people look to for decision-making. Maybe I finally collapsed on the safety net of having someone else to look to for decision-making, for competency. But for seven days, I was brainless. Brainless because my brain had rebelled against me. It was tired and it went on a seven-day smoke break. So we’re back from vacation and my brain has decided to come back (sort of). But now I’m on the nicotine patch, so keep your expectations low!

A Family of Monkeys

An e-mail from my sister:
“I just got the weirdest phone call for you. Someone is looking for you and said you’ve been hiding from them and they need to find you today.”

Me:
“What? That’s weird. I’m not hiding from anyone. What did they say? They called your cell phone?”

“Yeah… and they were rude. They wouldn’t tell me who they were, just that they needed to find you because you’ve been hiding from them. I wouldn’t give them your number, but told them I would give you theirs. It’s XXX-XXX-XXXX (number changed for privacy!) I checked and it’s unlisted. Are you going to call it? If not, I will call back.”

“No, I’ll call it during lunch. That’s so weird.”

“Well, they said they’ve been looking for you.”

Now, I won’t go into the multiple reasons I don’t trust my sister. It could have something to do with the fact that she was a chronic liar as a child. I mean, perhaps Kirk Cameron really DID believe that she was a straight-A student, blonde beauty queen who had to return her crown because of some controversy. At least that’s what she wrote in her fan letter that I found, and of course still make fun of her for it to this day. It could be a history of like-events from our childhood. Regardless, I’m always skeptical- which is the reason I decided to reverse search the phone number on whitepages.com. The result? Yeah, it sounds awful that I can’t trust anything she says, but this is why.

And this is how I repay you!

If you are one of the five people who regularly read this blog, I'd like to say "thank you." If you are one of the two people who think I'm even slightly funny or entertaining, you also have my deepest gratitude. My "friends" (and I use that term lightly) in college used to point out that I was not indeed as funny as I thought myself to be. And now? Now I can point to at least two people who think I am. And that is my great achievement in life thus far.

I'll be honest- I don't spend a lot of time reading blogs online. There are only a handful that I check on a regular basis. And do you know what? I find myself disappointed, and at times irritated when people don't regularly post. Why? Why would people take the time to set up blogs, to write enough to get people to come back, and then disappear for days on end? Why would they leave me with few time-wasting options? I count on them!

Why indeed. Are they out planning weddings? House hunting? Entertaining three consecutive weekends of company? House sitting for friends? Watching DVDs of "You Can Polka in a Weekend"?

Probably. Sorry. And the sad thing is, I still can't Polka.

It's my party and I'll eat cake if I want to.

I’m not gonna lie- I LOVE cake. Birthdays, weddings… celebratory cake occasions- my favorites. International Talk Like a Pirate Day- this day should involve cake. Shaped like a ship. Or a wooden leg. Or a parrot… but then it may be confused with “talk like a parrot day”. That day doesn’t exist to my knowledge, but if it would be another occasion to have cake, I’d vote for it.

Some people are high-maintenance about their cake. Not me. I even love Ding Dongs. Do you know why? They’re basically cake… cake that is chocolate, and those are two of my favorite things. And that chocolate covering and white cream filling? Those are just little extras.

So, you can imagine that how incredibly excited I was to get to schedule cake tastings for the wedding. People should get married for stuff like this. Free cake tastings. Well, and sex. Which is also free- just so we’re clear. If you are getting married and you’re paying for either of these things, something is VERY wrong.

A friend told me this morning that he and his wife didn’t get any of their wedding cake. He said everyone talked about how great it was- so great that they apparently ate it all without leaving any for the bride and groom. This would be my worst nightmare. Right up there with being naked, covered in spiders, and running through a lightening storm. Yeah, I’ve put some thought into it. Our caterer already told us not to count ourselves in the head count for the reception dinner. He said the bride and groom don’t normally get a chance to eat because they don’t get left alone long enough. We made it very clear that we WOULD be eating. Something else we’re going to make clear? We’re getting some of our wedding cake! I’m so optimistic about that fact that I’m not even going to stash a pack of Ding Dongs in my bouquet.