The Newlywed Game

Welcome to the season premiere of The Newlywed Game, where contestants compete to retire by the age of 88 in order to finally take a belated honeymoon somewhere exotic - even more exotic than Cub Foods.
On this episode we'll find out how a newlywed couple tackles a mini-crisis together, when they discover that their home is infested in with mold that's growing on and in half of what they own. See how they react when they learn that insurance covers...drumroll, please...nothing.

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I am aware that the picture is sideways. The image file is right but Blogger keeps uploading it this way. I tried about four times to correct before just giving up, as it seems on par for this week anyhow.

So I spent Saturday sifting through all of our moldy belongings, which was delightful. Photo albums that smell like asscrack, leather jackets that now appear to be fur coats, and a handful of fat spiders just to add to the party. My husband wasn't there to help, as he's now working seven days a week in order to help us afford to replace some of our luxuries like - oh, say....winter boots.

Er, scratch that.

Did I say my husband?

Don't be so sure.

Due to a clerical error, we discovered we are quite likely not legally married. We're waiting to hear what the marriage court says and if our license is rejected we'll be having another lavish wedding - this time in our PJs, at the courthouse. Even the Kardashians don't get married once a month. I'm hoping we hear back in time to get married on the 28th - the one month anniversary of that apparently illegitimate wedding.

We're excited to purchase a second marriage license, because we like throwing money around recklessly.

On the upside in our news, I suggested to my Possible Husband that we take a long, romantic walk down by the river last night. A sunset stroll seemed the perfect end to my moldy day. We sat on the bluff together, and I was in awe of the wondrous sunset unfolding before my eyes.

Mark was beatboxing.

And tickling me.

And professing loudly how this sunset made him feel one with me and our bond was deepening inside his soul...purely to make me uncomfortable and to irritate the poor guy a few yards down also trying to quietly watch the sun go down.

Today, though, I was sure I'd have an hour or two to relax. I curled up with the book I'm reading, Assholes Finish First, and Gabby pounced.

Seriously. I can't even upload a picture without issues.

The Wynning is Over...

...and my blog may be, as well.

I packed my bags and flew home from the ultra luxe Wynn resort and casino. No more plush comforters or soaking tubs. No more $35 grilled cheese. No Ferragamo shoes or thousand dollar chips.

I'm back where I belong, in our cramped little house where I have to climb over Mark to get out of bed and pee.

My home, where we balanced our checkbooks this weekend to see which of us would foot the bill for a giant bottle of vinegar so we can try to wash the mold out of all our clothes. Because, apparently - it's better to smell of sauerkraut than fungi.

My home, where there's no housekeeper to clean the bathroom - and in fact, no toilet paper, either. Luckily our neighbor Leslie had our backs - or the backs of our asses, at any rate. (People who have to borrow toilet paper until payday probably don't belong at the Wynn.)

I've been blogging for two years - and over a year here on Blogger - and it's been an amazing journey. That any of you would care to read about my colonoscopy, my laser hair removal, or my bank balance just blows my mind. That you care enough to read my blog once and come back - well, that may say something more dubious about you than flattering about me.

During my two years blogging, I've dated, dumped and been dumped. I've been laid off, hired, demoted and promoted. I've had emotional breakdowns and physical breakdowns and any day now I'm due for a car breakdown, which will likely trigger the latest financial breakdown.

I've been poked and prodded, body and mind - sometimes by doctors, sometimes by readers, and sometimes by dead dates.

I've traveled to Kansas City, St. Louis, Memphis, New Orleans, Atlanta, Asheville, Nashville, Louisville, Chicago and Las Vegas.

I've been to weddings and divorces. OK, that's a crock of shit - they don't invite you to divorce receptions - but they should. I find an open bar and an audience to be excellent fuel for an angry couple.

I have a new job, a new husband and I seem to be developing a new zit on my chin.

Also? I have a new goal.

Some of you may know this, but I'm writing a book. I have a story inside of me that I really must purge, and it's had my stomach in knots for too long already. I'm performing an exorcism, it's time to release the ghosts.

My idea of multitasking is walking while texting - which, incidentally, I haven't mastered. So you can imagine that with a full-time job, a full-time husband and a full-time blog, my book has been taking a back seat. I kinda like my husband and I kinda need my job, so you can probably see where this is going.

Cue bullhorn:

STEP AWAY FROM THE BLOG!

This won't be goodbye - I'm too much of a validation whore to leave my lively, lovely blogging world forever, but I will only be posting occasionally. For those of you who are disappointed by this news, I'm terribly sorry - that you don't have more of a life. For those of you breathing a sigh of relief, you're welcome.

And for those of you who care to keep in contact, please do. Nothing makes me happier than seeing something in the snail mailbox that doesn't show an amount due.

Tricia Lorntson Yost

868 Ottawa Ave

Saint Paul, MN 55107

tershbango@gmail.com

The Wedding Pictorial

The bride waiting for her man...

The man waiting for his sentence...

 

Our ANGEL table...

TJ Lubrano's paintings, and the story about them!

Our little skulls. We had these tattooed onto our ring fingers

a few days after the wedding...but we didn't get the

kitty tattoo, because let's face it.

Gabby won't be married to us

FOREVER.

Turns out, there was food at the party!

Didn't have any, but I heard it was good.

I guess I'm his beard now?

Mama and Papa Bird

My immediate family

Because we so rarely see our whole families, it was important

to us that we get lots of family pictures.

This may be the only photo in existence of

The WHOLE Ware Family!

My flower girl and ring bearer

The lovely ladies of my family

The Lorntson side of the family

The Yost family

Mark and his dad's engagement photo...

Mark and his siblings. I love this picture!

Our processional - Mark's brother Paul

and nieces Faith and Esther...

My maid of honor (Neil) and the flower

girl and ring bearer...

My parents walking me down the aisle...

until we had to part ways because we couldn't

FIT ALL OF OUR ASSES

through the staircase.

Mr. & Mrs. Yost

(Guess that means I'm now the Yostess with the Mostess)

Signing our lives away!

My dad's speech began with him complaining

that I'd given him a list of things he couldn't speak of...

and then he unfurled this ream of paper.

My brother's speech, which made me cry.

He spoke of crossdressing, gambling and other

such poignant topics.

Hannah was devastated because I loaned her my flowers

to carry down the aisle. She wanted hers back from

Esther. This sharing shit? Not so cool.

This picture made me laugh.

Our photographer rocks!

Are you noticing a pattern to Esther's pictures yet?

Still Wynning

Maybe fame is rubbing off on me. Angie Everhart wanted a picture with me, but I refused to give her my autograph. I'm not letting her sell that shit on eBay.

This trip has been a lot of firsts for me.

The first time I stayed at the Wynn...

The first time I was charged $35 for a grilled cheese sandwich...

The first time I've tasted a $17 cup of yogurt (incidentally, it tasted like rape)...

The first time I got to touch midgets (if you don't count the time I knocked that one over when I opened the door into her head)...

The first time I've stayed somewhere where the folks downstairs are gambling more on a hand of poker than I pay for rent...all year...

But mostly I'm just noticing is that it's my first trip without my husband...and it sucks.

What's the point of having a gigantic bathtub if there's nobody to share it with?

Wynning

The beds at the Wynn are delicious. Soft, pillowy clouds of down.

Wait, what?

Yep.

Down comforters. In the desert. I had to crank my thermostat down to 60 to be able to enjoy burrowing beneath the covers.

The bathroom is gorgeous - marble everywhere, and the tub met my expectations. The movers should be delivering my stuff shortly. My new address is The Tub, Room 3830, Wynn Resort & Casino. Feel free to send me a postcard.

Everything in this room is controlled at the touch of a tard-friendly button - I can dim the lights, open the blinds, order room service, a massage or a date. But the phone in the water closet stumped me. Do rich people call each other when they take a shit?

I do not belong here.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a fine dinner to gobble. Let's see if white linens and fresh flowers enhance the Grilled Cheese Experience.