Confessions of a Recovering Cynic

Shoot Me - I'm The One

2012-01-28T18:22:00.000-06:00

In every wedding party, there's The One.

That girl.

You know who I'm talking about.

When everyone is lined up for pictures, there's always one girl that makes people cluck under their breath. "What a shame that poor girl has to wear that..."

Fuck my life.

And did I mention it's my brother's wedding? So these pictures will haunt me for years to come. They'll be displayed on the wall proudly in my parents' home and bound into scrapbooks for us to flip through every...goddamn...year...

AND?

Did I mention it's a Hindu wedding? Which means we get to wear stunning handmade outfits flown in from India. Our limbs will be covered in henna tattoos, and we'll be dripping in colorful jewelry. It's a dress-up dream come true.

Except that the stunning handmade outfits?

HAVE BARE MIDRIFFS.

And I am, without question, the The One.

My future sister-in-law is gorgeous and tiny and brown - and she has gorgeous, tiny friends to match. I am plain and fat and white.

If you can't reach me these next three months, I'll be straddling the pot guzzling ExLax and speed. I plan to surface only for celery or phone calls offering free liposuction.

The only thing scarier than my current bod? My current bod...bedazzled.

Lessons from the Litter Box

2012-01-22T13:55:00.001-06:00

In 2009, my anxiety was at an all-time high. I was stuck in a shitty job working for a guy who was proving to be bipolar and shady. I was barfing daily from stress and looking for ways to cope so I began going to meditation classes.

In theory the classes were brilliant. A group of people looking to better their own meditation practices through group sitting and nonjudgmental discussion. Except I'm not nonjudgmental so I spent most of my time judging the others in my head and trying not to giggle out loud - especially over the one dude who always wore pants so tight his business was on display when he sat, zen-like, upon his cushion.

Lately I've been working with a new zen master, though - the cat. She's truly the most relaxed being I know and she's far less creepy than the gnome-y guy who led the meditation workshops. Here are the lessons I've been learning at her wise, wise feet.

- Sleep on important decisions

- Never pass up an opportunity to cuddle

- Always keep one eye open when someone is cooking

- Don't overcommit yourself

- Sleep on trivial decisions

- Lick your own ass - nobody else will do it for you

- It's OK to eat butter off the counter if you don't get caught in the act

- Sleep between decisions

- Kiss wholeheartedly, even if you have tuna breath

- Save your hisses - they're most effective when used sparingly

- Two are warmer than one

- Trick people into a second breakfast whenever possible

And perhaps the wisest lesson one can learn from a cat:

- The most effective management tactic is the illusion of submission

Table for Two

2012-01-19T07:03:00.001-06:00

Know what my favorite food is?

The kind someone else makes when I'm going on six weeks of being sick.

Mark called me at work to tell me he was going to take care of dinner. I was overjoyed at the news yet skeptical of the outcome. I love my husband dearly but he's never been mistaken for an Iron Chef. He's typically limited to one-pan meals, as multitasking isn't his best trait either.

When we were first dating he tried to seduce me with his Famous Chicken. Famous, I guess, for the copious amounts of stale oregano used to encrust it. I was head over heels, though, so I chewed and smiled.

And took over the bulk of the cooking duties.

Determined not to ~~boss his ass around the kitchen~~ disrupt his mojo, I stepped aside and refrained from expressing judgment over his methodology. I did inquire as to what was smoking, but mostly because it was really cold outside and if he set the house on fire we'd have had to go out there.

I now humbly apologize to you all for mocking - and possibly doubting - him. As the smoke cleared, he presented me with an omelette smothered in sauteed onions, shrooms and peppers, with steak and cheese tucked inside.

It tasted like love.

(Actually, it tasted like snot, but everything does right now, so I can't pin that one on him.)

Ah, Sweet Nothings...

2012-01-15T16:20:00.000-06:00

My husband is a Romeo, ladies. You haven't been wooed until you've been seduced by this guy. Just to rub your noses in the fact that he's all mine, I'm going to taunt you with a smattering of our most tender moments these past few weeks.

THE SCENE
Emergency room, waiting for results of chest x-rays. I am laying on hospital bed in a sweaty pile of pee-soaked clothes and retching. Husband is growing bored, notices hospital bed contains built in scale. Pushes button.

Husband exclaims loudly "Hey! You lied! You weigh way more than you told that nurse!"

***********************

THE SCENE
The first night I attempted to get up and cook dinner after the trip to the ER. Feeling like ass, not wanting to cook at all. Still wanting to be coddled. Getting ready to ladle food into serving dishes.

Husband says thoughtfully "You shouldn't bother with serving dishes, honey - it just means more dishes for you to do."

***********************
THE SCENE

Our house. He's recently discovered I used to box and is rolling with amusement. I never technically fought anyone (since I was doing it as a workout) but he delights in this fact. The other day he leapt up and did a Rocky-esque warm-up dance.

Husband roars "And, now...here she is...the heavyweight champion of Eden Prairie!"

***********************

But then...just as I'm ready to kill him...he cracks me UP.

THE SCENE

Discussing how lucky our fictitious kids are to have four grandparents who would love them and dote on them, to which Mark argues that my dad would not touch a baby. My dad is most noted for his ever-present iPod touch, cell phone and laptop computer and is known to email us...from the other room.

Mark offers a suggestion. "We'll just tell him a baby is like an iPad with arms and legs - it's interactive!"

I dissolve in giggles. "But no shaking it to reboot an application!"

It's Dangerous Without a Rubber

2012-01-05T14:07:00.001-06:00

You don't want to sleep with me without a rubber.

Set of sheets, that is.

Big ups to my husband for sitting with me in the ER last night while I coughed violently.

And gagged loudly.

And sweat profusely.

And puked twice.

And peed my pants. REPEATEDLY.

In his defense, he was probably expecting a wife who is potty-trained*. But I did have the foresight to sleep on the living room rug - I figured it's easier to replace than the couch or the bed in the event of a flash flood.

Either I have the shittiest immune system this side of AIDS patients, or turning 35 simply means it's time for diapers - because this isn't the first time I've had to sleep on the rug. I had a bladder infection a couple of months ago that probably nearly sent Mark racing to the annullment store - I'm sure they have one of those by now, no?

But now that I have a nebulizer, a fistful of antibiotics, some narcotic cough syrup and an inhaler, I'm finding I can breathe freely for minutes at a times.

Dear 2012,

Suck it.

That is all.

Love,
Me

*I do need to note that although he didn't mock me (too badly) or call me Polly Pisspants, he did make me sit on several layers of plastic on the way home from the hospital. Apparently true love does not transcend the preservation of heated leather seats.

I'm a Pussy

2012-01-04T12:54:00.002-06:00

Everyone has heard what a difference a positive attitude makes during a recovery.

Stories abound of people who push forth with determination and faith. Paralyzed people who become yoga instructors. Cancer patients who speed their upbeat way to remission. People who conquer true disabilities in a way that seems - well - effortless.

I am not those people.

I finally gave in and went to a doctor, who informed me I have walking pneumonia. The only walking I'm aware of right now is the elephant that seems to be walking on my chest.

Yesterday I had the shakes and dropped all my antibiotic pills on the rug next to the cat's litter box. I cried.

The day before that I coughed until I retched on myself and peed my pants. I cried.

This morning I woke up trembling, sweaty and choking on my own breath. I wanted to cry again, but it seemed like too much work.

Speaking of work, I have a massive complex about staying home sick when I need to. I must suffer delusions of grandeur that the world will end if I'm out for a few days unexpectedly. Or perhaps - worse - the fear that nobody will even notice that I'm gone, confirming the suspicion that I am company fat that ought to be trimmed.

What I want right now is someone to rub my back and coddle me.

What I need right now is, I suppose, a bitch slap of reality upside the head. This is nothing that some super antibiotics and steroids shouldn't fix and a week from now I'll probably feel just lovely. So, until then, please feel free to leave comments telling me what a pussy I am and how you know people with real problems.

And now? I'm going to go snivel to the cat - because she doesn't care that I'm the pussy around here.

Auld Lang Syne Again

2011-12-31T12:35:00.003-06:00

JANUARY 8TH 2011 - OUR 4TH DATE

I just read my year-end post from last winter and I'm stunned at what can change in ONE YEAR. Four days after I wrote that, I met Mark.

We met on January 2nd. That night I told Mama Bird I was going to marry him, and the next day I told my boss the same thing. My boss' response?

"You're fucking crazy."

Eighteen days after we met, we got tattoos together - a lock and a key.

No.

APRIL 16TH - ENGAGED!

I'm not kidding.

On April 16th, Mark proposed. I believe his exact stammer went something like this.

Presents ring. Shuffles feet. "SO, YA WANNA DO THIS??????"

Who could say no to that?

On August 28th, we married.

The sound system accidentally blared Nina Gordon during the ceremony so we had to Take II, and during my dad's speech, a four-year-old hollered at the top of his lungs to ask when I'd be having a baby.

AUGUST 28TH - MARRIED

We sealed our vows with another stop at the tattoo shop and honeymooned on the couch.

This year I've gained a wonderful husband, another family, a stepkitty I shamelessly adore, a cranky grandma - which is much more fun than no grandma - and about ten pounds.

I've lost privacy and the urge to leave the house.

I moved again in 2011, which brings me to my 24TH MOVE in 35 years. For the love of all that is holy, I hope we find and afford a decent place this year that we can stay in for-everloving-ever. I'm getting a little burned out on moving.

This year I've played with paintball guns and trampolines. I've lounged on pontoons and inflatable rafts, and I've sat around bonfires with friends. My family flew in from all over the country for the wedding and we partied for two straight days. I won a giant flatscreen TV and - on an unrelated note, surely - the undying fidelity of my husband.

I competed in a Sex Short Story contest and lost after reading it onstage to a live audience. The winner wrote some creepy erotica that involved antlers, though, so obviously it's tough to beat that meat.

SEPTEMBER 10TH -
HEIDI'S WEDDING

My baby pseudo sister Heidi got married and I had a handsome young escort at the reception - until I got violently ill and my other handsome escort had to drive me home while I barfed in every bag I could find.

I've made new friends this year - in everyday life and through blogging. I got a hilarious Christmas card from my favorite resort owners in Wisconsin, a gorgeous handmade card from TJ in the Netherlands and a sweet card from a reader named Maria overseas.

Who can complain about life when they receive little bits of love from all around the world?

Mark and I were planning to spend tonight hanging out with my brother drinking champagne and playing Rock Band, but we're both sick with the generic Winter Crud. There's homemade chicken soup simmering on the stove - a chicken I tore the limbs off myself without vomiting - and a pitcher of OJ in the fridge that I squeezed myself. We may feel like ass, but we're going to eat a gourmet sick meal.

No champagne for our midnight cocktail and in fact we'll likely be in bed before the clock turns, but I have everything I need right now in my life, and I'm feeling pretty grateful for everything I was given in 2011.

MY MOM'S ENTIRE SIDE OF THE FAMILY!!

MY HOT LITTLE ESCORT AT
HEIDI'S RECEPTION

MY SWEET, SWEET STEPKITTY

MY BEAUTIFUL GIRLS

ME AND MY BABY

CHEERS TO ALL

WHO READ MY BLOG...

I LOVE YOU GUYS!

WISHING YOU A 2012 THAT BRINGS

ALL THAT YOU HOPE FOR AND MORE

My Virus...and My Penis

2011-12-28T20:27:00.000-06:00

There's a mutant virus going around and it's trying to take me out. Symptoms include bloodshot bedroom eyes with dark circles, leaky nostrils and Rice Krispies in the lungs. Oh, and a cough so violent you barf on yourself a little bit.

So basically there's a whole lotta sexy up in here.

BUT NO VIRUS IS GONNA PISS ON MY HOLIDAYS, FOR CORN'S SAKE!

I'm drinking my screwdrivers with Airborne instead of Absolut and I'll stay in that hot shower until my skin blisters.

I'll gargle with Vicks if I have to.

It's the new year this weekend and I am going to party like it's 1999. You know, when I spent New Year's Eve drinking keg beer instead of Maalox. I had a lovely Christmas but I'm greedy, dammit. I want a good New Year with my shiny new husband, too.

I'm reading a book right now called If It Were Easy, They'd Call The Whole Damn Thing A Honeymoon - you may surmise it's a book about men and women and all their particular sterotypes. There's a chapter about how strong and stoic women are when they're sick and how snively men become after so much as a sneeze.

This book is very educational, as I've deduced I must have a secret penis tucked somewhere in my thigh chub - because evidently I am a man.

Strong?

Stoic?

I WANT MY MOM!

I realize that this virus too shall pass and I must keep some manner of perspective. I am not having a stroke. Or a heart attack. Or a...cancer.

But...but...but...

I don't feeeeeeeeeeeeel good.

In the morning I'll go some vitamin fortified Frosted Flakes, too. Just to be safe.

Holidays on the Rocks

2011-12-26T20:09:00.002-06:00

And by rocks, I mean ice. We're fine.

I swear.

There are two things you need to know about my husband. First, he is missing a filter. Second, he is missing a filter. Thoughts bubble forth from his mouth randomly and unchecked. Here are a some of the most romantic and Christmassy conversations from around our place this weekend, served over ice.

With a twist.

Pour one for me while you're at it.

*************************

HUSBAND (IN A FRIENDLY, CONVERSATIONAL TONE): You'd be a super easy person to murder.

ME: Excuse me? What the fuck?

HUSBAND: No, seriously. You're so clumsy. I could just push you down the basement stairs. You'd break your neck and everyone would totally believe you tripped and fell.

ME: WHAT THE FUCKETY FUCK!?

HUSBAND: I'm just saying...

*************************

HUSBAND FARTS.

ME: Did you just rip ass?

HUSBAND: No, it's my Christmas cheer.

ME: What?

HUSBAND: Yeah. I have so much Christmas cheer, it's leaking out.

*************************

I OPEN MAIL.

HUSBAND: What is it?

ME: State Farm wants me to buy additional life insurance coverage.

HUSBAND: That's not a bad idea.

ME (PANICKING AS I RECALL PREVIOUS CONVERSATION ABOUT BASEMENT STEPS): YOU'RE TOTALLY GOING TO MURDER ME, AREN'T YOU!?

I BACK UP FEARFULLY...AND TRIP, THEREBY PROVING HIS ORIGINAL POINT AND SENDING US BOTH INTO MAD FITS OF LAUGHTER.

*************************

ME (TO CAT, AS I NUZZLE HER): Merry Christmas, little bitty kitty witty. Mommy luvs you, wuvs you. Yes she does. Yes, she does...oh, yes she does.

HUSBAND (TO CAT, AS HE PULLS HER TAIL): You're fat as shit!

ME: It's Christmas! Be nice to her.

HUSBAND: I did. I got her a present. But she's still fat as shit.

ME: You're abusive!

CAT (HAPPILY, ROLLING OVER IN FRONT OF HUSBAND): Meooooooowwwwwwwww!

ME: You're a disgrace to battered women and cats everywhere, Gabby.

CAT PURRS LOUDLY.

I Heart Presents

2011-12-24T09:40:00.000-06:00

The festivities have commenced.

Christmas Round One was held at the in-laws' house last night. I did well, I think. I'm only up two or three pounds this morning, I'd guess - but the new flannel pajamas have an elastic waist so we're cool.

A good time was had by all, and even Scrooge McHusband was rather jolly.

I don't like to play favorites, but I totally play favories. Look at this gift we got from Hubby's niece - I suspect she addressed it herself. It's a magnet made from a picture she colored at school. Her teacher lets them order prints of their fine art through Zazzle or some such place.

This is the same little girl who finished writing a BOOK the other day and asked her mother quite seriously where she needed to send it now to be published.

How can you not love Christmas when you get presents like these?

Signing off. Must prepare for Christmas Round Two, which will involve jambalaya and a breathalyzer - as any holiday really should. Cheers!

Awkward Family Pictures

2011-12-23T11:32:00.000-06:00

Selling My Friends

2011-12-18T10:31:00.000-06:00

I have very talented friends.

If I could afford to splurge on a lavish Christmas, I could do so without spending one dollar at a chain retailer. For any of you looking for a one of a kind gift for someone you love, here are just some of the bombdiggitytastic things my friends can offer.

COFFEE
My friend Rich owns The Coffee Shop NE in Minneapolis and I have a couple of his iced coffee tumblers. I gave one to my brother, who proclaimed it his new favorite cup. In addition to making the perfect travel mug for your iced coffee, it's apparently an effective sippy-style cup for large volume cocktails.

JEWELRY
My friend Rebecca in Oregon makes beautiful handmade jewelry and her family includes an adorable little boy named Henry with severe, expensive medical problems.

WHIMSICAL ART
If you've spent any time at all reading my blog, you know who my friend TJ Lubrano is. Buy a custom painting from her. You will end up with a playful piece of artwork that makes you smile every time you look at it and I guarantee you'll make a new friend as well.

PHOTOGRAPHY
I love my girl Courtney Conk. She does gorgeous, unique photography and she's up for anything. She'll do traditional wedding or portrait photography but she's amazing when you just let her go nuts. If you're in the Minneapolis area, hit her up.

Also in the Twin Cities, Michelle Tanner does beautiful work. Check out her children's photography, she's fantastic with kids.

MASSAGE
Minneapolis area people with kinky backs should call my friend Dana Nyholm. Her deep tissue work will leave you feeling like Jell-O, and I mean that in the best possible way.

WEEKEND GETAWAY
Ever been to Hayward, Wisconsin? My friends Mary & Mike own the Woodhaven Resort there and you need to go. It's small, sweet and the sunsets there are surreal. Relaxing in Wisconsin occasionally should be mandatory, it does amazing things for your blood pressure.

Sometimes Winter Doesn't Suck

2011-12-17T12:05:00.001-06:00

I love car love notes!

Since I outgrew the age of snow forts and hot chocolate, I've had no use for winter.

I don't ski or snowmobile and I don't feel the urge to sit on a frozen lake with a pole and a space heater.
The cold makes my bones throb and I don't give a rat's ass if that makes me sound geriatric.

The snow generally doubles commute times and last week when it rained a little, my evening drive already took nearly TWO HOURS. In 2009, I gave myself two concussions in five days in the icy driveway. Unlike cats, people sometimes land on their heads.

But even I have to admit there are some upsides to winter...and sometimes winter weekends are exactly what a person needs.

Occupy North Pole

2011-12-13T20:28:00.000-06:00

Dear Santa,

I'm really trying to enjoy Christmas this year but it's not working. You see, I'm financially and emotionally drowning. This has come after years of dubious decision making, poor taste in exes and some bad luck in the medical department. My story is different - just like everyone else's.

I have a sinus infection, but the Minute Clinic charges nearly $100 to confirm this, and then it costs blah blah blah to fill the prescription. We're watching our money because my husband's back is inflamed and he has to get some injections. We're hoping he doesn't miss any work, or rent will undoubtedly be late.

My anxiety meds have almost run out but in order to get a refill, I have to go in for another physical. I'm on credit hold with the doctor's office for late bills.

Did I mention I have insurance?

Did I mention we have decidedly middle class jobs?

Did I mention I have relative health, my heat hasn't been turned off and I don't have children's mouths to feed?

I am the 99% and I am one of the blessed and lucky ones.

For Christmas this year, I'd like to see some positive things happen around the world.

Perhaps we could divvy up the Kardashian family fortune and use it to better staff hospitals and nursing homes, so our sick and weak could be taken care of with dignity and patience.

I want to say schools that worry more about preventing bullying than whether they'll offend someone if they recite the Pledge of Allegiance.

I'd like to live in a world where teachers, homemakers, social workers and cops are suitably rewarded for their enormous contribution to our future generations.

I wish we'd spend less energy on keeping gays from marrying and more energy on figuring out how to honor our own relationships in our own homes.

I'd rather live with far less religion and far more faith.

Maybe we could stop spending money fighting wars to save America and stand up and save ourselves.

That's all I got for now, Santa.

Whaddya got for us?

I Blew and I Won

2011-12-11T18:03:00.000-06:00

My brother bought himself a breathalyzer for Christmas and apparently he celebrates early, because we were playing with it last night.

I was relieved - though alarmed - to learn that I grossly misjudge my own drunkeness. Turns out that by law I could really drink quite a bit more and drive legally.

This should frighten you all.

After drinking myself to the right side of that fine line - you know the line to which I refer - I prepared myself for shameful results and I blew mightily.

.036...

What the cottonpickin' fuck?

I knew that with one more cocktail, I'd say something horrifically inappropriate or - worse - dance. I was probably two drinks from the point where nobody could tolerate interacting with me.

Puking wasn't imminent, but it was certainly a possibility.

And this machine was telling me I could have sucked down another few shots of vodka and remained within my civil rights to operate a motor vehicle.

I have a new sense of horrifed awe for the raging alcoholism it took for my old friend Brent to be tested at .43 although he's dead now so I guess that didn't work out so well.

I'm fairly certain there's a moral to all of this. I'll get back to you when I figure it out. Imma have myself a drink and think about it.

Suck it, Scottsdale

2011-12-05T21:26:00.001-06:00

Add Scottsdale to the list of places I do not belong, STAT.

Here I sit, shacked up in my room at the Kierland Resort & Spa. The place is a sprawling oasis of man-made waterfalls plunked down in the desert - a snooty resort I only happen to be at for a training conference.

I can't afford to leave my room.

There's a spa here, but the massages start at $180.

There are several restaurants and bars serving $15 cocktails, but vodka makes me want to smoke, which is deeply frowned upon here. After being shooed from every place within striking distance of the lobby, I tiptoed through the valet lot - careful not to scratch a Range Rover, Caddy or Jag - to the very edge of the parking lot.

I lit.

I inhaled.

I relaxed.

"You're filthy to be to smoking!" A sparkly old lady scolded me as she toddled down the sidewalk with her mop of a purse puppy...who, incidentally, copped a squat 20 yards later. She left the dog shit, thinking - surely - there's a Mexican boy around for that.

I slunk back to my room and figured I'd enjoy a nice bath. The errant pube in the tub dissuaded me, although I'm certain it's owner was well-heeled and disease free. I don't like to take chances, so I opted for the luxurious two-headed shower.

That the resort CHIDES you for using, because it wastes water.

Um?

Excuse me, Mr. Westin...

How many decorative fountains are scattered around this property? And didn't we suck down a couple thousand bottles of water that you provided at the conference today? Put
that plastic in your pipe and smoke it. But nowhere near us, please, because your smoke stinks.

Suck it, Scottsdale. I'm going to bed.

Holiday Spirit

2011-11-27T19:34:00.001-06:00

I tried to get my husband to have some Holiday Spirit with me on Thanksgiving, but he wasn't interested.

He did pick me up from the bar after my brother and I enjoyed a few rounds of Holiday Spirit together, though - so long as I agreed to let him stuff his Holiday Spirit in my chimney.

I'm sorry to inform you that's a direct quote.

I don't think Scrooge McYost and I have the same idea of Holiday Spirit.

For the first time ever, I want to decorate. I made us stockings. Now I want lights.

And a tree.

Scrooge's response? "We don't need that shit!"

"But, but...but," my rebuttal. "Let's have Holiday Spirit!"

His closing argument. "Screw Christmas."

My closing argument. "Screw you."

Scrooge: "OK, let's screw!"

My offer: "Not unless we get a tree tomorrow."

Scrooge considers seriously. "Nah, it ain't worth it."

I can feel the Holiday Spirit calling to me. I like it on the rocks with a twist...you?

I have a feeling this Christmas is going to be particularly special, our first. For those of you who've read the Five Love Languages, I'm a Quality Time/Gift Hybrid, so this time of year always feels so ripe with possibility. Generally it leaves me deflated, disappointed and debted, but that shit doesn't come until January. And I can just tell that this December with my charming husband is going to be everything a woman could dream.

Giving Thanks

2011-11-24T09:29:00.000-06:00

I was so excited for Thanksgiving, I baked 19 baby pecan pies. In an unrelated incident, my pants finally split on Monday. At work.

I know I've been a little overboard lately with the Holly Housewife shit, but I love Thanksgiving. It's the most laid back of holidays, really - and the nerdy side of me was stoked about starting some NEW TRADITIONS with my NEW HUSBAND.

Hubs has been holding down the couch for a week. He threw out his back and is on a strict prescription of Mortal Kombat and concierge service. His back has as much history as my leg, so I can quite literally feel his pain - but the selfish part of me still knows it means I'm stuck doing everything at home for a while.

Last night I arrived home after a frantic few days at work, glowing at the thought of - finally - an evening to just relax with my man. He looked me deeply in the eyes and suggested how we might celebrate our first Thanksgiving Eve together.

"Wanna watch midget porn on the huge TV?"

I declined.

And baked a double batch of sugar cookies.

And lay in bed last night feeling sad that Thanksgiving wouldn't be its usual rowdy self this year. My family is loud and fun, but my husband is cranky and in pain and it would be hard to please both today.

But I woke up this morning and realized how lucky we still are. We will spend this weekend in warmth and abundance. My husband likes my family and I enjoy his. It's supposed to be a balmy 50 degrees outside today.

I'll take it, and I'll say thank you.

(Not the midget porn. The rest of it.)

My Autograph Collection

2011-11-21T19:59:00.000-06:00

I've never really been much of an autograph whore, but my collection is growing.

David Sedaris autographed a book for me with poop recently, as you may recall. I bet you think it would be hard to top that autograph story, now wouldn't you? But you'd be wrong.

Because today I got an autographed FUCK in the mail...and it was damaged in handling.

Story of my life, people, story of my life.

You see, I ordered a FUCK from my friend AJ in Philly, which sounds rather more salacious than it is. He's a writing friend and apparently while I've been busy playing the newlywed game he's been...well, writing.

His book FRESH UNCENSORED CRITICAL KNOWLEDGE FOR YOUR LIFE is on sale now, so you should buy it from him, it'll make a great Christmas gift - but not for your kids, I'm sure it's inappropriate. I haven't read my damaged copy yet, so I can't give you a much of a review other than this:

AJ's my Philly Dawg, yo.

Give his book a shot!

He's smart and funny and I'm sure his book will be as well.

And also? Let's make sure his book becomes a bestseller, so my autographed copy is worth some bucks. I'm awfully broke and I'm pretty sure nobody's going to pay a premium for my only other autographed book, with a turd drawn in it by David Sedaris.

Wife 101: Step by Step Instructions for Preparing Sunday Dinner

2011-11-14T08:40:00.000-06:00

Insert curlers (in hair, not in pot roast).

Toast sesame seeds for marinade.

Remove roast from packaging and punch repeatedly to tenderize…and to alleviate stress.

Chop onions, mushrooms and carrots.

Soak roast in marinade before tossing in the crockpot with the veggies.

One hour later realize crockpot works better when turned on.

Do so.

Bake butternut squash.

Mash and season squash.

Feed husband bite of squash.

Realize you’ll be eating an entire squash yourself.

Check roast.

Remove curlers, wonder why you bothered.

Check roast.

Apply makeup.

Check roast.

Tear smoke alarm out of ceiling in mad effort to stop the alarm.

Realize alarm still blaring, smash smoke alarm and pull wires out of ceiling.

Realize alarm still howling, call landlord over.

Feel like giant dumbass when landlord points out the shriek is coming from carbon monoxide detector, not smoke alarm.

Open crockpot to cool roast.

Go out with girlfriend, leaving husband to put away the roast he eats dinner.

Husband forgets there is a roast and goes to Subway for dinner.

Wife and girlfriend gulp wine and vodka in anticipation of meeting David Sedaris.

Meet David Sedaris.

Girlfriend tells David Sedaris that wife is a writer.

David Sedaris draws a lucky book for wife, inside her David Sedaris book.

David Sedaris then grabs a brown marker and draws a turd on the book.

David Sedaris says “Here’s your book…covered in shit.”

Wonder if this is lucky sign or belligerent statement?

Husband comes to pick up wife and girlfriend.

Roast is left unattended.

Cat samples carrot, decides not to pursue the relationship.

Cat enjoys sirloin roast.

Wish hubby would have saved part of his Subway sandwich.

Bringing Sexy Back, Part Quit

2011-11-13T15:25:00.000-06:00

I decided to try the curlers again today, but don't be thinking it's for David Sedaris tonight. I'm a married woman, you know. And also? He likes boys.

So here I am at home, in my curlers. And possibly leopard print jammie pants, but they are not Zubaz, I swear to God.

I got the roast going, toasted the sesame seeds, mashed the butternut squash and chopped up all the veggies to toss in the crockpot. Afterward, I celebrated with a delicious Marlboro Ultra Light - so sue me.

But did Mark need to come take my picture?

Really?

I'm fairly certain that the only way I could look trashier is if there were a car on blocks as a backdrop and a forty in my hand.

Dear Self,

Please refer back to the other day's post about bringing sexy back. It's not working. It's time to come up with Plan B.

Immediately.

I Hope I Didn't Peak

2011-11-12T15:02:00.000-06:00

A still shot of my critically
acclaimed role in Mallrats

Sixteen years ago in 1995, Ben Affleck and I were in Mallrats together. Last night, I watched the movie for the first time and was dismayed to see just how much of my Hollywood debut ended up on the cutting room floor. Ben's part ended up being much larger than mine - no wonder his career has been a bit more notorious since.

The good news is that if we all get fifteen minutes of fame in our lifetime, I've only used up 2.4 seconds of mine.

Can you hear the hamster wheel in my head?

My friend Leslie and I are going to see David Sedaris tomorrow.

I repeat, David Sedaris.

I wonder what sort of unspeakable things I'd have to offer to get him to read something and offer feedback?

I'll clean his bathroom or mop his floors, I have no shame. If he'd like my firstborn, it could be arranged. Shit, he can have the cat! (Do NOT tell my husband I said that.)

Because guess what, dudes?

I still have fourteen minutes left.

11-11-11 Make a Wish

2011-11-11T14:19:00.000-06:00

I'm gonna need some help bringing sexy back, cuz I definitely lost it.

It hit me recently that any sexy I ever might have accidentally had is gone. And that realization came before I started peeing my pants.

The doctor called to tell me that the medication I take for anxiety has been linked to alarming side effects such as - oh, your heart exploding - so I'm tapering off of that. My beloved night terrors are back, which likely means I'll need to start sleeping with mittens on so I don't tear at my face while I dream.

Last weekend I decided to lighten my hair. I bought rollers and hair color and gave myself a two hour makeover. The results were astounding. I burned my scalp, my hair color remained exactly its same mousy self and my sexy curls fell flat after six minutes.

The three pairs of pants I have that fit me are all becoming crotchless from where my thigh chub is rubbing them paper thin.

Weekends are party time. I clip coupons, scrub toilets and play Rachael Ray (but without the YUM-O exclamations...or mad kitchen skills.)

I'm? So sexy it hurts - but only when I pee. No worries, though, I carry spare skivvies in my purse now.

So for the love of all that is corny and superstitious, I'm going to make an 11-11-11 wish. I wish for divine intervention in the form of a makeover, before I slide too far down this slippery slope of frump to ever return.

Dear God,

If you are listening, please send me a gay man who needs to complete a makeover in order to graduate cosmetology school, where he majors in special effects makeup and minors in fat girl fashion.

I feel lucky today.

Sincerely,
Me

The 72-Day Itch

2011-11-05T21:16:00.000-05:00

Well, I can't judge the Kardashiass too harshly, I suppose. We're only on day 69 of being married and I've got the itch.

Actually, it's not an itch so much as a terrifically uncomfortable searing pressure on my bladder...which is infected.

Married life is HOT.

I suspected something was awry when I kept thinking I was gonna pee my pants and then couldn't perform when I sprinted to the bathroom.

The lightbulb came on, though, when I DID pee my pants...carrying in groceries on Friday.

I spent last night curled up on a blanket on the floor, wincing in pain and praying I wouldn't wet myself like a puppy if I fell asleep.

I raced to Target this morning for antibiotics, where I peed my cotton-pickin' pants again - though this time I blame it on the pharmacist for being so slow.

I waddled back to the car and squelched my way home to shower repeatedly - but shame doesn't wash off as easily as you'd think.

I don't usually go to church, but I'm gonna just ask Him anyhow. Let us hope that God throws me a bone.

Dear God, please don't let me piss myself at work on Monday. A little help, please? Feel free to give that Cipro a kick start. Many thanks.

Halloween

2011-10-31T18:56:00.000-05:00

On October 31st, 2002, Chris Jenkins went to a bar with some buddies to celebrate Halloween. He never came home.

His body was pulled out of the Mississippi River that following February.

Halloween has always been one of my favorite holidays, but after Chris died it shook me up. Chris was abducted after being split up from his friends that night.

Chris was a young, athletic college male when he was abducted.

It can happen to anyone. Stay with a group when you're out - especially if you're out drinking.

I always think of Chris on Halloween. He was one of my brother's best friends. I think of everything that Chris has missed.

Graduating.

His sister's wedding.

His own wedding?

His niece, who looks just like him.

Life.

I post this not to be a downer, or to dissuade anyone from getting their Halloween party on, but merely to remind all of you people I love that there are monsters among us - on Halloween, and every day.

If you're out partying with your friends, just stick together. That is all.

Monday Marvels

2011-10-24T10:51:00.018-05:00

The Top Ten Reasons to Marvel over Monday, October 24th

10. I'm thankful for yesterday's celebratory meal at Mozza Mia. Two words. CHEESE BAR. That is all.

9. Actually, that's not all. Two more words. HANDMADE LIMONCELLO. That is all.

8. OK, that's still not all. I'm happy that my brother has a job now, which is why we were bellied up to the cheese bar in the first place. You know, to celebrate.

7. I'm grateful that I can really let my nerd hang out now. I'm married, you know - he's stuck.

6. I'm thankful it's almost Halloween, which means that my chances of encountering a fat baby dressed as an Angry Bird or a plush pumpkin are statistically higher than average.

5. I'm grateful to the pharmaceutical giants who manufacture the expensive allergy medication I take to absolutely no avail.

4. I'm thankful for our new 600-thread count sheets which, incidentally, seem to have Velcro-like hooks in me in the mornings.

3. I'm grateful for the French press I got for my birthday. It makes me feel so thrifty, despite the fact that I may be going through triple the coffee I was when I had to drive to Caribou to make a purchase.

2. I'm thankful for Mondays, because they really illustrate for me just how much I love Fridays.

And the number one reason to marvel over Monday, October 24th?

1. Look at my family. I mean, despite the mildly uncomfortable vibe to this photo, look at them. Don't you just wanna dive right in to that romance-novel cover?

Sew Sexy

2011-10-14T12:45:00.001-05:00

So there I was last night, like any newlywed woman...quilting.

I'm a craft slut, I'll basically do any of them - but I steer clear of sewing. When I'm doing something artsy, I don't like to learn shit. Or follow rules. So rather than taking a class, reading instructions or researching anything online, I just do it. This works out well for some mediums but I've found that sewing requires - you know - measuring.

But I've decided to make us Christmas stockings.

Quilted ones with little skulls embroidered on the band around the top.

And our names.

And, fine...yes...I'm making one for the cat. She's part of the family, duh.

But Mark was sitting there next to me drawing zombies with their faces peeling apart, so I didn't feel he was in any place to judge.

Then I noticed my toes poking through my socks.

And he suggested I darn them.

I scoffed. What kind of motherlovin' Stepford Wife did he think I was gonna be!?

Today, though, after grocery shopping? I sure did darn em, darn it.

I figure I saved myself $3.99.

Married life may not be particularly glamorous but I'm a little bit proud. I am discovering some old-school domesticity and I work full time. Take THAT, 50s housewives!

But I admit...they were much better at the rollers and lipstick. I'm gonna need to work on that.

THIRTY-X#@$ing-FIVE

2011-10-09T20:24:00.000-05:00

I did it.

I turned 3-FUCKING-5 and I did so with dignity and without a hangover - and I didn't die in the night in a puddle of tears and anti-aging cream.

In fact, I had a pretty great weekend, and it got me thinking about things that I love. So in honor of the past 35 years I've suffered through, here's a list of 35 things I love for you to suffer through.

Begin when you're ready. Feel free to grab a drink. I did.

1. I love it that we don't have to go down to the courthouse and get married again. Yesterday we got our certified marriage license back in the mail. This is of particular interest since we may or may have not have illegally filed the paperwork 22 days late. Whew.

2. I love huffing my friends' Aveda Hand Relief lotion. I can't afford it but the scent is intoxicating, like paraffin and wealth.

3. I love when friends cook dinner for my birthday, and send send leftovers home with me wrapped with a bow.

4. I LOVE PRESENTS! (SHAMEFUL BUT TRUE...)

5. I love October sunshine...on cat fur...while Gabby spoons with me.

6. I love Mama Bird's chicken and wild rice soup.

7. I love when my husband makes me pancakes. And puts birthday candles in them.

A TJ Lubrano watercolor. I love her!
Visit her blog. Buy stuff.

8. I love Woodhaven Resort. If you're ever near Hayward, WI you have to stop by for a drink - or a week. They have awesome owners, a handmade bar that serves dollar pudding shots, and sunsets so spectacular even the Sconnies put down their beers in reverence.

9. I love, love, LOVE the cards I got this year. I got free coffee cards from my friends Caribou & Starbucks, a TJ Lubrano original - which is cuter than anything Papyrus sells - and a gorgeous handpainted watercolor card from my (LEGAL!) husband.

10. I love girls night. Leslie and I watched Bridesmaids last night and there may or may not have been a popcorn kernel that exited through the nose during our howls of laughter.

11. I luuurrrrvvvv having gift cards to ART STORES! Stand back, I smell a craft bomb!

12. I love massages and float tanks. I haven't done either in a couple of years, but that's neither here nor there. I like to dream big.

13. I love having breakfast with my husband. With our work schedules, it only happens two or three times a month...

14. Mixmaster Bro makes the best cocktails. I love hanging out with him.

15. I love it hubs rub a dub dubs my feet when we watch movies.

16. I love homemade bread. So much that I think I need to learn to bake it this fall.

17. I love balloons and sparkles on my doorstep. It's a cheery upgrade from the rotting porch that used to decorate our doors.

18. I love fresh flowers. They're so beautiful and utterly pointless and they never last. Like reality TV stars.

19. I love the carnitas at Boca Chica down dere on da corner of Thug & Hood. And also, I like the Mexican name for it. Carnitas sounds much more exotic than ordering, say, a slab of hog.

20. I love blank notepads. Always have. Is that odd?

21. I LOVE when my voicemail box is full of children singing happy birthday to me. And then the next voicemail is the in-laws doing the same thing. The kids totally had more rhythm.

22. I love that my face didn't collapse inward on itself in fear of the impending wrinkles undoubtedly associated with age 35. And, like, marriage.

23. I love that our neighbor found Gabby when she ran away from home today ~~because we were delinquent parents who didn't shut the door properly~~. It takes a village, blah blah blah.

24. I love Leslie's coconut curry rice.

25. I repeat, I LOVE Leslie's coconut curry rice.

26. I definitely love birthday weekends better than scrub-mold-from-shit weekends.

27. I loved jamming out to iTunes on my laptop the other day. I miss my iPod. iSad it's gone.

28. I love that you'll forgive me if that was just Too Soon.

29. I love that Mark bought me a Superman balloon for my birthday and the checkout lady asked if it was for his little boy. Uh...no ma'am, it's just projection. I'm shopping for my wife.

30. I love celebrating my birthday by gorging all weekend, only to be immediately measured after a meal for my midriff-baring sari for Neil and Reena's wedding.

31. I love thinking about their wedding, though, because it's gonna be off the hook. Fo shizzo. I wonder if there's an Indian translation for fo shizzo.

32. I love the random food Mama Bird buys. "Here, honey, they're Chia seeds!" Excuse me? "For crunch in your yoghurt!" And grass springing from my pores like hair?

33. I love Neil's mint-chocolate cookies. Like Thin Mints, but you don't have to buy them from a knobby-kneed schoolgirl giving your husband the eyebrow.

34. I love the smell of baby's breath. The flower kind - not the crying, pooping kind.

35. I love 35 so far. I'm starting it out with a new job, a new (OFFICIAL!) husband, a new coffeemaker and a new layer to my muffin top after this long, delicious weekend.

Creepy Co-Inkadinkys

2011-10-08T15:19:00.000-05:00

After seeing Mark bust out the colored pencils the other day, I realized how long it had been since I've done anything remotely creative. Since today was my prescheduled lazy day in celebration of my birthday I decided to follow suit.

I used an engagement photo that my girlfriend Courtney took of us as inspiration. I can't really draw but it feels good to pretend so I just zenned out and sketched. My interpretation of the photo was a little more retro creepy and I realized that the rendition of myself looked a bit similar to the badass compact my girlfriend Mary gave me as an engagement present.

Huh.

So I finished the sketch and stepped outside to check the mail, where I found a birthday card from my beautiful TJ over in the Netherlends. I opened the card excitedly, because I knew it would be handmade, but I nearly crapped when I saw it.

CUE THE EERIE HALLOWEEN MUSIC

Isn't that cool? I love crazy little coincidences - and I love my girlfriends.

Birthdays and Butter Breath

2011-10-07T16:04:00.000-05:00

It's my birthday on Sunday so I'm gonna party like a rock star. I decided to bake cookies this morning and set out some butter to soften while I ran to the store.

Someday supped on the butter while I was gone. Whisker tracks and butter breath tipped me off and I tracked down the suspect, who is currently in custody pending a hearing with the judge. She's been charged with misdemeanor trespassing and theft - she knows she's not supposed to be on the counter.

And we're on a budget.

Damn cat.

With a birthday in October, Minnesota sometimes offers snow to celebrate. This year, though, it's 80 degrees and supposed to thunderstorm this weekend.

My allergies are kicking my old as dirt ass lately, which was bugging me enough. Then Mark helpfully suggested that it's probably mold growing in my lungs after decontaminating the basement.

The thought makes my skin crawl.

I have a date with my man tonight, so hopefully moldy breath is better than butter breath.

Sunday my famdamily is feeding me BBQ'd brisket and nachos and cake, and I still have free birthday drinks from both Caribou and Starbucks to look forward to.

See? THIRTY-FRIGGIN-FIVE is about more than just sagging boobs and crow's feet.

HUZZAH!

I considered partying like it's 1999, when I was 23, except I'm afraid I'd have a stroke - so I think I'll just chill this weekend with the fam and my (still not certified) husband.

Monday Marvels

2011-10-03T08:09:00.000-05:00

The Top Ten Reasons to Marvel over Monday, October 3rd

10. I'm thankful that Gabby has handled all the stress at home with such dignity. I know things have been tough on her, what with the rabid cleaning interrupting her naps so frequently - but she seems to be rebounding without permanent trauma.

9. I'm very excited to have had the money on Friday to splurge on groceries. Eating dinner? Is awesome.

8. I'm looking forward to my birthday this weekend because both Caribou and Starbucks were kind enough to send me birthday cards with free drinks coupons. God, I have lovely friends.

7. I'm thankful that the Massive Mold Meltdown of 2011 is almost over. I came, I saw, I gagged...and I conquered. And also? We found a stack of love letters in the basement from Mark's high school girlfriend and I nearly pissed myself reading them out loud to him.

6. I'm grateful that the drugstore sells cheap hair dye so I can treat myself to Ghetto Spa Day once in a while.

5. I adore this time of year. The sunny days and chilly evenings, and crispy leaves everywhere. Dear Autumn, try sticking around more than a week this year, please.

4. I'm excited to hang out with my family for my birthday. Dear Brother Neil, I'm still craving cupcakes if you independently feel so inclined to make me birthday cake. With whipped cream frosting. And sprinkles. I mean, only if you want to.

3. I'm thankful for Mark's romantic gratitude. After slow-cooking a roast and veggies all day for us, I gave him his dnner. He gobbled it, opened his mouth and belched tremendously...and then followed it up by tearing immediate ass. Married life is so very, very sweet.

2. I'm anxious and excited to find out if we are married - we should get our license back this week if they haven't rejected it. If we're getting married again, we need to do this shit before the snow flies.

And the number one reason to marvel over Monday, October 3rd?

1. I opened the mailbox yesterday and found...a card from a bodacious girl in Switzerland. I mothereffing love getting mail. Blogging makes me happy. Readers who send me cards make me even happier!

The Newlywed Game

2011-09-25T15:43:00.000-05:00

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.

**********************

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...

2011-09-20T09:25:00.000-05:00

...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

2011-09-18T10:41:00.001-05:00

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

2011-09-15T10:52:00.000-05:00

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

2011-09-14T19:30:00.000-05:00

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.

My Moldy Life

2011-09-13T13:10:00.000-05:00

For a couple weeks there, I almost thought I was living someone else's life. Flowers, dresses, parties and presents - it was surreal.

But nothing brings you back to reality like realizing your clothes are all covered in mold.

Because of the palatial nature of our estate, anything we aren't using today must be stored...in the basement.

You've heard about our bedroom, no? With the bed that touches three of the four walls? And our bathroom which is nearly large enough to stand inside?

So, to the basement it all must go.

All of my winter coats are down there. And Mark's riding gear. And our books and belongings.

I thought the most dastardly thing about the basement was the evil steps that trip me every time I descend them, but no.

The basement has a secret.

A stanky, nasty, moldy secret.

Which is now growing on all of our clothing.

Luckily, it's Minnesota, so I won't need a winter jacket for - oh? At least another week.

Fuck my life.

But I'm off to Las Vegas for work, so my lovely husband will have to talk to the landlord. While he's dealing with that, I'll be holed up in my lavish room at the Wynn.

Did you know that they have a Ferrari dealership inside the Wynn?

Yep.

Pretty sure these are NOT my people.

Pretty sure I won't be able to afford so much as a Diet Coke at the Wynn.

But for three days, I will have a bathroom I can spin around in and clothes that aren't green and fuzzy.

At least I look good in green.

Monday Marvels

2011-09-12T09:05:00.001-05:00

The Top Ten Reasons to Marvel over Monday, September 12th

10. I’m thankful we did NOT take the motorcycle to the wedding on Saturday. That would have made barfing all the way home much messier.

9. I’m grateful that I remembered most of my reading when we got to the wedding and I realized I’d printed the wrong notes to bring along.

8. I’m happy that we got a chance to photograph the Four Musketeers together after all these years. Despite what the lighting would have you believe, we don’t have radioactive eyeballs. On the upside, though, the mood lighting softens the crows feet we've all developed since the last photo of the four of us.

7. I’m excited to go to Vegas tomorrow to ~~work~~ take a bath in the giant tub.

6. I’m lucky to have these two babies to come home to on Friday.

5. I’m very happy to realize that, for the first time since sometime in June, we have absolutely nothing on the calendar this coming weekend.

4. I’m grateful for sunny Sunday afternoon bike rides with my hubby, especially when we cruise past the Godiva factory - which, incidentally, smells far better on the back of a bike than the farms we rode past.

3. I’m thankful in advance for the thousands of dollars I’m going to win in Vegas off the three quarters I have to gamble with.

2. I’m SUPER psyched to see our wedding proofs this week.

And the number one reason to marvel over Monday, September 12th?

1. I’m thankful that the 10-year anniversary of September 11th passed with respect and remembrance instead of bombs and blood.

Weddings Make Me Vomit

2011-09-11T17:16:00.000-05:00

Tis the season - for weddings.

Yesterday my baby Sort Of Sister got married.

I gave a reading during the ceremony and their reception was held in this gorgeous theatre in Minneapolis.

Heidi looked ultra-glam and I had my pick of good-looking men in tuxes. One in particular seemed to take a shine to me, snuggling close, escorting me to the restroom and sitting on my lap during dinner.

I was buffed and polished in my LBD and fishnets. I was surrounded by old friends and ready to boogie the night away. But alas, my evening was cut short.

Right after dinner I got hit upside the head with a shovel named headache and I knew this one was gonna be a TKO.

I asked Mark to grab the car from the valet and we'd barely made it a block before I began vomiting.

Repeatedly.

My brother would be happy to tell you that I'm the loudest puker in the world. He knows I have a hair-trigger stomach and delights in standing outside the bathroom door when I'm sick, mocking the horrific noises roaring forth from my throat.

I vomited three times on the way home, quite thankful that we hadn't taken the bike to the wedding as we'd talked about.

So while my friends laughed and danced, I threw up three more times before falling into a feverish slumber.

Heidi, you're probably not reading this since you're on your honeymoon, but I'd like to request a vow renewal. Same venue, next weekend? Whaddya say?

I totally missed the party.

Sigh...there's always her next wedding.

What Happens in the Vegas Bathtub...

2011-09-09T12:36:00.001-05:00

It doesn’t take a lot to get me excited. Next week I’ll be in Vegas for a trade show and I’m psyched.

Not because of the nightlife, because I’m lame. I don’t like to stay up past ten during the week – true and shameful.

Not because of the gambling, because I’m broke. I’m just thankful to those who gave us wedding cash – it’s because of YOU that I was able to drive to work this week.

Not for time to myself, because quite honestly, I’m happiest chillaxin’ at home with my man. Wow…I did turn into a boring old married fuck.

I’m stoked because my room at the Wynn has a GIGANTIC BATHTUB. The only odds I’m laying a buck on are that after work you’ll find me curled up in there with a trashy celebrity gossip magazine in a pile of bubbles.

This may not sound exciting to you, but our bathroom at home is tiny.

As in, so tiny you can pee in the toilet with your feet in the tub while washing your hands in the sink. And? If I were to gain ten pounds, I probably couldn’t shut the door whilst inside. I could take a bath at home – if I resumed a daily yoga practice long enough to be able to contort myself into a tiny tub shaped pretzel, and didn’t mind resting my head on the toilet bowl while I soak.

Remodeling magazines are my porn. Flipping through the pages leaves me feeling a bit sweaty and vaguely ashamed. And it IS porn – because isn’t pornography all about lusting after that which you can’t have (or screw)?

So it seems fitting, really.

I’ll be in Sin City, and it will be a cornucopia of pornographic excitement - just me and my luscious, decadent, sinfully large bathtub.

On the Pole

2011-09-08T09:36:00.002-05:00

The bridal baton has been passed to my bestie’s little sister, and tonight is the bachelorette party.

The evening will begin with hors d'oeuvres and cocktails to lubricate ourselves for pole dancing classes. After class, the party bus will head downtown for more lubrication and a chance to practice newfound skills.

Since I’m now an old married woman, I’m certain my sex-starved husband won’t mind that I’m missing the pole dancing class…to go to the dentist.

Ask yourself this:

In which instance could I hurt myself more? In the dental chair or on a pole?

Ask yourself this:

In which instance will I look sexier? With a mouthful of drill at the dentist or with a mouthful of shattered teeth when I fall off the pole?

Did I mention that the bride and her girlfriends are all in their early twenties?

Ask yourself this:

If YOU saw fifteen lush twenty-somethings in a pole dancing class with one token fat old lady, how hard would YOU laugh?

This might be the only time in my life that having a dental appointment comes as a relief.

What self-respecting woman who looks like me is going to pole dance for a husband that has spent ample time ogling real strippers?

I've been feeling terribly guilty about the conflict in schedules, as the bride is a very dear friend - but I got over it when I remembered that the dentist has nitrous oxide.

Perhaps the pole dancing teachers should consider this option to boost enrollment.

The Honeymoon's Over...

2011-09-06T10:27:00.001-05:00

It saddens me to say it, but the honeymoon is over. The furthest from home we made it was the Renaissance Faire twenty miles away. It was a spectacular cool sunny day and we ate popovers and spinach pie (YUMMO as Rachael Ray would groan) and drank mead wine (gaggingly sweet and not worth any buzz you could possibly get if you had to drink an entire glass of it.)

Our STAYCATION was as good as any relatively broke and lazy couple could hope. Here are the highlights of our pilgrimage into wedded bliss.

- We went to the zoo and watched depressed gorillas pick their noses and ate mini donuts coated in approximately three cups of cinnamon sugar.

- We got our itty bitty finger tattoos.

- At the Renaissance we mocked fat guys in jean shorts, sneakers and capes and got moderately buzzed on Guiness.

- I got my FRESH itty bitty finger tattoo sucked on by a hungry goat in the petting zoo hoovering feed from my hand.

- Salsa night included an early bird dinner on the patio of a Mexican joint down on Cesar Chavez, and a spicy (first!) marital spat when I ~~rocked Mark's space and routine~~ rearranged the house.

We threw a family BBQ and spent evenings watching documentaries. Did you know there are giant caves in New Zealand where if you look up in the blackness inside you see a starry sky, despite being thousands of feet underground? The STARS are actually the butts of hundreds of glow worms dropping silky threads from the ceilings.

Yesterday with friends I ate crustless cucumber and egg salad finger sandwiches, butter mints and cookies whilst donning redonkulous hats. My little Sort of a Sister is getting married this weekend so I helped her Seriously a Sister decorate and whip up the food.

Now today I'm having a homemade macaroni-and-cheese party with my girlfriend's kids to celebrate the first day of school. Her four-year-old promised to roast me a marshmallow in the family's new fire pit out back and I intend to collect on his offer.

Nesting

2011-09-02T09:59:00.000-05:00

I'm still nesting, but I seem to have run out of twigs and moss.

Calm down, there are no eggs.

I'm just trying to carve out some space for both of us in this palatial estate. I've turned our 600-square-foot rental into a two-room home. To put it bluntly, I've created His & Hers rooms.

Gabby is still furious with me for moving her favorite chair, but she put her anger on hiatus last night, just long enough to sleep on my head. As soon as she woke up, though, her nose went right back up in the air.

The armchair used to be tucked in the corner of the living room next to the television and its speakers. I simply wanted a nook where I can read and write without hearing "SCORPION WINS! FATALITY! Mwah ha ha ha HA!" blasting in my ear.

Once Mark realized that the 46" flatscreen, the couch and the Playstation are on 'his' side of the house now, he made his peace with the new furniture arrangement.

We still need a few finishing touches, though, like curtains - for the windows. I mentioned curtains and Mark excitedly agreed...that we should should hang a curtain between the living room and the dining room / reading nook.

Um....

We've been married five days and he wants to pull a curtain so he doesn't have to see me while I read a book.

He makes my heart sing.

The Honeymooners

2011-09-01T12:03:00.000-05:00

You'd think I couldn't blog while I'm honeymooning. That Fiji wouldn't have WiFi or that I'd be wrapped around my new hubby like a pretzel for the entire week.

But Fiji was booked, I have my period and Mark is busy playing Mortal Kombat.

We had ambitious plans for our staycation, including a motorcycle trip to Winona, skydiving, Valleyfair, the State Fair, the Renaissance Festival and more.

So far we've been to Target, McDonald's AND Walgreens.

We did make it to the Como Zoo yesterday, because ~~it's free~~ we love animals, but we didn't get to the conservatory to see the flowers because I may or may not have almost had an accident due to a sudden influx of cheese curds and mini donuts. We had to run home before heading to the tattoo shop.

I rearranged our nest last night, which resulted in our first marital tiff. I knew Mark would be ~~mildly~~ totally resistant to my suggestions, so I included a helpful diagram in my pitch.

Mark is recovering from the stroke he suffered when I moved his Spawn figurines, but the cat is still not speaking to me. I moved her favorite chair.

Today is the Iron Chef portion of our honeymoon. Tonight I'll make steak and roasted corn and bell peppers, fruit salad with yogurt and honey, and sauteed morel mushrooms and vidalia onion. Mark poured me my Cinnamon Toast Crunch this morning.

We might even go to Target again to get goodies for the family BBQ tomorrow.

Rock on, sweet readers. Don't tell me we don't know how to party.

Sparkles

2011-08-31T09:10:00.000-05:00

Dislaimer: Mark directed me to retract an error from yesterday's post. He states for the record that he "didn't have actual tears come out his ducts...he just got choked up."

I've been slapped upside the head with a sock stuffed full of bars of crazy and happy.

Everything about our weekend was ~~basically~~ perfect. You're going to have to either put up with this the next few posts or come back later. I'm sorry, but I'm in luuurrrrrrvvvvv and frankly, I'm a bit much to be around right now.

The kids were stars.

On Saturday night we were teasing Abe (6) and I told him the wedding was a trick, and he was going to actually be the one to marry me...Abe got panicky and fretful, finally exclaiming

"THIS ISN'T FUNNY TO ME, GUYS!"

Point taken.

It's not nice to make fun of people, and I shouldn't need a reminder from a kindergartener. By Sunday, I had groveled sufficiently and all was forgiven.

The hall was decorated with white teapots brimming with flowers. The welcome table boasted our white trash wedding pictures, a vintage pocket watch, and some nutty orange dancing teapots. The professionally framed watercolors from my sweet friend TJ Lubrano in the Netherlands were displayed on a table along with a framed copy of their story.

So picture this. Mama Bird connected with TJ and TJ painted Mark and me as characters from Alice in Wonderland. Including pictures with Gabby as the Cheshire Cat.

As if that wasn't enough cuteness to rot your teeth, look at my husband. I'm noticing that in every picture we seem to be mad happy grinning.

I found a sweet artist on Etsy who crafted me a nest necklace for Mama Bird, and I gave it to her this weekend as an itty bitty gesture of thanks. She did such a beautiful job putting everything together and she was so smiling and pretty.

My dad was awesome. He helped coordinate all the people and ran errands to keep things running. His speech was fantastic - I'm posting it soon. We have such a quirky relationship but I know he loves me, and I love him.

Neil's speech brought down the house. You'll die when you read it. I am so happy to have a brother I adore and I am so bombdiggity excited to pass NEIL AND REENA the family wedding baton.

I am still stupefied by the loveliness that was our weekend. Mark and I are very lucky in our lives right now.

Gabby is adjusting to her new place, with a legal mother. We had a brief incident our first day when she tried to run away from home. She made it to the porch, considered the consequences and marched back inside the house to resume napping. I think she'll recover fully, given some coddling and rest.

Mark and I are honeymooning lavishly in St. Paul, Minnesota.

We went to Target and bought vegetables and fruit.

And Chelsea Handler's newest book for me.

And a DVD for Mark.

We're going to the Como Zoo this morning, and then off on a little date this afternoon.

Tomorrow we're going to go hiking down by the river and have a picnic. It will be like camping but without tents and bugs and sleeping outside and shit.

Sunday we're going to the Renaissance Festival, courtesy of one of my favorite sunny uncles. I cannot wait to eat spinach pie and look at pottery and pet an elephant with my HUBBY.

Then Labor Day parties with friends.

Then some new and fantastic work.

Then my little pseudo-sister Heidi gets married.

Whose life is better than this today? I'm so HAPPY.

A Hot Wedding Mess

2011-08-30T14:55:00.108-05:00

Disclaimer: No more than three people will read this post in its entirety, but I am going to vomit it ALL up for posterity.

*******************************

My cousin's daughter, Hannah, popped out of bed at 4 AM on Saturday with two important questions.

"Mom, is it my wedding?" she asked.

"No, honey, it's Tricia's wedding."

"Well," Hannah demanded. "When do we paint my toenails?"

We kicked this weekend off with family parties - dinners, brunches, BBQs. Glasses were raised, food was abundant and Hannah's nails were did.

Piles of people, jostling and hugging. There may or may not have been a snorting symphony from three cousins falling all over each other laughing.

We got a little wild and had a rave in the basement, but the police parents shut the club down at 9 PM.

Sunday was the wedding and everything started out seamlessly.

My friend's sister wrestled my hair into a semblance of a pinup look and attached the fascinator I made. I was stuffed into an industrial strength strapless bra and wore blue JUST MARRIED undies. Because, really - a butt like mine should always be bedazzled.

I was lacquered in hairspray, zipped up and en route, Starbucks in hand. Life was good.

We arrived at the Garden Room to be greeted by a nervous blonde lady with alarmingly dark eye shadow. She informed us that our wedding coordinator - the lady with whom we'd made every arrangement - had up and walked out a couple days earlier, leaving Nervous Newbie in her place, with about 20% of the information written correctly in the file.

The hall wasn't set up. The food was not what we'd agreed upon and purchased. There was no sound system. The bartenders started pouring champagne 90 minutes early and we overheard people being charged for soda and champagne that had already been paid for.

We laughed, because it just seemed fitting that everything would be a hot mess and because what the mothereffenheimer else could we do?

So we laughed and laughed and laughed.

Our processional was drama ridden - we forgot to get a cue to start it. So I was hiding out with my folks and our brothers and the little kids while Mark stood in front of everyone uncomfortably until someone ran to check on us.

The little girls sashayed.

The little boy got bored and took a seat.

When I walked down the 'aisle' with my folks, there were a few steps down and our cumulative ass didn't fit, so we had a Three Stooges moment squishing ourselves into a single-file line.

The emergency sound system that we crudely rigged went haywire during the ceremony and began to blare Nina Gordon. So we laughed, shut it off and started over.

We fumbled through the ceremony this time, giggling and grinning, and when we exchanged rings, my husband whipped out a surprise ring combining two designs I'd fell in love with the first time we went out looking.

I shrieked like an animal.

Then we cried and kissed and I ran out of the room to splash cold water on my face before I passed out.

All of our friends began pouring in and the next few hours went by in a minute and a half. My dad gave a sweet, funny speech that was choking me up when my friend's four-year-old son stole his thunder by hollering

"When are you having a baby, Tricia!?"
and cracking half the room up.

My brother wrote a speech about my predilection toward trying to change his gender, simply because I used to dress him up as a girl when he was small because I wanted a sister. And because he was now my maid of honor.

Mark's grandma was retrieved from her senior housing for the occasion and she was super disappointed when the music died completely, leaving the reception awkwardly silent for the bulk of the afternoon.

While crouching down for a picture with the kids, six-year-old Abe looked earnestly into my eyes and said "Tricia, I see you're shaking a little. Are you feeling nervous?"

I laughed some more - and passed it off as nerves. I didn't want to admit to a kindergartener that my thighs were actually shaking from copping a squat.

From what I'm told, the food was good. People clucked over me all afternoon, racing off to bring me food and champagne. I swallowed an errant cheese cube, but every time someone handed me a plate, someone else hugged me and pulled me away.

I was fawned over like a celebrity and everyone told me how pretty I looked. One person even managed to gush three times how good I looked for A Big Girl, and it got tough to control the size of my head.

My only disappointment was how fast the time flew. Everywhere I looked there were people I love and I wanted to hog time with them all.

But we had to jet away on our posh honeymoon.

So far we've been to Dairy Queen and Target.

Please don't tip off the paparazzi. The wedding was absolutely PERFECT. And now we need our privacy.

DO NOT DISTURB!

PICS TO FOLLOW SOON!

Blended Families

2011-08-26T08:25:00.000-05:00

My Faithful Alarm Clock

I had a heart-to-heart with the other woman today.

It was time.

It had to be done.

I love Mark dearly, but I'm no homewrecker - I have to respect the facts. Gabby was here first.

She's a bit of a whore, though. After only two dates, she determined she was totally open for a polyamorous relationship with us.

Sex-free, of course. This isn't Savage Love.

Gabby adores me shamelessly and shares Mark selflessly. (Actually, she shares nothing. But she digs having a second someone around to worship her.)

I asked her today, quite solemnly, if she was comfortable with the level of commitment we're about to sign up for. She offered to sleep on it.

She considered the upsides:

      - Mom's pillow smells good
      - Mom gives bigger scoops of food
      - Mom has a snuggly butt

After an exhaustive analysis, Gabby returned the ballot.

She's voting YES to bispecial polyamorous marriage. She's ready to say I DO.

I'm Not Gonna Cry

2011-08-25T13:43:00.000-05:00

All along, Mark has been telling me that I will cry like a little bitch at the wedding. My response? Deny, deny, deny.

But it's not looking good.

I woke up with a suspicious lump in my throat today. Naturally, I knew it must be cancer, so I Googled it to learn about alternate treatment options that wouldn't cause my hair to fall out this weekend.

Turns out?

A lump in the throat doesn't mean cancer.

It means you might cry.

All of a sudden it hit me.

I'M GETTING MARRIED THIS WEEKEND.

My family is coming from all over. My crazy, wonderful, amazing family.

My friends will be there to hug me.

I get another family out of this deal. Another crazy, wonderful, amazing family. And bonus friends!

I will look ~~a'ight~~ ravishing.

My mama did this all for us.

And when it's over?

Mark will be my husband. My sexy, quirky, funny, silly guy - promising to be my best friend for always.

I think I'm gonna cry.

Bring on the Princesses!

2011-08-24T08:59:00.003-05:00

Even as I write this, my family all over the country is packing their bags to head to Minneapolis.

My cousin Rebecca has been packing for a month - not because she's high-maintenance (trust me on this) but because she's. So. Damned. EXCITED.

Her kidlets have very important roles in the wedding. Namely, to be cute as shit.

Hannah will be wearing a fascinator and carrying flowers, like the diva she is. She's forgiven me for dropping her on her head last Thanksgiving, which may or may not have had something to do with the chance to Dress Up.

(To anyone who uses my discount babysitting services, I would like to state that Hannah did not suffer a permanent traumatic brain injury after the accident. And also? Look at her - she doesn't need to be smart.)

Abe's role is a bit less clear, but we've decided it will require mass quantities of temporary tattoos. Since I doubt he's excited about the prospect of carrying a pillow, we figured he'd like to dress up, too. But his dad Tegan gets all uncomfortable when Abe wears tiaras and tulle, so tattoos it is.

Mark's two nieces will also be flower girls. The cuteness will be intoxicating and the heat will be off of me.

With three little princesses and a tattooed tough guy running amok, I could show up naked with track marks down my arms and it's doubtful anyone would notice.

If only I'd thought of that before wasting all that money on a dress.

Primping

2011-08-23T08:10:00.000-05:00

I'm very busy with last-minute spa rituals, so as to look refreshed and vibrant this weekend.

Gabby supervised while I iced my jaw with a bag of frozen shredded cheese. This is a little-known procedure that offers results not unlike a face lift.

OK, that's bullshit.

But it feels really, really good on my sore toof.

Luckily, others are getting primped in my place.

The flower girls got haircuts, my mother-in-law-to-be got a mani-pedi, and Mark trimmed his ear hair.

My preparations have been limited to gobbling antibiotics to soothe my infected face. And allergy meds, to soothe my pot-smoker-lookin' eyes. And extra birth control pills, to try to trick my period into not showing up for the occasion.

A month ago I fantasized about looking slim and stunning this weekend. At this point, I'll take infection-free and not bloated, thanks.

Ready or not, here comes the bride...

...and her traveling pharmacy.

Monday Marvels

2011-08-22T07:33:00.000-05:00

The Top Ten Reasons to Marvel over Monday, August 22nd

10. The root canal blew, but spending the evening with my man afterward being fed strawberry malts and having my feet massaged was pretty darn fine.

9. I'm grateful that Mama Bird's head hasn't blown off yet. I've never seen anyone fret so much over an event that she's organized masterfully and will quite obviously be perfect. It's odd how we're nothing alike.

8. I'm pleased I made it home safely from the dentist. I laughed off the idea of the Vicodin on Friday when he first brought it up. Guess the eleven shots of novocaine and the three and a half hours of laughing gas had me feeling all right and there's a slim chance I shouldn't have been operating a vehicle.

7. I seem to have made some inappropriate calls whilst high on nitrous, but I'm thankful that I barely know how to operate my phone, which limited the damage I could do.

6. I'm happy to have had a chance to spend some QT with Gabby this weekend, as I don't think she's going to be shown the proper amount of attention next weekend, what with the wedding and all.

5. I quite enjoyed making jewelry this weekend. I may have no fashion sense, but I am certainly sentimental. My bling for the wedding includes bits and pieces of jewelry made for me by friends all over the world. Each bauble has significance and is from someone special!

4. I'm quite thankful that my second backrub of the day yesterday was just as delightful as the first. Yay, Mark!
3. I'm grateful for this perfect weather, and hoping selfishly that it holds out for - oh, say another week or so.

2. I am so excited to be surrounded by such love. I have friends and family en route from all over the U.S. and I cannot wait to hug and kiss and squish on everyone!

And the number one reason to marvel over Monday, August 22nd?

1. This is my very last Monday Marvels list as a Miss. This time next week, I'll be a Mrs.!

Bite Me

2011-08-21T14:24:00.000-05:00

I've been working diligently all weekend on last minute wedding plans.

By taking Vicodin and napping.

My latest wedding plan?

Not look like a battered hobo.

Whilst grinding my teeth in the night, I split my molar right down to the pulp and set the nerves on fire with infection.

I must have a touch of anxiety.

So I spent six hours Friday inhaling copious amounts of nitrous and getting drilled in the face.

Emergency root canal.

Now I've spent Saturday and Sunday inhaling copious numbers of Dairy Queen malts and holding a frozen bag of shredded cheese on my face.

Emergency coddling.

I no longer hope to look lovelier in Mark's eyes than Kim Kardashian next week at our wedding.

I hope to look lovelier in Mark's eyes than a chipmunk that's been in a bar fight.

Choo Choo, All Aboard...

2011-08-18T21:40:00.000-05:00

I just realized a couple of days ago that I split a molar. My jaw feels like it took a wrench upside it. My gums ache and I have a sneaking suspicion I'm beginning to resemble a chipmunk.

Dudes...not the look I was hoping for.

Kim Kardashian is already totally stealing my thunder, getting married this weekend. Everyone in the world will see her rock some slinky wedding dress like a 50s porn star. Then, a few days later, I'll have my 15 minutes of fame in my own teeny tiny world....bearing a much closer resemblance to Roseanne in a sundress.

Fuck my life.

So I went to pop a mommy's little helper but I dropped it and lost it on the floor. Good to know that if Gabby the cat finds it she'll finally be able to relax a little.

I spent the evening cleaning up poop and puke, which seems unfair - I thought only moms had to do that shit, not neighbors. (Kidding, Leslie - anything for friends. xo)

Tomorrow I'm gonna start my day getting drilled in the face, only to be directly followed by being drilled in the bank account.

I stubbed three toes yesterday and came alarmingly close to rearending a European convertible worth roughly quadruple my annual salary.

Did I mention that my life is the best it's been in a long time? That I'm excited and happy and ready to start on my new adventures?

But it may be time to accept the fact that, even when I'm content, I'm always gonna be a bit of a train wreck barreling through life.

Chugga chugga chugga chugga...............

I Wonder...

2011-08-18T08:43:00.003-05:00

…if all those unknown calls on my cell I’ve been avoiding are actually Grey Goose, finally offering their sponsorship, rather than bill collectors?

…why ice cream men are still prowling the neighborhoods, and who sends their adorable little kid to go converse with a man in a van?

…how blind people know to find the Braille sign outside the bathroom telling them if it’s a men’s or women’s room?

…if dentists play with the nitrous tanks after hours?

…why I ever wanted to grow up when kids get their summers off?

…who invented air freshener, thinking that flowery poop smells better than regular poop?

…what the odds are that I’ll make it through the wedding reception wearing white without spilling on myself?

…why I would even wonder such a thing? Of course I’ll spill.

…how many of the famine victims could be fed with the twenty million dollars Kim Kardashian is spending on her wedding this weekend?

…how many of the famine victims could be fed if we simply filleted Kim Kardashian’s ass?

For Sale: Your Image Back

2011-08-17T10:03:00.000-05:00

Apparently Abercrombie & Fitch have offered substantial monetary incentive to the cast of Jersey Shore – to refrain from wearing their brand. They feel that the guidos and guidettes may tarnish their image. Considering this image includes low-rise jeans and pushup bras for ten-year-olds, this says quite a lot.

It excites me, though, to realize just how much potential there may be with this avenue.

Nobody has stepped up to sponsor our wedding. I was hoping that perhaps Grey Goose would want to host it, but they never returned my calls. Nor did Summit, Kristal or Mad Dog.

I guess I’ve simply been going about things wrong.

I may not have the visibility of the douchewads on Jersey Shore, but I too could do damage to a high-end brand, given the chance. Throw Mark into the equation and we could embarrass a brand name in front of dozens – dozens – of people.

Are you listening, Vera Wang?? Just think what it would do to your street cred if I were to stuff myself into one of your couture gowns and post the photographs on my blog. Hundreds of people could see the horrors.

Or I could advertise at the reception that my wedding body is courtesy of TrimSpa. They ought to be clamoring to denounce that announcement.

The clock is ticking, people.

You’ve got one week to contact me with your best offer to NOT wear your product or brand. Think very, very hard. What is it worth to you?

I’m thinking open bar, an appearance by Kid Rock and his guitar, and a honeymoon tour of Australia and Iceland - but I’m open to negotiation.

Feeding Frenzy

2011-08-16T08:48:00.001-05:00

From Mom: U need to come over and try ur dress on again and make sure the fit is good

I didn’t see the text right away because I was out of town for girls weekend.

Actually, I didn’t see the text right away because my face was buried in a rotisserie chicken that Leslie slow cooked over the campfire.

I’m disappointed in my mother. She broke the first rule of Girls Weekend.

We never, ever speak of The Fit.

Let’s review my weekend diet:

Chex Mix...

Raspberry (flavored beer)...

More Chex Mix...

Charred marshmallows...

Orange juice (with ~~copious amounts~~ a splash of champagne)...

More Chex Mix...

A chicken (to be fair, we shared and there were ample leftovers)...

Popcorn...

Pasta...

Vegetables (YAY, ME!)...

Did I mention Chex Mix?

So…yeah. We won’t be trying on The Dress again just yet. But thanks for the offer, Mom.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go try to deliver my food baby. I'm naming him Gold'n Plump.

Monday Marvels

2011-08-15T12:34:00.000-05:00

The Top Ten Reasons to Marvel over Monday, August 15th

Lips flapping in the breeze. What else
is a sunroof for?

10. I’m grateful for the free shower provided by the dog on the way up to the cabin. Seriously? Didn’t need to shower again until Sunday – she took care of hosing us both down…with drool.

9. I’m thankful we had the opportunity to work industriously on being as lazy as possible this weekend. Don’t think it’s easy being a slug – it took a lot of time and effort to rig up our tethers so that we could nap on our floaties on the lake without drifting away.

8. I’m grateful to the Mexicans for creating strawberry marshmallows. I don’t know why they are Mexican, but the bag was in Spanish, so whatever. Yum.

7. I’m happy that Grizzly – the bigger dog – didn’t drown me when he decided my floatie was big enough for two…and hurtled himself full speed off the dock into my lap. 90 pounds of brute force, and what felt like 765 sharp toenails – it was splendid.

6. I’m thankful, too, that Grizzly felt the need to spoon with me in bed both nights. His soggy lake stench was the perfect lullaby.

5. Did I mention that Grizzly makes cow noises? He moos. I’m so thankful that he mooed at me while watching me change into my bathing suit. Asshole.

4. I’m grateful for weekends where the only external stimulation comes in the form of watching the sun set over the lake.

3. I was so happy to come home to my Mark. No better way to end a weekend than at home with my guy.

2. I’m thankful our ghetto porch is getting a makeover – and I’ll be even more thankful if I don’t fall into the hole in the interim.
And the number one reason to marvel over Monday, August 15th?

1. DUDES! In thirteen short days, we’re getting married!

Girl, You'll Be A(n Old) Woman Soon...

2011-08-12T08:19:00.000-05:00

I’ve never been a fan of that dastardly mailman, but now he’s crossed the line. Yesterday, amidst the bills and the coupon circulars, there it was.

Woman’s Day magazine.

Yes, it was addressed to me.

No, it didn’t even include a complimentary AARP card.

What the h-e-double-hockey-stick? This Stepford thing is spiraling out of control.

YES.

I cook for my man.

YES.

I own an apron (but I totally still get street cred, since it has a cock on it).

YES.

I'll soon be married.

But this is ridiculous! This magazine is nothing but mom jeans, parenting advice and healthful recipes. How did I get on this mailing list? And more importantly, how do I get off?

I’m too young, too vibrant, too edgy for this magazine.

Right?

RIGHT?

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to pack.

Leslie and I are going to the cabin this weekend. I plan to wear freckles instead of makeup. I have a stack of USWeekly, some Chex Mix and a variety of fashionable sweatpants – and we’re absolutely delighted at the prospect of sleeping in before we gorge on carbs and gossip.

Maybe we'll exchange recipes.

Party on, people. Party on.

Fractures

2011-08-11T09:45:00.002-05:00

My family is stubborn, argumentative, loud, overbearing and opinionated with a tendency toward depression and substance abuse.

I cannot wait to see them!

Did I mention that this is the more functional side of the family? The family born from a schizophrenic mother and a father who died young - quite possibly of utter exhaustion.

The other side of my family is so fractured it can never be whole again. From the rubble of destruction, though, some of us have been picking up pieces.

One by one.

Year by year.

Every piece has sharp edges and they slice deeply, but we’re picking them up slowly and trying to cobble together a new family from the wreckage.

I have no grandparents to watch me wed.

Two were dead before I knew them. The other two molested my body and battered my brain, then wrote me off for dead 22 years ago.

So to my broken and brokenhearted family, I say this: THANK YOU!

Thank you for traveling from all over to stand beside me in a couple of weeks.

It will be uncomfortable. It will be awkward. Families often are. But it means the world to me that some of you will stand with me. It helps soothe the sting that others will not.

We don't choose our blood, but every day we make choices. We can choose how to treat our family. We can choose to hide our pasts or to live out loud. We can choose to love the ones we can. We can choose to let go of the ones we can't.

It's time for me to let go and just give thanks for what's left of my family.

It is enough.

Playing Doctor

2011-08-10T10:28:00.001-05:00

I had a revelation, which is basically comparable to a Ph.d.

While meeting with the wedding coordinator, I experienced a moment of panic when I realized that there are approximately 100 steps to get down to our reception area. This does not bode well for me on the big day.

Have we met?

I have a bionic leg. I gave myself two (count em, TWO) concussions in the space of a week. I fall down stairs and sidewalks. My legs are scabbier than those of an average five-year-old boy. I had three sets of stitches this spring.

Last weekend I burned myself on the arm – making a salad.

I have scars from the trampoline park and a wayward sparkler over the 4th of July.

But I’ve finally figured it out.

Diagnosis: moderately retarded

This is great news.

It means it’s no longer PC for you to laugh at me when I fall, and it excuses my sorry state of success in life.

It also means that I probably ought to strap on a helmet, roll myself into a bubble wrap burrito and lay down on the couch from now until the wedding.

And if any of you know of a medication I can take to unretard myself, please let me know immediately.

The Times, They Are A-Changin'

2011-08-09T15:13:00.001-05:00

My life is changing drastically for the better, and quickly.
I’m marrying my ~~tough~~ lover in a mere 18 days. There will be no more posts allowing you to date tragically and vicariously through me.

I’m working diligently on that whole Not Being a Train Wreck thing, so my hopes are that there will be ~~no more~~ fewer posts about drunken debacles, emotional breakdowns or selling myself on the street corner to pay for Ramen and rent. As someone I love recently told me, it’s time for me to do a little less trying and a little more doing.

I won a gigantic TV, so if I continue being broke (but not poor), my worries of impending homelessness will not be realized – I can always move into the box the TV came in. I have a Go Girl, so the box can even be furnished with a mobile bathroom.

I spent this past weekend cuddling babies, hugging family, and laughing and crying (may have been wine-induced) with friends. We had three BBQs and a surprise engagement party. We celebrated with coworkers, my family, his family and our friends. We were gifted with a flat-screen, some cash and a grill large enough to cook hot dogs for all of the world's famine victims.

My posts would probably be funnier if I told you more about the handmade engagement aprons, which were decorated with iron-on decals of jelly jars and a rooster, and a romantic quote when we donned them and stood side by side. Something about JAMMING a ROOSTER down my throat - I don’t get it.

Instead I’m telling you about my Continual Improvement Plans, because the blessings are coming hard and fast (SHIT! Now I get it. Gross, guys!) and I can’t be funny right now. I’m too busy trying to breathe deeply and accept all this love graciously.

I have other big news as well, but the time isn’t right just yet.

NO.

I’m not pregnant. (I’m just fat¸ you assjacks.)

Shame Tastes Like Shit

2011-08-08T21:08:00.000-05:00

Today I realized something important.

Mark and I need each other.

We love each other and we have fun together and we try to bring out the best in each other. And frankly, we can both be really obnoxious and we need one another's bossiness to rein in our shitty behavior.

Mark ~~not so~~ gently made sure I understood that I acted like a douchebaguette.

My friends generously threw us a huge party to celebrate our upcoming wedding. I drank 150 glasses of wine, overstayed my welcome and just generally annoyed the hell out of most of the people I love.

I even wrote a shitty excuse for a blog post reporting back on one of the best weekends I've ever been lucky enough to have - because I was hungover. Mark scolded me sternly and wrote a rather thorough list of things I ought to have told everyone I was thankful for.

So I'm humbly apologizing to my dear friends Carrie and Matt for repaying their kindness with my sloppy state of inebriation.

Now I will leave you all with Mark's list of what I should have expressed my sincere gratitude for today.

I'm going to go sit in the corner and think about what I did.

***********
Mark's Monday Marvels

(Ghostwritten as though he were Tricia)

I will try to do my best to make it at least somewhat sound like you, but not pervy k :) OR if you wanna let your readers know that I am filling in due to your barfo rama hangover. Up to you either way and I don't know now why I am typing in this font , great. Whose drunk again here ?!?!?

10. Friday, who doesn't love getting off work early to go to a company picnic ?!

9.Seriously folks, you should see my ring. I know , I know lots of other married women wear rings, but I LOVE mine !!! I have the greatest guy ( insert nice pic of me here :) )

8. Nothing beats having to work an hour at your own company picnic. Thankfully, I think, I was put in charge of the fake tattoo and hair glitter booth. Nothing beats wathfcing little kids squirm when you tell them it's really gonna hurt. Or spraying kids hair silver, then realizing 3 hours later with alcohal infused glitter sweat in your eyes, how much it really really burns !!!

7. Again, hate to brag. BUT, the man does go get me my iced coffee AND 6 grain oat meal with almonds without me asking or him complaining. Because secretly he likes going because then HE also gets his carmel frappicino and oatmeal as well.

6. Babies, babies, babies every where at the company picnic. Seriously folks, who has the loud clock ticking , cause I can't seem to hear mine over the babies laughing.

5. I guess, I have to admit it, I am a bit lousy sometimes at this whole wife in training bullshit. My man got asked to play soft ball in the Championship game cause he looks like he can play. Unknowingly to me, the boy hasn't played softball in about 7 years. I heard he made the 2nd out of the game, fly ball, but then overthrew the first base player, allowing 2 runs to score in the first, yeah way to go stud. His first at bat was a disaster. First swing, whiff nothing but air, like Jordan, Jordan played baseball right ?!?! So, everything is going great, I now instead turn my attention to the said baby I was now engaged with. I played with the baby and the game went on, meanwhile I guess the story goes that the team my boy was on needed one run to win the game and split of a large sum of money. with 2 guys on base, one to tie, the other wins, with 2 outs, guess whose batting ....yup my boy. I had no clue, baby was giggling and laughing and I was to enthralled with the tiny bundle of joy. My boy smacked the hell outta the ball, scoring both runners and getting a triple. the crowd roared, and I went yeah, so what happened ? Who won ? Yeah, sadly I had to tell him I wasn't watching. Bad Tricia :(

4. Free food, Picnics 3 exactly in ONE WEEKEND , and babies. Have I mentioned I am really loving babies ?!?!

3. Seeing family and friends from BOTH sides of our soon to be combined families. It's soooooooooooo true, CAN pick your friends, but family is a whole nother ball park. Thankfully, we love each others families just as much as each other, bleh, cue harps ?!?!

2. At said company picnic among being a horrible wife in training, I happened to redeem myself quite well, or dumbluck. Either way I am taking credit as it was MY name that was called for the GRAND prize. Yeah, I came home slightly irratated in the fact that my man was grinning so bad, it was a candy store, sugar induced, strip club like high effect on him, this man has never, repeat NEVER smiled a much we he found out that " WE " won a brand new 46 inch flat screen hd tv. Sigh, it's bad enough men run around an cheat on there wives behind there back. Mine, is just gonna do it in front of me now.

1. The last picnic of Sunday brought me to my very dear friend Carries. I thought it was just gonna be a hang out of a few people, drinks, food, good deal. Nope, instead Mark an I were surprised to find the house full of people. Friends, family all together to celebrate the upcoming marriage. When I am done laughing or puking, which ever comes first, you will see the new aprons that we had custom made for us as gifts, to go along with the new grill everyone helped pitched in for. Seriously, the thought of being a domesticated house wife doesn't sound half bad. I can see it all now, cleaning house, calling my soon to be hubby at work " what would you like for dinner tonight hon ? ", baby on the other hip, yeah that seems somewhat appealing. Oh wait, I can do all of that AND work from home you say, thanks alot.

Monday Marvels

2011-08-08T08:25:00.000-05:00

I had an amazing weekend and would love nothing more than to write out a top ten list to gloat about it...

but...

but...

but...

I pickled myself in red wine at the surprise shower that my lovely friends hosted yesterday and I'm too busy concentrating on not vomiting again to format a decent post.

So you're just going to have to write your own damn top ten list today, people. Unless you have copious quantities of Excedrin and Vitamin Water, I have nothing more to say.

Peace out.

I Got Boned

2011-08-06T17:51:00.000-05:00

Sometimes life just throws you a bone.

Yesterday was only a half-day in the office. We shut down at noon for our annual party, a company picnic.

I had offered to volunteer and I was tasked with manning the tattoo table. I spent 90 minutes applying hearts and skulls to sticky children and spraying their hair with glitter. This was delightful until we learned that glittery hairspray-flavored sweat in the eyes feels like salty razor blades.

Mark was recruited for the softball tournament, which gave me an excuse to sit with a coworker's wife and shnoogle her three-month-old baby girl. Apparently Mark made some MVP shot at the end to drive in the winning runs but I was raspberry-raping the baby's fat little cheeks and didn't see the play. I did, however, see the fifty dollar bills handed out to each player on the championship team.

Then I ate some potato salad and won a 46" flatscreen TV.

Er....what?

I didn't even see it up there until the bullhorn sounded my name and everyone cheered. The guys crowded around Mark congratulating him on winning the new TV and Mark tried to conceal his boner.

We came home to our 92" rental house and I basked in the contentment of a perfect start to a weekend. Mark tenderly unwrapped the giant TV, stroking it and murmuring sweet nothings in its box.

I fell asleep last night heavy with gratitude and peace.

I'm marrying my lovemuffin in three weeks. I know, deep within my core - my heart and my soul, that this man will never cheat on me.

Because he's never going to get off the couch now that we have a TV the size of a short bus.

The Bachelor

2011-08-05T08:46:00.000-05:00

I had a bunch of stuff to do last night, so Mark was a bachelor for the evening.

Left unsupervised, we all know what men do, right?

Surf porn?

Drink beer?

Night out on sniffer's row at the local club?

I got home last night and Mark was watching a documentary...and wearing his wedding ring.

"Excuse me?" I asked. "We're not married yet, babe."

"I know," he replied sweetly. "I like it and I'm just practicing!"

God, I love this man.

OMG WTF is gng on!?

2011-08-04T10:50:00.002-05:00

Did you hear about the cop who was called to the daycare center? There was a three-year-old resisting a rest.

Words.

They’re tricky little buggers. Used wisely, they can convey love and humor, pain and sorrow. Used wrong, you have to eat them – and frankly, they taste like shit.

With the influx of convenience technology, communications have suffered immensely. Most people can’t communicate effectively even with limitless words so is it any wonder that texting and Tweeting is crippling us socially?

The first few years I used texts, I refused to use shorthand. My texts were grammatically correct and included proper punctuation. It took me fourteen text messages to invite a friend over for cocktails, and by the time she arrived my thumbs were too sore to lift the shaker and she was offended by my reference to cock.

I’ve caved.

I LOL now.

When I’m texting.

But the virus has spread. It’s infecting emails and Facebook.

The typical status update of a teenager now reads something like this:

Omg wtf did we do last nt? roflmao! Srsly ;p

The children of today won’t be able to cnstrct a sntnce, and their children will have gigantic thumbs and communicate solely via computers and the occasional grunt.

I have clients now who tell me to ‘just text them’ about their projects.

Um…………………………………………..?

OMG ur prjct is lt! :( Will 2mrw wrk instd? Thx 4 ur ptnc, I know its been awhl

And of course, iPhones helpfully rewrite your shorthand for you. I can see myself hurriedly sending this to a client:

OMG u prick a lot! :( Will tomorrow wreck instead? Thanks four your pittance, I know it’s been an asshole.

I fear for our future.

OMG the wrld is endg! LOL oh well ttyl

Mom in Training

2011-08-02T09:02:00.000-05:00

In the manner of cats everywhere, as soon as I wrote about how Gabby pins me into the bed at night, she stopped doing so - to prove me wrong, no doubt. After she read my post, she clearly realized that she wasn't taking full advantage of the available real estate.

Now she sleeps on my pillow. Technically, she starts each night by sleeping on my head but once I fall into dreamland, she edges me out. I now wake each morning to a mouthful of fur and a crick in my neck.

Diva that she is, she's also taken to waking me up once or twice each night...so I can pet her back to sleep.

Mark used to feed her each morning at 4:30 when he leaves for work, but Gabby decided that's too early to disrupt her beauty sleep. I suppose she's extra tired after her midnight massage.

So her new morning routine is this:

     4:30 AM - Ignore Mark, pretend to remain asleep
     4:40 AM - Mark leaves
     4:45 AM - Wake up mom, howl to be fed immediately

Excuse me, Gabby??

Does the kibble taste better when you interrupt my sleep to pour it for you? Do you have a problem with Mark's technique? What the fuckety fuck?

I smell collusion.

I'm no fool.

Mark's asked her to train me on how to get up forty times a night, like you do with a baby.

Monday Marvels

2011-08-01T08:57:00.000-05:00

The Top Ten Reasons to Marvel over Monday, August 1st

10. I'm thankful that Leslie shared the brownie that her New Lover baked and brought over for her.

9. (I'm grateful that it wasn't a roofie brownie. That could have been awkward.)

8. I'm relieved that my head wasn't splattered across the blacktop like a pumpkin during our Friday night motorcycle ride.

7. I'm happy I found a sweet little retired lady to alter my dress - it only took two minutes of pinning and 58 minutes of dicussing her grandchildren.

6. I'm thankful that Mama Bird's hair didn't turn purple when I dyed it on Saturday. She's a bit...mature for the shock rock look.

5. I'm grateful to Gabby for holding down the bed all weekend. I was concerned it might escape while Mark and I left it unsupervised.

4. I'm excited to see Carrie and crew this weekend, and swim with Avery in his pool if he doesn't enforce his sizist rules and kick me out for being too big. Fat people like to swim, too, jackass!

3. Seriously. I'm stoked to swim in the kiddie pool. This kid better not let me down.

2. I'm still reeling at the support I felt last week on stage - you know you are loved when your family and friends come to some shit like that. Nobody wants to listen to fifteen people reading monologues.

And the number one reason to marvel over Monday, August 1st?

1. I got to see my wedding ring and... IT. IS. STUNNING. I'm stunned. My man is stunning. The ring is stunning. We're getting married in 27 days, and the wedding is going to be...stunning.

Riding Bitch

2011-07-30T15:54:00.000-05:00

I'm not a fan of motorcycles because I'm a Nervous Nellie Mother Hen who acts more like a member of AARP than a woman in the (reputed) prime of her life. Looking back, I'm not certain when the fun got sucked out of my heart by the anxiety.

Mark had his dad's cruiser for the day and informed me we'd be going for a ride. I considered it worriedly for a couple of hours, mind-fondling various excuses I could use as to why I couldn't go. I knew he was crazy excited - he aches for a bike. He works a ton of overtime to help take care of us instead of spending money on himself or saving for a new ride.

I'm of the belief that it's an enormous sign of respect to ride with someone on a motorcycle. You are quite literally putting your life in their hands, and praying against random idiots and flukey circumstances, as well.

I climbed on the back.

I clutched his hips with my thighs and spent the first three minutes trying to breathe as I envisioned my new life as a noodle-neck in my wheelchair, sucking my meals through a straw.

And suddenly I decided to let the fun back in. I just...let it in. I hadn't even realized I'd been warding it off lately with my perpetual worries.

I took a deep breath and relaxed my vise grip on his waist, which allowed me to better grope my sexy's abs*.

It's been a steamy Minnesota summer (they happen, dude) and the sun was warm on my back. We rode through leafy bluffs and I felt like I could smell every single tree, the evening breeze snapping at my face. I couldn't hear a thing but the wind and the hum of the bike.

When I closed my eyes, it felt like I was flying.

*This? I should definitely not be telling you, I can hear his head swelling from here.

Why Losing is Winning

2011-07-29T08:03:00.000-05:00

The more I think about it, it's probably a good thing I didn't win the short story contest. I've seen stronger folk than myself brought to their knees by fame and fortune.

$750 is a dangerous sum of money and I surely would have self-destructed. Hookers, blow, maybe the electric bill - I'd have pissed it all away.

And really, who wants to deal with the paparazzi every day? It's bad enough that my man has seen me without makeup, I don't think USWeekly could handle it.

Wait - what?

There would be no paparazzi?

No riches?

No book deal and sponsorship?

Crap.

I really could've used that $750, then.

Time to activate Plan B. I have to find a second job. Need a babysitter? For a small additional sum, I also promise not to read them my dirty story submission at bedtime.

I do respect that parenting must be a lot of work, and I wouldn't want to put you in this position.

Little Johnny, perplexed, in his jammies: "Mom, what does fisting mean?"

Drumroll, Please...

2011-07-28T11:12:00.000-05:00

I came.

I saw.

I read.

I didn’t trip.

I didn’t stutter.

I didn’t win.

My story was one of the runners up and was published today in Vita.Mn. Click here if you’d like to read it.

Thank you to all my lovely friends who were there to cheer me on. I love you guys for taking the time out of your busy lives to come support me.

XOX,
Me

I'm a Winner

2011-07-27T08:12:00.000-05:00

What's the point of living in America, a democracy, if I can't even rig a local contest??

Because I am ~~desperately broke~~ an aspiring writer and a validation whore, I've been shamelessly begging everyone I've ever met to come to my reading tonight and vote for my story. The UPS guy already has plans and the clinic asked me to please stop leaving messages for my doctor while he's in surgery.

There are seven and a half Benjamins at stake tonight if I can read my story without snorting - and generate enough votes from the crowd. Should be a cinch, what with all my friends and family coming, right?

Right?

Except that they aren't necessarily gonna vote for me.

WTF!?

My fiance, my beloved, my hubby-to-be has informed me that he will have to wait to see which story is his favorite. Um, excuse me? Would this be the same fiance who has already claimed rights to 50% of the prize money based on the fact that the story is about humping him? Yes, yes it would - it's the very same guy.

My father is refusing to commit his vote until the event is over and he has reviewed The Options.

My brother hasn't even agreed to come - he has to check his schedule.

Now, I'm no fool, I realize that this is partly a writing contest, partly a popularity contest and probably partly a Whose Boobs Look Best While They're Reading contest. Since I clearly can't rely on my writing or my support system, it's time to break out the sisters and make sure they're looking their best.

Anyone available to perform a last minute boob job, free of charge? I'll totally give you boob credit if I win.

And if you're here in town, and willing to vote for me purely to shut me the hell up, please come on over to the Brave New Workshop in Minneapolis and cheer me on!

We Clean Up Nicely

2011-07-26T14:00:00.000-05:00

Huh.

Our mamas weren't quite as excited as we were about our White Trash engagement shoot.

Not sure if it was the liquor in paper bags, or the platinum whore hair, but I guess we didn't really nail the Christmas card picture they were hoping for.

So to appease our elders, we met my girl Courtney Conk for a slightly more ~~boring~~ traditional shoot. Even when she isn't pushing boundaries, Courtney produces amazing work.

I rarely pimp people out on my blog (except my neighbor), but...

...if you live in the Twin Cities and need a photographer, you've gotta call Courtney.

Getting married for the sixth time?

CALL HER!

Need a senior picture

with your Camaro and your electric guitar?

CALL HER!

Want some sexy boudoir shots for

your ~~lover~~ husband?

Seriously, call her.

The Lemon Law

2011-07-26T09:47:00.001-05:00

There's an old saying that when life hands you lemons, make lemonade. I prefer vodka, but whatever.

My life has been absurd lately. Nothing epic, nothing newsworthy, just one little fumble after another - and sometimes that gets me down. Other times, like yesterday, it just makes me laugh like a lunatic.

Payday came and went and some commissions I was expecting fell through. By this I mean our accounting department didn't process the paperwork in time, so the commissions will simply be added to the next payroll in two weeks.

Sounds simple, right?

Unless, of course, you are counting on that money to, you know, buy frivolities like toilet paper and ramen noodles.

But an angel intervened and wrote me a small check to tide me over, so off I sputtered on fumes to the bank to cash it so I could go fill up my alarmingly low gas tank...

Except I couldn't cash the check...

Because my bank was on fire.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go stand on a street corner with a cardboard sign. I'm hoping for some vodka, it makes the lemonade taste better.

Monday Marvels

2011-07-25T08:23:00.000-05:00

The Top Ten Reasons to Marvel over Monday, July 25th

10. I'm thankful for homemade pesto and I'm quite certain my cooking is not what made Mark sick yesterday.

9. I'm grateful for Sunday morning coffee with old girlfriends, which is much churchier than church could ever be.

8. I'm happy that the dew points have dropped enough that my kneecaps have stopped sweating.

7. I'm excited to see that I've lost four inches in the ~~boobs~~ torso, which is surely a result of being at the gym four times a week, and not from sweating out 20 pounds of water weight.

6. I'm hyped to see the rest of Courtney's pictures from our White Trash engagement shoot, and the pretty photos we took yesterday to make up for them.

5. I'm relieved that my getting up early on a Saturday to be productive didn't disrupt Miss Diva and her beauty sleep.

4. I'm thankful for my smart, sensitive bloggy friends like Jill, who send me wonderful, perfect, encouraging notes when I'm burying my face in the pillow ignoring the world.

3. I'm really grateful I wasn't in the car with Leslie yesterday when she saw a motorcycle get creamed. Honey, I hope you slept OK last night.

2. I'm so thankful for Mama Bird, who is turning out to be one heckuva wedding planner - get the hell outta her way!

And the number one reason to marvel over Monday, July 25th?

1. In three days, the short story contest will be over and I will no longer be stressing about getting up on a stage and publicly reading a story about fisting. Hopefully I'll be too busy counting my $750 cash prize.

MIA

2011-07-24T15:34:00.000-05:00

I've been MIA for a few days because - well, frankly, I've been curled in the fetal position trying to meditate myself into a state of ~~sedation~~ calm.

I have a touch of anxiety from time to time. By this, I mean it swallows me alive for hours on end. I'm a born worrier and it's exhausting to direct so very much energy at hypothesizing worst-case scenarios. If you're ten minutes late, I fret that you've been in an accident. By the time you're twenty minutes late, I'm writing your eulogy in my head.

It's bothersome.

People should come equipped with a FEELINGS knob that can be adjusted to manageable levels, because I swear I have a knob somewhere inside my head that is cranked up a little too high to be considered normal.

I've been feeling overwhelmed lately. I have no excusable reason - my life is no more stressful than yours, I'm sure. But sadness has been swarming me. I look at the news and notice only the tragic stories. I worry about my job, as most of America does. I hurt for the people who have been out of work and struggling to make ends meet. I am one of those many.

I didn't write anything for a few days because this blog is where I try to mostly share things that make me laugh. I haven't laughed much this weekend but it's beautiful outside right now.

I'm going to go enjoy the sun on my face and just take a deep breath.

I'm going to go laugh.

Welcome to the Gun Show

2011-07-21T08:26:00.000-05:00

Yesterday whilst driving I glanced down and noticed a hard bulge in my arm.

OH MY GAWD, A TUMOR!

I immediately panicked, which is my standard reaction to most things in life. Tears welled at the thought of marrying the love of my life just in time for him to watch me die an excruciating, bald, cancerous death.

Further inspection, though, ruled out the need for blood tests and CAT scans.

Turns out?

It's my tricep.

Apparently I'm growing muscles under the chub.

And now, we will be switching to lighter weights and higher reps. There's never been risk of anyone calling me lean or delicate, but this is a wedding, not the WWE. I knew that I couldn't correct a lifetime of slovenly eating habits and holding down the couch in a mere few months, but I was hoping to slim down a bit for the occasion.

Because, really - it would be embarrassing if I look like I should be carrying Mark over the threshold.

Here's a Tip: DON'T

2011-07-20T10:21:00.002-05:00

Wikipedia defines a gratuity as a ‘voluntary extra payment made to certain service sector workers in addition to the advertised price of the transaction’.

Note the word voluntary.

I’m a generous tipper. I’ve only withheld a tip in a restaurant twice in my life, both in instances of incredibly poor and very rude service. And even then, the guilt chewed at me the rest of the night.

But I didn’t tip the Vagina Beater. I had my fourth laser appointment and almost crumpled in dismay when I saw that the blowtorch lady was working again. I tipped her last time, even as the tears rolled down my cheeks and the wisps of smoke were still curling out of my panties.

Here's how I calculated the appropriate gratuity...

Pity payment: + $20
I don’t want to spend my days pinching and pulling random labia, or spreading people’s butt cheeks.

Customer service: + $10
She’s unnaturally sweet and chatty, considering the above.

Technique: - $10,000
Bitch, you’re holding a laser. A little less talky, a little more aim-y, please. The love button has a higher concentration of nerve endings than any other place on the female body, and you just zapped mine. Yes, I’m shedding tears of pain, but I’m also grieving the loss of all functioning nerves down south.

Finish: -100
I've been wiping myself since I was three. I didn't need help then, and I damn sure don't need help now.

So, according to my figures, she owes me $10,070 for punitive damages to the future of my love life. She’ll be hearing from my lawyer, once I can waddle my way to the telephone to hire one.

Sold Out: HOPE

2011-07-19T09:02:00.002-05:00

You know that feeling of WINNING you experience when you pull on a coat for the first time since last year and find a twenty in the pocket??

It’s 175 degrees here. I’d be more apt to tuck ice cubes in my bra than to put on a coat, but I cleaned my car out yesterday and found a scratch-off lottery ticket worth $10.

I fist-pumped.

I did a little dance.

I shouted gleefully.

$10 buys a lot of ramen, you know.

Although it’s too hot outside for ramen, so I’d probably buy bread and peanut butter.

Except it’s a moot point because I live in Minnesota, where our government couldn’t get along so they are on summer vacation.

I don’t know about you, but when I can’t play nice with my coworkers I get fired. What I do not get is a lengthy paid vacation (18 days and counting).

One of the many things shut down in Minnesota right now is the lottery, which means that my found $10 is useless.

And also?

I can’t buy a Powerball ticket.

Not that I have a dollar to buy one, but if I could turn in my $10 winner, I could buy bread and peanut butter and still probably have enough for a QuickPick – also known as hope.

Our state has stopped selling hope.

Without our absurd fantasies of becoming instant millionaires, what have we got left?
Not $10, that’s what.

White Trash Americana

2011-07-18T08:12:00.000-05:00

So Mark and I were standing out on the front porch recently, and he mentioned that the porch looked really trashy. I agreed.

Until he said he thought it looked trashy because of the plants.

Um? The tomatoes and cilantro and flowers

that the neighbor planted look trashy?

No, perhaps it’s our pickle jar of cigarette butts.

Or the rotting porch floor.

Or…dare I say it? Us.

Clearly our inner white trash was dying to get out, so we embraced it and had our engagement shoot this weekend. It was 95 degrees and muggy, so we knew we couldn't take traditional pictures anyway with our swampy asses and greasy faces.

Have I mentioned how much I love Courtney Conk? And how excited I am to see what she comes up with for our wedding pictures? Our families will be so proud.

Stage Fright

2011-07-16T12:06:00.000-05:00

Reality is setting in.

I have to read my dirty story on a stage.

With a microphone. And dodge tomatoes. And not cry if I get heckled. And most crucially, not snort. I have the emotional IQ of a tweenager and dirty words still make me snicker.

Luckily, the venue holds only 200, so we're not talking about a stadium crowd - and perhaps only eleven people will show up.

But I still don't think I can wing this one. I'm going to need to rehearse.

I drafted a board of review and outlined the assignment:

     - Listen carefully to my reading

     - Provide constructive criticism

     - Wrap said criticism neatly in a bow and dip it in sugar

I stood tall and proud and read my story clearly, enunciating all the naughty bits and practicing my I'm An Adult face. As my maiden performance wound into its stunning finale, I eagerly consulted the board for my feedback.

This was the board's response:

Let's Talk About Sex

2011-07-15T15:21:00.001-05:00

I entered a short story contest here in Minneapolis and Vita.mn selected me as a finalist, which means that I get to play Little League Carrie Bradshaw for a night. Dudes!

Wanna come hear me read a short story?

You can have cocktails first so I'm funny.

Please come.

The story is about sex.

Now, do you wanna come?

And there's a burlesque show, boys and bis...

You're totally coming, right?

I am in dire need of the ~~$750 Grand Prize~~ emotional support of my friends. I have to get up and say the word fisting on a stage in front of strangers - and my parents - without snorting.

CLICK HERE
FOR DETAILS:

PLEASE HELP!

News of the Feared

2011-07-14T10:38:00.001-05:00

In today’s news, a little boy in Brooklyn was abducted while walking home and dismembered.

A California woman drugged her ex, cut off his peter, and stuffed it down the garbage disposal.

Two crazies in Vermont were charged with animal cruelty after being caught living with 80 cats...in their two cars.

A security guard at the Twins stadium scolded two lesbians for kissing at a ball game, hurling bible passages like stones.

And, as discussed yesterday, Minnesota is running out of booze!

Surely you can understand why I like to play Pollyanna Ostrich sometimes and pretend the world doesn’t exist.

Where do these people come from?

I come from bloodlines peppered with mental illness. Schizophrenics, depressives, alcoholics and Vikings fans. I’ve spent the better part of my life battling anxiety and often wondering if I am – or will be – crazy, too.

But a quick skim of the headlines assuages me.

Never, ever have I had the urge to slice off a boy’s head, or a boyfriend’s penis. I like cats, but only in moderation. And with all the dumbasses falling out of the stands at ballparks lately, I’d be far more concerned with being injured by a flying middle-aged man than being traumatized by a girl-on-girl kiss.

So, while I do concede gratitude that the daily news makes me feel decidedly stable and ordinary, it terrifies me to realize just how many crazies are out there walking among us.

Be careful out there, folks, it’s a mighty scary world. Wear a nut cup and carry your own flask. You never know who wants to cut off your cock - or your cocktails.

Prohibition

2011-07-13T11:08:00.002-05:00

I’m as politically ambivalent as they come, which may or may not be a fancy way of saying that I’m ignorant. My only real worry with the Minnesota government shutdown was making certain that Mark and I got our marriage license beforehand. We did, and I’ve been breathing easily since.

Until I heard that Minnesota may run out of alcohol.

This?

Is a problem.

Because in case you didn’t know from my brand-new countdown widget – I’m getting married in a few weeks.

Have you ever been to a dry reception?

People eat dinner and then they leave.

This presents an issue, since we aren’t serving dinner. Our reception is on a Sunday afternoon and we’re having a dessert bar with coffee and champagne.

MY kinda wedding cake...

The bubbly is the only lubrication at this shindig.

There’s no DJ or string quartet.

No dry chicken and no chicken dance.

Just a bunch of people eating sweets and mingling. I don’t know about you, but I mingle a helluva lot better with a Big Gulp of champagne in one hand.

So my highly educated opinion on current Minnesota politics is this:

You jerk-offs have shut down because you can't agree on anything. Kindergartners are put in time-out for the same infraction, but they still have to go to school.

You've laid off thousands more Minnesotans. Many of you legislators are still collecting a paycheck, although the elderly who rely on Social Security checks are in jeopardy of not having their bingo money.

But enough is enough.

If Minnesota runs outta champagne before the wedding, there will be a riot. You’ve been warned.

My Sexy Abs

2011-07-12T09:20:00.001-05:00

I disguised him.
You know,
for privacy.

I have mixed feelings about my personal trainer.
On the one hand, he’s hot and I like to sleep with him. On the other hand, he’s a big, mean sadist jerk and I’d like to punch him…but I can’t lift my arms.

Mark is one of Those People I ~~hate~~ would like to be. His alarm goes off at the asscrack of dawn and he bounces out of bed, fully coherent and functional. He’s brimming with energy and he enjoys working out.

I am one of the Other People. You know the ones. The ones who remain burrowed in bed until Those People would call it 'mid-day'.

The ones who can’t function without injectable caffeine.

The ones who count cuddling as their cardio. (What? It burns calories!)

The ones who will never, ever enjoy going to the gym. Except when I’m exiting.

Mark’s been working with me on a routine for quite a while now, and we’re finally seeing results.

As for him, the ~~barking~~ coaching has strengthened his core muscles and helped to define his abs. As for me, well…just look at how sexy I’m looking these days.

But on the upside, the crying has lubricated my eyeballs. And I’m pretty sure I lost some weight vomiting last night after split training.

~~This wedding dress~~ my health had better be worth it.

Monday Marvels

2011-07-11T09:13:00.001-05:00

The Top Ten Reasons to Marvel over Monday, July 11th

10. I’m thankful that we had a four-legged dinner guest on Saturday.

9. Gabby was thankful when our dinner guest went home.

8. I’m pleased to have found some ~~sexy~~ industrial undergarments for beneath my dress.

7. I’m grateful that I got to spend my Sunday afternoon doing girl crafts with my friend Leslie.

6. I’m happy to have found the perfect flaming Mo to style my hair for the wedding. I knew this guy was made for me because he was wearing a Running with Scissors t-shirt and excused himself to vomit while setting my appointment.

5. I’m delighted to have discovered Peggle, a video game perfectly matched for my electronic skill level. Yes, it may be marketed at four-year-olds, but screw you. It has unicorns and rainbows.

4. I’m relieved to assume these headpieces will look a bit cuter on the little girls at the wedding.

3. I’m grateful to the first person who ate a morel mushroom to determine whether they are poisonous or edible. My sincere thanks to you, sir. (It had to be a guy – no woman would be that stupid.)

2. I’m happy I got to spend some quality time with Mama Bird this weekend.

And the number one reason to marvel over Monday, July 11th?

1. I’m incredibly thankful that Mark bought an 8000-BTU window unit air conditioner so we can sleep without curling up in a sweaty puddle.

Hang in There, Baby

2011-07-08T09:22:00.001-05:00

Dear Rhonda Byrnes from The Secret,

Suck it.

This optimism thing isn’t working.

I’m trying, I really am. But even Pollyanna has a breaking point.

The phone rang last night, and I happily visualized the outcome. Clearly it was Vita.MN, calling to tell me I’m the winner of the summer short story contest – and man, do I need that $750.

Positive visualization.

Right?

Isn’t that supposed to do some shit?

Turns out it was the doctor’s office, calling to rag on me about a bill. I guess they want $750, too.

Maybe I should send them a copy of The Secret and tell them to go ahead and visualize me being able to pay that bill.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go visualize myself not crying into a pillow.