my boxes: the conclusion

I've had a lot of time to myself today. What did I choose to do? Well, let's see. I watched Laguna Beach at 8:30am, so that pretty much cleared up my schedule for the day quite early. Micah is working. To be honest, I cherish time alone. That might sound bad, but I think it's entirely healthy.

I was feeling bad about the state of the box closet/pantry. Micah has done some major cleaning lately (and lest you think I'm a lazy schlub, he's been off work because of the constant rain and I clean on the weekends. Also, I clean A LOT more than I used to) and I'm not a total bitch. I can see when I'm wrong, see the effort he's put into making our apartment look great, and that maybe this time a compromise is in order.

So I pulled every fucking box out of the closet/pantry.


You guys, that wasn't even all of them. I found two behind the towers after the picture and realized I forgot to pull out about 5 that were nested in other boxes. (I am so lame that I laid down on the floor to get this shot so the towers would seem taller. What is wrong with me? Like I'm proud or something.)

(Maybe a little.)

These are GOOD BOXES. The one with the blue stripe is as tall as my waist, and there are two of those bad boys in my collection. That brown box in the front on the floor? I think I've had that box for approximately five moves. The microwave (the sweet, sweet new microwave*) box contains the unbroken styrofoam for convenient repacking.

The manner in which these boxes were put into the pantry could be best summed up as willy-nilly. I wasn't practicing good box nesting, and I hardly attempted to keep the boxes on the shelves. I decided early on that the cavernous pantry was going to be my scary closet, the one I warn people not to open. The disaster zone needed to be dealt with.

I am making a compromise, you see. Newlywed 101.

So I cleaned. I pulled some things out of that closet that I had completely forgotten existed, including my holiday wrapping paper (nice timing, me!) and the sad remains of some "art" Noles and I created when we were roommates in Chicago. It involves bamboo poles and tissue paper that's all I'm saying about that.

Ok, fine, I found some boxes that weren't worthy. Survival of the fittest. My five-move box has moved, proudly dangling layers of packing tape, a sixth time. Can you guess where? This afternoon approximately 30 boxes were banished to the cold and rancid darkness of our dumpster. I don't really want to talk about it. I'd rather remember the good times.

After the boxes were abandoned, I moved the fridge! I have been wanting to move the fridge for months! The kitchen has been reborn.

When I do get off my ass and clean, I go tits to the wall. I see one spot, then another, and after five hundred tiny distractions, rearrangements, and wafts of my own pit funk, I realize those dishes are DONE, man, and when I say dishes I mean you could safely eat off any surface in the fucking kitchen. I feel proud of myself when I clean all day. My standards are shifting, I guess.

Here is the pantry's new look. Half boxes, half empty shelf space (not pictured), which is mighty apropos. Compromise is the word of the day.

*Our microwave, it gleams. It glistens. The handle, which happens to be a she, is spunky and dynamic. The appliance gets shined with a soft dish towel and inpected for spots daily. I love it and am ever so grateful to A & H for bestowing her upon our humble home. Thank you!

my boyfriend's back

His name is Justin. Timberlake. I didn't realize how much I missed him until recently because he has a new album out. That man is just the cutest. I wanna booty dance with him.

I'm sort of worried about this blogging every dang day thing that's starting in a few days. I have no one to blame but myself. It's not like I'm contractually obliged to participate, I just think it's a fun challenge, but it's still a challenge. If it works maybe I'll try that write a novel in 30 days thing, though I'd have to do most of the writing at work and let's just say it's not the most creatively inspiring workplace, despite the fact that the company motto is "Imagination at work." Hang around and see what happens. Oooh maybe I could start a contest! With PRIZES! Would you participate? (If it's not totally stupid, Gabs.)

My box(es)

"Gabby," Micah said gingerly, "can we maybe get rid of those boxes?"

"What boxes?"

"Your boxes. In the kitchen closet. Otherwise known as the pantry."

"But...we need those boxes," I said, nostrils twitching.

"I know you think we need them, but we could get boxes anywhere. We don't need to save every box that comes through the front door."

"What, so, we're going to have to go to Schnucks and get stinky produce boxes when we move? That's nasty. I've done that before. Nasty."

"You can buy--"

"Oh, no! NOPE! That's why I save boxes. Not only do I not want to pay for something I get for free all the time, but I am totally saving a tree by reusing boxes."

"But they take up the whole pantry," Micah whined, "and I didn't know you were such an environmentalist. I want to clean it out and use it."

"All of our food fits in the kitchen cabinets. Why do you want to move the food into the pantry? So each can of soup can have its own shelf? Stretch its legs a bit?"

At that point the situation became extremely amusing to me, because there's no way in hell I'm throwing away those boxes I've been saving all year. I find it ridiculous that he even asked, because we had a conversation about my boxes a few days ago and I thought I had stated my case convincingly about why we need them. Perhaps not.

"We don't need all those boxes!" Micah was clearly agitated, and clearly not swayed by my brilliant reasoning.

"Yes we do! PLEASE let me keep them in there. When next summer rolls around and we have a house to move into you're going to be glad we don't have to go get boxes. They're already here! Big ones, small ones. We don't have to go buy them and we don't have to hope and pray we get paper towel boxes and not moist and smelly lettuce boxes because the Schnucks employee we happen to ask is feeling lazy and bitter about a customer asking him to get off his ass!" Then I take a breath so I can continue. "You're just on a cleaning rampage and you're determined to organize every cranny. I know how you get. It'll pass. Please let me keep my boxes."

Micah laughed a little, not because he thinks this is all just so funny, rather, but because he thinks keeping boxes is totally fucked up.

Then Lost came back on so the conversation ended. I'm pretty sure I won. I'm pretty sure my boxes aren't going to be orphaned.

Then, during the next commercial break, I realized something kind of horrific. Under my desk at work there are...more boxes. Because I might need them when we move. I think I have a problem. I think it's a low-grade version of post-traumatic stress disorder. They say moving is the second most stressful event in life, behind the death of a loved one. I know I have mentioned this before, but I have moved TEN TIMES in the past 8 years. That's a lot of stress that I probably internalize and rearrange so it resembles excitement. I used to love moving. It meshed well with my tendency to get bored.

Recently, that has all changed. It definitely had something do with Micah and getting married, but even before we started dating I had an overwhelming urge to put down roots. Screw this moving every year thing. My address is never my address long enough for important documents, like driver's license renewal notices, voter registration cards, and personal property tax bills to actually get to me. I'm tired of it. I want to live in a house that I can love and take care of, where years of memories are made, where Christmas trees always go in the same spot and I can have walls that aren't white.

But that is not an excuse to be what I have become: a box hoarder. Only one thing separates me from those crazy fucks you see on Animal Cops - my boxes don't defecate.

Really, though? Am I not just extremely prepared for something I know is inevitable in the forseeable future? Why is it so bad to hoard boxes? THEY WILL BE USED. They will ALL get love, unlike the feral prolifically breeding cats. You should see this one box Micah brought when he moved in - it's HUGE. With handles. And he is suggesting we throw it away?! I am quite obviously not the crazy one. One thing I've already learned about marriage is that it's basically one big compromise. For the guy. Even the minister that married us told him a joke about how from here on out it was "Yes, dear."

(They say the first step is admitting you have a problem. I already did that but I am retracting it, because pshaw!)
-------------------
Married Lady Bidness

Why is it necessary for every one of my coworkers to say "So, how's married life?" every time they walk past my ubicle?* I find this intensely annoying, but that's what happens when you're as antisocial at work as I am - people just keep repeating the same lone fact they know about you. This is almost as bad as when I first started working here and made the mistake of telling one highly clueless coworker that I liked Blues hockey. From then on he came to my ube almost every fucking day to talk about the game. The game that I didn't watch. Again. Nope. Leave me alone. (He says he's married, I'm thinking mail-order.)

*a ubicle is a cubicle with one side missing, which makes a U shape, and yes, I did just think of that myself because I am brilliant. (See also: Boxes, why I keep.)

maybe not

durr. i just might be an eediot.

so you probably can't see my fun new header, can you? just realized that. i will attempt to fix the problem tomorrow and in the mean time i'll feel incredibly dumb for saying i actually figured out how to do something to my blog. [edited to add: can you see the header now? oh god please say yes.]

one of the graphics you can't see [maybe now you can?] is the logo for a little something i decided to participate in -NaBloPoMo - wherein many bloggers attempt to post daily for the entire month of November, and the concept comes from November being National Novel Month, or NaNoWriMo, which challenges writers to pen a 175 page novel in 30 days. This is Fussy's idea (a hilarious writer who poses action figures in yoga positions as a teaching mechanism) and you know what? i thought it sounded like a fun challenge. i think a plan of attack is in order. if i have something planned out ahead of time it won't seem as daunting. since November is my favorite month, i'm going to make it the month of favorites on the blog. everyday i'll write about something i love. how hard can that be? we'll see.

and if anyone has any other ideas about how i might entertain you loyal lovelies for 30 days, let me know.

look, I learned something

in my HTML class! How about that. I've been wanting to update this sucker for awhile now, but for some reason today I actually figured out how to change some thangs, which is pretty fun and addictive. Go me.

There has been a definite lack of commenting lately, and while I wouldn't go so far as to say it hurts my feelings, I will say that it can be awfully lonely around here sometimes. See, my handy-dandy Sitemeter tells me I have visitors. Heck, I even know your damn IP addresses. Perhaps the content just doesn't make you want to say something. Perhaps I'm not asking you enough questions. I know I was going to do a reader question per post, and somehow that fell by the wayside. I think I'll have to start that up again!

But first...

1) Speaking of Sitemeter, one of the more addictive features of this free service is that if someone did a google search and my blog came up as a search result, it tells me what the person typed in the search bar. Some of the better ones:

-underwire bra squeaks sweaty
-intext: "my breasts" and "peace corps"
-gabba for weight loss
-symmetrical zits
-hooking bra problems
-Oprah's bra show
-beverley mitchell jessica biel older
-fatty arms gabby
-bra that doesn't dig or roll

And from this lovely list, we can see that bras are a major source of anguish and that indeed I am not the only one who is amazed to learn that Jessica Biel is younger than Beverley Mitchell. The fatty arms gabby thing...well, I'll try not to take that personally. Maybe it's a Gabby problem in general.

2) Love me some Lost. The writer of this pop culture blog I read, Pop Candy, encourages commenting after every new episode, and I read these comments religiously (sometimes the comments number over 400) as an alternative to reading one of the more popular Lost fan websites and threads, as I find them daunting and confusing. One of the major issues raised by Pop Candy commenters is that there are just WAY too many commercials. Um. Ok. People? There are absolutely the same number of commercials during Lost as there are in any other hour-long program. You just think there are more because you are so goddamn engrossed in the show, which tends to move slowly, that when a commercial break comes you think it's been two minutes and really it's been seven. Stop complaining. ANY hour-long program is roughly 42 minutes.

3) While I'm on the subject, it kills me just how much time the uber-dedicated Lost fans spend perusing any and every related website searching for "the answer" (not that I know any of these types personally)(coughheidicough) and I just don't get it. If you did find out for sure what the answer is wouldn't it ruin the show? I prefer to just sit back and enjoy it knowing the answers will come in time. I try to steadily ignore the fans who claim JJ Abrams has a tendency to let his shows meander (Alias and The X Files) into plot-hole hell, where the burnt stench of unresolved situations sickens fans and leaves them pissed and disappointed. The hatch, for instance, is no more. Poofgone. This leaves me thinking that JJ Abrams and all the other Lost producers and writers have tapped themselves too deeply into the collective fan consciousness. Lots of fans complained that the second season sucked because of the hatch. Show us more island, dude! And he did. I'm just sayin' that I wish the Lostmakers didn't care what we thought, for better or worse. Is that weird? And look at me now! Analyzing, fretting, caring too much. What is it with that fucking show?

4) Turns out the wedding reception coordinator is a lot cooler without my parents around. She actually smiled during our final meeting! I don't know why she seemed so uptight last time, because if we're being real, the only "coordinating" that she had to do, as far as I can tell, was to arrange her fingers around a pen so she could check some boxes on a piece of paper. It's not like my mom was breathing down her neck in true Bridezilla, Sr. fashion. Not even close. But all is well, and it looks like there will be cattle-calling for dinner even though I don't like the idea. She assured me it was the way to go, and who am I to say? I'm not the professional box-checker. Also, Micah finally got to go inside the venue. We had breakfast there the other day, which was deeLISH. I can't wait to see how the place looks at night, because I think the absence of natural light will make the rooms more romantic and polished. Am getting veeeeeery excited!

5) And also very nervous. As far as flowers, my dress, my shoes, my jewelry, I'm all set to go. My last stress? (and there is always one more to have) MY HAIR. I want something different, something...curlier...nay...wavier. Can a sister get some body, fer chrissakes. I don't really want to get it professionally done because I really need to stop spending money on this, and also I'm terrified that I'll spend $80 or whatever and HATE what the stylist has done to my hair, at which point I'll have to rush home and fix it, which will make me one pissed off party girl. So I've been playing around with different options at home, but I am quite obviously not prepared in the Tool and Product departments. I have a set of hot curlers (which I purchased in 8th grade, eek) that make me look like my patron saint Little Orphan Annie (patron saint or not, let's not go there) and the curling iron creates curls that last all of one minute, at which point I am back to the stick-straight boring state in which I began. Wear it up? Elegant, but aging.
DO YOU SEE? STRESS.

And now I turn this thing over to you, yes, YOU!

I'd like to know:
a) what you're most likely to be arrested for
b) what you'd do with $1000 cash if you were forced to spend it in one day

Have yourself a merry Friday, peeps.

knock one off the list

Micah found his ring!

Avery

you oughta know

I just woke up and once again it's not even 7am (actually, I was up at 5:39 to pee, then at 6:05 I lost all hope for sleep when I heard about eight gunshots outside. Mmhm. That's a new one. (6:05am? GO TO BED, scumbags.) (On a side note, why does my cat think something lives in the keyboard drawer? Oh, that's not prey, kitty, that's the fluttering of furious typing!)

But that is hardly the reason for this post! I am writing you with as much excitement as one can have when one hasn't yet pulled the sleep from her eyes and hasn't even considered breakfast aside from the cold and lovely cranberry juice she is sipping. (I HATE YOU ALL, COFFEE DRINKERS.)

MY FRIENDS. Ahem.

Have you watched Sexual Healing on Showtime? No? But you want to know what it's about? So glad you asked.

At first, I wasn't so sure about this show. There was a British show much like this one but it was a lot more graphic when it showed the couples trying to reengage sexually, and after watching one episode of SH I'm all yeah, it would be better with more explicit scenes. This is the uptight American version. Poop on it. Then I watched one more episode, just to be sure, at which point I was convinced every single episode involved the same "healing rituals" and surely that got boring after awhile. I thought it was too tame to be good. I'm not sure if you know this, but I really like talking about sex and relationships, and not in a Sarah Jessica way - more like a psychoanalytic kind of way. Obviously I'm no professional. Just an obsessional.

So I was two episodes into the season (of 9 episodes, an hour each) and sort of skeptical. The person in charge of this venture is Dr. Laura Berman, who if I'm not mistaken has a sister who is also in the sex therapy field, and they used to tag-team on Oprah. I hope I'm not making that up. Anyway, Dr. Berman counsels three couples per episode who are experiencing sexual problems and general relationship malaise. She has a very calm, in-charge aura and for some reason she fascinates me. Her outfits and make-up are always perfectly coordinated, which skeeves me out a little bit, but I can't deny that she looks put together. I've been in therapy in the past, and I loved it, so naturally all I needed was a third episode and (finally!) a nipple, some ass smacking, and dudes? I was hooked.

Micah worked a side job yesterday that was two hours away, so I had a lot of time to myself. After some reception-related tasks such as tasting wedding cake and picking out flowers with my mom, I made a hot dog, put on my fleecey robe, and sat my ass down for a marathon. And I need MORE.

I'm not really sure what happened, but I literally feel like I spent yesterday in a therapist's office. I guess I kind of did. In every couple you can find something that makes sense in your own relationship, or is relevant to an issue you are still nursing from a previous one. After such intimate sessions with these couples, they felt like my friends. Of course some of those trying to get healed (like the guy in the ninth episode who never EVER attended to his wife's needs, didn't know where her g-spot was after 28 motherfucking years, and was generally a domineering asshole that didn't deserve such a sweet wife) are unlikable, for the most part I found myself rooting for everyone. Except those one or two couples that really should NOT be together, but of course Dr. Berman's role is to help them based on the fact that they made the effort to come to Chicago, so like any good therapist she deals with what's in front of her and lets people come up with their own conclusions. They wouldn't be there if they didn't want help, though with some couples it seems like this is their last chance and they know it.

The couples learn tantric sexual healing from a very entertaining couple with very entertaining accents. The woman is tall, sinewy, with closely cropped platinum blonde hair. The man is tall, sinewy, with dark chocolate skin and a watery, smooth way about him. He lays on his back while his wife strokes a gigantic glass dildo above his pants, cooing to the couples about the proper technique in this exercise, which is all about helping the man learn which muscles he can control to keep from becoming a 2-pump chump.

But wait! It's not all about straight people! Ok, so there was only one lesbian and one gay couple out of 27, but their inclusion was appreciated. The point is not how to make a penis work well. It's about reconnecting as a couple, and there are some nights when sex is strictly prohibited by the Doc. Oh, and forget about drinking. Strongly discouraged. It's a coping mechanism and what they should be coping with is their relationship.

I guess you have to watch it to get the whole gyst, but I truly learned a lot. That might sound corny. Micah and I are nowhere near needing this type of therapy, but I realized you don't have to be in the relationship doldrums for these methods to make everything about your relationship better, not just the sex, because usually the sexual issues are about something much more complex, namely communication. I know that when Micah came home last night I was all over him, and while I didn't spring any tantric healing rituals on him, I did appreciate him on a whole new level.

That's all. Just wanted to share.

but really, Land Rovers are pretty nice

I don't know what it is about this blog, but it kind of feels like a confessional. I can get things off my chest without having to face looks of utter disgust. Let's just pretend I'm on a reality show and it's my turn to spill my guts in a soundproof closet. Speaking of reality shows...

I am addicted to Laguna Beach.

There are no 12 steps. If I'm lucky, 12 more episodes.

I started watching the second season sort of on accident when I moved back to St. Louis 14 months ago. When the season was over, I bought season one and watched it in one day, barely pausing for lunch. Now there's a new season on, and because I can't get Micah to watch it without streams of sarcastic commentry, I wait until the weekend because they always rerun it in the mornings when Micah is still in bed.

I am not at all proud of this addiction. I loathe it.

(I loathe it so good.)

I try to sort out why exactly I am so goddamn happy when I watch it. The reasons, they make me shudder in shame.

Why I Love Laguna Beach
by Gabby

I love Laguna Beach because it shows me a side of high school was not privy to. I always hated the popular girls, but I know it was fueled by jealousy. Some of the most popular girls in our grade had been my very best friends in younger years, and I always wondered what I did wrong to be excluded from their collective climb up the social ladder. Of course now I see why I was so stupid to think this way, so veryvery stupid, but it doesn't stop me from feeling like somehow I'm living a popular girl's life for thirty minutes every week. SO SUE ME. (Actually, heal me, for I am sick.)

I love Laguna Beach because it makes me feel better about myself. Weird, right? You'd think those impossibly skinny, wealthy, and well-sunglassed girls would make me feel like a poor unfortunate slob, but they actually don't. They are so stupid, catty, conniving, materialistic, and clueless about real life that I feel like I am operating on a higher plane. It reminds me that money sure as hell ain't everything, and while it'll cushion their princess lives forever, I wouldn't trade how the real world has shaped me for an ignorant and blissful life. It's like a rubber ball - the harder you throw it to the floor, the higher it'll bounce up. It'll bounce up and down with the same rise and fall if you bounce it gently. You can't have truly high heights if you've never known deep lows. Ya with me?

I love Laguna Beach because the scenery and the houses are gorgeous. I'd live in California just so I could have an infinity pool.

I love Laguna Beach because one of the girls on the show, Jessica, drives a Camry instead of the ubiquitous Land Rover (so pedestrian!). She graduated last season but she sort of has a thing going with a senior, Cameron, so she's kind of back on the show. (I definitely have a love/hate relationship with Jessica! Don't even get me started!)

I love Laguna Beach because the soundtrack is always spot on. So angsty, so fraught, so appropriate to the mood!

I love Laguna Beach despite the fact that I know the producers prod the cast into having conversations about relevant drama in the 'hood. I just don't care. Micah doesn't understand how I am able to suspend disbelief and enjoy it knowing many of the scenes are fabricated, to which I reply with unsuspended disbelief, "You watch STAR TREK. People don't have foreheads like that in real life and they wouldn't be caught dead in those uniforms, either!" And then I take a deep breath or two and get back to my show.

The crux of it? I love LB because I love hating bitches. And don't we all.

FINALLY some pictures

Ok, so they're not very big. I'm not sure why I chose the small size.
Just thought some of you might like to see some evidence!

Also, on a side note - can we discuss how unbelieveably awkward it is to see someone you went to high school with working at a fast food restaurant? In a part of town where you least, no, LEAST expect it. You order. You pull around to the second window. You are face to face with someone you've seen several times since high school at the gay bars looking mighty butch. The gay bars in the city, what the HELL is she doing out here in yup country? And what do we talk about? I can't say "what are you doing here?" or "this is really random!" because then she'll think I'm insinuating that she shouldn't be working a drive-thru, or that for some reason she doesn't belong in yup-ville, when I'm not really thinking either. Oh God, maybe I am thinking those things! But really. She was working at a KFC in Ballwin, where I never never ever go except a couple times in the past week to pick up/drop off my car at the only repair shop my insurance company uses, and I happened to be hungry and I happened to think KFC sounded good and so I happened to see this classmate. And it WEIRDED ME OUT. This city, nay, town, is so small.

Now, I shut up and show you pretty pictures! Pretty small pictures!



Isn't our yoda minister hamming it up a bit much? You should've heard him directing Lisa about where and when to take pictures! Did I mention he called me Gabriella? And that he gave Micah the wrong ring to put on me? Oh, I did? Sorry.

my fave

Bridgette, my almighty niece, with proof my bro is old. And I'm not talking about the birthday card.

Some lady does this type of awesome face painting FOR FREE at a local restaurant.
Yeah, little chicky can rock some pink cowboy boots like nobody's bidness. And a pink piggy backpack, for that matter! Woot.

so much nothing

blogs are good for boredom. from all perspectives. pardon.

- I stopped to get a soda at a gas station near my job today. The clerk was customer service crazy, I tell you. She rang up my 20oz Sprite Zero and noticed that the soda had expired. BY ONE DAY. She hustled to the back of the store and searched frantically for one that wasn't expired. BY ONE DAY. I eat cottage cheese that's expired by a week or more and it's never killed me (it's already coagulated...what's the problem?) so I really didn't think the DAY OLD Sprite was going to kill me. I just wanted the effing soda. She ended up charging me as if the soda were on sale, so I saved a whopping 11 cents. And thank god I received some compensation, because this soda is totally day-old rank.

- Ever heard that joke about updog? I was recently reminded of it while watching The Office season 2 on DVD. It goes like this:

Jokester: "Ugh, it smells like updog in here!"
Target: "What's updog?"
Jokester: "Not much, what's up with you?"

When done correctly, it's pretty funny. The jokester and the target have a giggle and the target goes searching for someone to try it on. Well, Micah was watching this episode with me. Michael, the boss on The Office, goes around trying this joke on everyone. As he kept fucking up, I kept cracking up. Micah did not. I thought does he not get it? should I explain it or will that make him feel stupid? Well, I couldn't stand that he didn't get it, and I remembered all the times I didn't get the joke and how much I wanted to get it as I consider myself somewhat smart, so I explained it to him, and he started laughing very slowly. Then the laughter found legs. Then for five solid minutes Micah laughed his ass off, and I can't not laugh when he laughs like that, so we both sat and hooted like idiots at the very marginal joke. It was awesome.

- After someone attempted to break into my car on Sunday night, I kind of got really mad. Like Nancy Kerrigan "Whyyyyyyy?" mad. I am so sick of people messing with my stuff. Here's the thing - my old car (the Jeep) was stolen twice, and that would make anyone quite touchy. I'm pretty sure whoever was trying to break into this car was A) trying to steal the car, as there was NOTHING desirable in sight, unless you count fast food napkins and The Devil Wears Prada (paperback), and B) got interrupted by a noisy dog or a neighbor or some other fortunate happening that left my wheels where they should be. FIVE HUNDRED DOLLARS LATER, my lock will be fixed by Wednesday. I'm sick and tired of scumbags having their scumbag fun at other peoples' expense. Two weeks ago? Someone drove down our street and smashed seven driver's side windows in, one after the other. Our street is one-way and it looked like some scumbag was hanging out the window of his buddy's car, possibly with a baseball bat or rocks or who the hell knows. I thought Micah and I were so fortunate that we escaped that scumbag nonsensical destruction simply because it's a one-way street and we live and park on the "safe" side. Then I find my lock punched out, my door all scraped up. I am so sick of this shit. Call me whatever, but suddenly the county is looking better and better. Besides, I want a yard, because I want a dog. BAAAAAD.

- Did I really forget to put my wedding band back on AGAIN? I'm really paranoid that it's going to slip off in the shower and go down the drain, so I take it off and put it on the window ledge in the shower (yes, there's a window in the shower) and then I get out of the shower without the ring. The ring could be replaced fairly easily, but it can never really be replaced, and that scares me. I go through rings, watches, sunglasses, and bracelets very quickly. I always buy those things cheap and it doesn't take long for them to break or for me to lose them, which is why I buy cheap. I know I lose jewelry. So now I am responsible for this very meaningful and beautiful ring and in my effort to not lose it forever I forget to wear it at all. And then I punish myself by telling Micah and he says "what do you think that means?!" and I have to reassure him that I'm not wearing it because of initial paranoia that I'll LOSE IT FOREVER, and for fuck's sake we've been married for three weeks, this doesn't mean anything other than I can be forgetful! CALM DOWN!

- Cancers are emotionally high-maintenance. Also, they can be tightwads. I'm not complaining though. Really. At least this significant other of mine has tangible emotions, and honestly, I find the challenge of sorting them out exciting. And you can't be a tightwad unless you have money to hold tightly in a wad, you know what I'm saying? That's a nice change.

- Atkinson Atkinson Atkinson. Wedding Ring Wedding Ring Wedding Ring. STOP FORGETTING THESE THINGS, Self! This is not so difficult!

- And now, back to my InStyle magazine, the only fashion magazine that doesn't make me twitch.

three weeks in

Yeah, I'm still talking about marriage.

Three weeks ago yesterday was The Day. People keep asking me how it feels to be married, which is a natural curiosity. I don't know how to answer that, because I don't really know yet! I know it makes me feel incredibly content and secure. That said, just a few days ago during a conversation with Micah I called him my boyfriend, so...mostly I just need time for it to sink in.

I will say the procedure of changing my last name has helped me get closer to feeling like a Mrs. Let me tell you, there are A LOT of companiesbanksloansutilities that needed to be updated, and some are quite stringent on what is required - others, like the utilities, probably weren't stringent enough. One didn't even ask me to verify my address, telephone, none of that. Leeetle scary.

And the reception. I won't bitch too heavily about THAT state of affairs, as it would be a mite uncouth. You know I am all about couth. But I will say that my taste is apparently not traditional at all (who knew?!) and ya shoulda seen the look on that party coordinator's face (and my mother's, natch) when I spat out uhhh...we will NOT be needing THAT! when she was telling me about the very long wedding party table that would be at the head of the room. WOMAN! I eloped! My bridesmaid was my brother! There shall be no head table. Also? Can we just forget that whole announcing which table is allowed to go up and get their buffet dinner, please? GOD. That is so REGIMENTED. My people came to get their eat on, not be herded and instructed. Finally, Marly or whatever your cutesy name is, go ahead and write a big fat NO in the "assigned seating" box on your little sheet there. Aren't you getting my vibe yet? DAGGUM, Marly! Keep your eye on that one and anticipate, as that vixen Ani would say.

And get your evil eye off of me, Mom. This party can be elegant (but grounded, ok?) without this seat assignment nonsense!

Mostly I am very excited for this reception. I was thinking about it the other day, and I realized there aren't too many times in your life where damn near all the people you care about in the slightest are coming together and celebrate with you. For you. I've never been the reason for a capital Party, one with a coordinator and chair covers and limitless liquor, and it feels nice. With sparkles.