Things that happened the day we got married…

Chapter 1: The Pants Story

Many wonderful things happened in the days prior to the day that Mark and I got married. One of these wonderful things was the reunion of some good old friends of Mark’s. Thursday night, in fact, turned into an impromptu bachelor’s party for Mark at our apartment (thankfully, I was away).

I would later learn that the night involved many festivities, including urine finding its way into Joe’s juice bottle, vodka in a spray bottle to be squirted into people’s mouths involuntarily, a small backyard fire started with a barbecue lighter and the aforementioned squirt bottle of vodka, and a poor boy named Jim who fell asleep before the rest of the crowd deemed it acceptable and who therefore, felt the consequential rath of three sets of scroti against his bald head and face. Of course, this involved the removal of the vengeful boys’ pants.

The removal of pants is a very well documented demonstration of drunken joy amongst this tight-knit clan of Thunder Bay boys. “Sack goggles”, as they like to call them, has long-time been a repercussion of retreating from the festivities to the land of nod too soon.

However, this story isn’t about de-panting in the sense mentioned above. It is only a story rendered more ironic because of the commonness of the de-panting incidences.

The same group of boys met at a hotel room on our wedding day to get ready, with Mark for the big event. They had a beer each to calm their nerves, then they began to unpack their suits. Mark (the groom, who stands about five foot six inches), lifted the hanger with his suit on it and took it to the bathroom to change. As he did so, his pants slid off the hanger and to the floor without him noticing. He was in the bathroom only long enough to put on his shirt, when he threw open the bathroom door and exclaimed in distress and horror, “I’ve got no pants! Oh my god, I left my pants at home.”

Without so much as a pause, and with the same love, devotion and swiftness of a friend leaping in front of a bullet to save a comrad, Cory (six foot and a bit) courageously offered, “You can have mine pants, man.”

Lucky for both of them, the pants were located only seconds later. For Mark, they would be some of the longest seconds he’ll ever experience.

True friendship is offering a friend your pants when he’s about to get married without any.

The day we got married...

I woke up next to my favourite person in the whole world and he said, "Happy Wedding Day."

It was 7 o'clock and I realized that I had, in fact, slept through the night.

It was beautiful and sunny out and I went to stand in the back yard to take in the peacefulness.

I got an e-mail from an old friend who asked, "When are you getting married?"

I smiled as I wrote back, "TODAY!"

(To be Continued....)

The day before the day I got married

The day before the day I got married, I woke up at Delia’s feeling a lot more relaxed.
I had a BM, but it was not bright green, as my sister’s was on her wedding day when she was feeling very stressed out. I can only, therefore, surmise that I must be quite calm.

When Ben and the girls and I returned to the apartment, the boys were just getting ready to leave for some golf. They had tried their best to clean up and they warned us that the apartment might smell a bit like farts and that if it did, it was Dan’s fault.

Watched a lot of TLC, tried to nap, and checked e-mail multiple times during the day.
At 6:12pm, I was told that one of Mark’s friends had brought a guest that I didn’t know about and who was not invited. Made my heart race for a few seconds. Then I reclaimed my zen.

Mark and I ordered chinese food for dinner.
His fortune cookie said, "It is better to resist in the beginning, than it is to resist in the end."

All signs point towards an incredible and memorable day tomorrow.

Two Days before the day we were married

I lost my mind.

Mary and Ben and I went for a short run in some intense heat and humidity. Then I felt fairly calm until people began arriving. My mom phoned to say she was lost because she’d gotten off the QEW thinking that the Queensway was the QEW and she didn’t know where she was. When I figured out where she was using googlemaps, I tried to phone her back but her cell phone was off.

Mark’s dad needed directions to the hotel, so I drew him a map, but I put Mavis on the wrong side of the golf course than it actually is, so he got fairly lost in transit.

The apartment began filling with friends and girlfriends of friends and family. Joyous exchanges and exclamations filled the air. But I very quickly lost track of who had already been introduced to who, so I gave up.

I found myself scrambling for time right before having to leave for the Rehearsal (we showed up about 20 minutes early in the end despite having hit some intense construction). We finally loaded up the cars and were off to Braeben.

I found the rehearsal very difficult. Despite the fact that Ben was coordinating the events and doing an excellent job and everyone was listening well, I was incredibly nervous and I felt self-conscious about being overly bossy or telling people what to do. A million things came up that I hadn’t though of and when I got to the front of the aisle with my dad, the musician was only done playing one line of the song. We’ve been instructed to walk slower.

And I was on the verge of tears all night. Walking up the aisle became very emotional for me, especially when the music was playing. I tried to give a toast, but got choked up after, "Thank you everyone for coming...."

However, the food was great. Everyone made friends with everyone else. Abby was a rambunctious delight and loved her Strawberry Shortcake doll.

Mary, Ben, Amanda, Marlo and I retreated to Delia’s house for a movie (Little Miss Sunshine) and some poolside late night lounging and we slept soundly whilst the boys were drinking, peeing in each others’ drinks, and sitting with naked asses on each others’ faces.

I hope the wedding day will be easier than today was.

Noteworthy People:
Two days before the day we were married, Maryann was the reason I am still upright. I forgot to eat lunch and then the hunger struck me suddenly when I had no time to make anything and all I needed was a sandwich. Despite us not having any bread, Mary made me a most delicious grilled cheese sandwich which I didn't even notice was made of a hamburger bun! What a girl.

Three Days before the day we were married

I walked to the GO station to meet Jay this morning. Then I drove him to work (he picks up his car today).

I bumped the manicure and pedicure appointments up a bit earlier to ensure I could make it back to the apartment for the Rogers cable guy at noon. I raced like a mad woman home from the Spa only to find that the technician had left messages since 11 o’clock saying that he couldn’t reach me and I had missed my appointment.

I phoned Rogers and exchanged some words on the subject.

Mark went out to buy snacks for Thursday night.

I wrapped presents in the afternoon. I was disappointed when opening one of the picture frames I’d purchased, to see that the glass was broken. Mark took it back and exchanged it. I opened the new frame and saw that the corner was crushed and the wood was cracked. I got in the car and took it exchanged it for a different frame. When I phoned Mark to tell him where I was, he mentioned that I’d left a pot of water boiling on the stove (for my Kraft Dinner). Oops.

I realized that Mark had bought snacks for Thursday night for his boys party and not for my girls party, as I had intended. So I went to buy some more snacks for Thursday night.

Then, I went to Mattie-O’s and we stuffed a futon into the back seat of the car. I had to be careful, seeing as I have been instructed to do nothing with my hands lest my french manicure chip. I have resigned myself to the fact that I am not capable of doing nothing and the manicure is certainly going to chip.

Still no honeymoon booked.

We discovered that fancy taxis cost too much money.

But we did have a shishkebobs on the barbecue with Mike, Matt Peron, Andrea and the two of us. And we played some Nintendo Wii.

And I stayed up until 11:19 when Maryann and Ben arrived. It was a full house, but I was so happy to see my sister.

Ice Cream Man from Newfoundland

We were waiting impatiently for the Cable guy to arrive all afternoon. Then, Mark noticed, on his way to Golf Town, that there was a cable van next parked two doors down. He figured it was a repair technician and asked if I’d maybe try to catch him on his way back out to his van.
So I lay in wait. Then I saw the man who lived two doors down come out to check something on his lawn. So I piped up, "Hi there. Is your cable down?"

He looked at me with surprise, "No. No, I don’t think so. What’s wrong with your cable?" I explained the problem. And he said, "Are you with Rogers?" I said, "Yes, I am." Then he added, "Let me double check." So he went inside and returned in a few minutes saying, "No. Our cable is working just fine." I was confused about why he had a Rogers Cable van parked in his driveway until he reached into his pocket and began to search through his cell phone saying, "I’m gonna give you a phone number. But it’s top secret, so you can’t tell anyone where you got it." I got a pen and paper, "Is this going to get me in trouble?" I asked. "No," he said, "but it could get ME in trouble."
He explained that this would get me straight to Rogers dispatch.
I tried the number, but the dispatch people re-routed my call back to the regular customer service mill.

Then I heard a knock on my door.
It was the friendly neighbour from Newfoundland. And he had a tub of Laura Second ice cream for us from he and his wife. He phoned dispatch himself and got us an appointment for tomorrow at noon.

Larry, Sheena, Maggie, Mark, Uncle Fred and I had dinner at the Twisted Fork in Oakville. The wine and the Rubik’s cube are what have kept me from twisting my own body into a pretzel.

Someone’s trying to make a Bridezilla out of Me

Six days before the day we got married, someone phoned and asked to bring her boyfriend. (Did I mention this was less than week before the day of our wedding?) Of course, I said yes. As a consequence, I had to phone my wedding coordinator and caterer at the golf course and ask for an additional person despite the fact that the deadline had passed for final numbers. I then had to revamp the seating plan and reprint the seating chart. A small argument between myself and the printer arose, but I won.

Five days before the day we got married, someone had to be informed that they could not wear jeans to the wedding.

And four days before the day we got married, Delia and I went to pick up my dress. We took it to her house and delicately hung it up in a spare bedroom. We ran a few errands, went out for a late breakfast at the Daylight Grill, and then I drove her home. On my way back home, I began to get a nagging feeling in my mind. It’s the kind that usually means I’m worrying too much. So I phoned Delia and asked her, "This is going to sound stupid, but could you please check the bag with the wedding gown in it to make sure that the long sash used to tie up the back of the dress is in it?" It wasn’t. I had to drive back to the bridal shop (30 minutes there, 30 minutes back) to get it. I had to be polite and when she said she was sorry, I had to say, "It’s alright. These things happen" when what I really felt like saying was, "You should KNOW better! This could have been a disaster! It WOULD have been a disaster, almost certainly, with anyone who is less of a worrier and anal-retentive control-freak because they wouldn’t thoroughly check the bag until the day of the wedding when it would certainly cause an incredible inconvenience, not to mention a major heart attack!"

When I got home, I discovered that our internet is down….again.

Epilogue
My friend, Yeats, phoned to ask if I wanted to play some squash with him. I recounted my story about the dress and he said, "How did you know that the lace was missing?" And I tried to explain how I think of every possible minute detail or thing that could go wrong in any given situation. To which he joked, "Are you the kind of person who always double checks to make sure that the oven isn’t on?" To which I responded, "Surprisingly, I never worry about the oven."

Hours later, I would discover that I had left the oven on all day.

Seven days before the day we were married

Seven days before the day we were married, the forecast was calling for a high of 31 degrees Celsius on Saturday, but it would feel like 39. They predicted a 10% chance of rain and partly cloudy skies.

Seven days before the day we were married, I went for a run and came home to a specially prepared homemade omelette. And we learned how to play Settlers of Catan with the expansion pack (Cities and Knights) with Butler Yeats and Mattie-O. It was a fun thing to do seven days before the day we were married back in the summer of 2007.

Eight days before the day we got married

Eight days before the day we got married, way back in the summer of 2007, I got up and went to a spin class. Mark did the dishes (he was always really good about doing dishes back then) and then we went for lunch with our Alpha and Delia because it was Alpha’s birthday. We went to Tikki Tikka. Oh yes, and I gave Alpha some homemade ice-cream sandwiches for his birthday (I made then nine days before the day we got married, actually, using a recipe from a Rock’n’Roll cookbook that came with a copper electric guitar cookie cutter that Mark bought for me on his annual base-ball and fast-food road trip to the states with Mattie-O).

We came home and cleaned the house a bit because Mark’s dad was coming on Sunday from Thunder Bay to stay with us before the wedding. I then blogged about all the reasons that why I DEFINITELY CANNOT be classified as a Type A personality. My brother, Jay, phoned and announced that he’d just bought himself his very first car. Then Mark barbecued up some pork for dinner (he was really good about making dinners back then) and I made the salad part. Then we went to see the movie Transformers at the local AMC theatre. It was a fun thing to do eight days before the day we got married.

Type A

My friends have been teasing me lately about my hyper-organization with regards to my upcoming nuptials and the following parté. And the term “Type A” was thrown into the conversation, albeit lovingly. Still, I find that I see myself as a tight squeeze into upper-end of the Type B personality with a heightened sense of organization.

Let’s consult Wikipedia, shall we?

“The Type A personality is a set of characteristics that includes being
impatient,
excessively time-conscious,
insecure about one's status,
highly competitive,
hostile and aggressive,
and incapable of relaxation.

Type A individuals are often highly achieving workaholics who multi-task, drive themselves with deadlines, and are unhappy about the smallest of delays. Although they may exhibit some or all of these characteristics, it does not mean that people with the type A personality are incapable of showing love, affection or other types non-pessimistic behavior. Many are also capable of "couching" some of these behavior attributes with proper treatment and medication.”

Okay, let’s take a look at this. I can’t be terribly impatient because I am a teacher afterall. In fact, sometimes I’ve been told that I am very patient. Not all the time, but possibly more than your average Joe.

Am I time-conscious? Absolutely. I’ll give you that one. Is it excessive? Well, sometimes I don’t wear a watch to school.

Insecure? Check.

Highly competitive? Absolutely not. When entering a race, I’ll pray not to come in dead last, but if I was to only enter races where I stood a chance in hell of placing, I’d never enter any races. I rarely win at Poker. I rarely win at Settlers of Catan. I rarely win at Squash (see previous blogs). And I only enjoy golf if we don’t keep score at all.

Hostile…..only if you try to take my french fries.

Aggressive….again, only if free food is involved.

Incapable of Relaxation? Sudokus, yoga, the Rubik’s Cube and Bubble Bobble have done wonders for me here.

So where others may say I am classified as Type A, I say I get the job done. I’m efficient and I try to cover all the angles. I’ve been known to maybe dabble my big toe in the waters of Type A-ness, but only when I’m working on a big important project. On a regular day, I’m B all the way, baby.

It's about time...

I was watching tv the other day when I came across a commercial for the next generation of tampons. This particular company has obviously been working around the clock because their specialists have developed the technology to create applicators with Anti-Slip Grips.

All I have to say is Thank GOD! It's been just plain dangerous up until now.....

Epilation Abuse

There is a divey little hair salon in a plaza near work. If you pay cash, there’s no taxes charged and an eyebrow was is only $7. That’s unheard of. You walk in and there’s hair all over the floor and the owner, a bit of a tubby man in an unbuttoned smock, is eating a plate full of grapes and watermelon and feeding them to a woman with her head under a conical hair drying machine. No one speaks English very fluently there. But they wax my eyebrows in a way that makes me feel like I’ve had a face lift.

I’ve been to other places that charge more for eyebrows, but I haven’t liked the shape they’ve left me with. It just wasn’t me. So I’ve reluctantly waited until I’ve had some cash and enough spare time to let the swelling go down afterwards, and I went to get my eyebrows done at the divey little salon. The woman is possibly Vietnamese. She speaks curtly and I don’t understand most of what she says. She is not a conversationalist anyway. She is a get-down-to-business kind of a girl. “You want eyebrow?” she’ll confirm. She’ll point to what looks like an examination table in a little room at the back of the salon, where I’ll lie down. Her technique is painful. She’ll wax, and I can handle that. But she’ll pluck and pluck and pluck and pluck. It actually occurred to me yesterday that maybe she was removing my entire eyebrows. And if I wince she’ll say, “You have lot eyebrow!” as if it’s my fault.

I can handle that kind of abuse for a virtual face lift (I’ve proven that by returning time and time again). However, the most striking blow to my pride is that EVERY SINGLE TIME I go for an eyebrow wax, she’ll point to my upper lip and say, “What about lip?” I have a few stray hairs, yes, but my dignity is hurt! I will jut out my chin and say, “No! Eyebrows only please.” If I wanted my upper lip waxed, wouldn’t I have asked? I am insulted! Absolutely ridiculously appalled that she thinks that this technique will work! This technique of suggesting that some part of a woman is hairier than is socially acceptable when you’ve got them in the shop for some other reason. CRAZY WOMAN! I think to myself.

Then I begin to contemplate. Why did I start getting my eyebrows waxed? What made me come here in the first place? And I recall a trip I made to this very shop four years ago to have my hair highlighted for Hilary’s wedding. I remember being very, very pleased with the hair styling and all that, but very hurt when she asked me, “What about eyebrow?”

Little Abigail

I spent the past few days at the Shaver cottage for the annual Friends-of-Jen-and-Chad-crummy-cold-weather-but-lots-of-warm-drinkin’-fun-and-trash-talk weekend. Between dim sum and bugger-your-neighbour card games and too much wine, I got some one-on-one bonding time with Abigail Shaver (the littlest one, but arguably with the largest presence). We did all the usual things: We made domino houses and drew pictures of animals with tracings of our hands and we sang songs about yogurt and we watched some Dora and Diego. And Craigy and Julie had just bought Abby a new book about a boy who wanted to catch a star of his very own. It was obvious that Abby really enjoyed the book. She made each and every person she could sucker into it, read it to her over and over and over. It had nice painted illustrations and a very sweet story-line. Some of the sentence structures were fairly complex and some of the words weren’t used in everyday Canadian English, like “jetty” and “petrol”. But none of it was too complex for our little Abigail. She just loved the book.

Then, this morning, we were just hanging around, chilling, before heading back home. And Abby asked if we could read the book together (keep in mind, she’s not even three year’s old yet, but she has a fairly extensive vocabulary and is QUITE articulate about what she wants). So I said sure, and took the book into my lap. Then she frowned at me and clarified that SHE wanted to read to ME. I shrugged and handed her the book. No harm in just letting her babble away to herself.

But that little girl took the book on her lap, she cupped the spine in one hand so she could turn pages with the other, took a deep breath and began to read. Well, she can’t exactly read. She’s only two years old. But she recited page by page, word for word, each and every line of that whole story book. She even inserted emphasis and emotion into her story telling. She paused at the right parts, like between “he waited…….and he waited…..and he waited”. She said lines like “but he couldn’t take his spaceship because it was all out of petrol from last Tuesday when he’d taken a trip to the moon” and “The star washed up on the bright, golden sand”. She didn’t make any mistakes. She didn’t skip any details. Even a page that had four detailed sentences on it, even THAT she read in order and without skipping a word. I was incredibly impressed and I gave her hugs and praise after she finished.

Later, upstairs in her bedroom, she let me crawl onto the bed with her to read her books. I read her about three or four, then laid down (exhausted from the events of the previous two nights). She laid a blanket over me and told me she would read to me. I asked, “May I close my eyes to rest?” and she said I could. She even moved the books that I was half lying on, so I could be more comfortable. And she read me the Robert Munsch book “I’ll Love you for Always”. At one point, I looked up at this animated little blonde jewel that was story-telling like the best of them with all the passion and drama and poise of any counterpart ten times her age, and I began to feel a little bit weepy. I had to work hard not to let a tear squeeze out. My little Abby, I thought. I had held her when she was just an infant. She’d fallen asleep in my arms before she was able to speak or walk. We’d built castles out of empty cardboard boxes together. We’d invented stories about butterflies and princesses together. I’d prepped her on how to walk down an aisle as a flower girl and I’d positively reinforced the peeing on the potty drill. And now she was at a point where SHE could read ME a goddam story. She was sharing her blanket with me and tucking me in. As close to tears with pride as I felt, I couldn’t even fathom what special little moments Jen and Chad must have.

Little Abigail is getting less so.

Canadian Tire

Mattie-O and I went to EB games the other day and I bought The Sims 2. Then we went to Canadian Tire to look for basil plants. We walked in the entrance and the security gate began to beep. We presumed it was because of my newly-purchased video game. It was mildly embarrassing. Then we went out of the main building into the garden centre. The security gate there also sounded. Then we returned into the main building (there was no basil left) and the security gate again sounded.

As we approached the exit, I decided I'd be proactive. I went back and said to a cashier, "I just purchased a game from EB Games and it's going to sound the security alarm." She shrugged. I walked out the exit.

Silence.

big news

My toenail fell off.

Expiry Dates

I couldn't help but notice this morning, while I was perusing the fridge for some grub, that the eggs expire after the wedding. So does the yogurt.

Things You Can Do In The Bathroom

(This blog could also be titled: Sharing a Small Space)

My mother and her partner, Stan, are off on a bus tour to PEI this morning. They spent the night last night so they could get a very early drop-off at the Swiss Chalet on Hurontario and near the 403. My little brother, who I am proud to say is now a working man, spent the night too. The idea was that HE has found himself with a job in a northerly part of Mississauga (a situation which would make having a car a whole lot easier). So this week he gets to use my mom's car while she is away. The catch is that HE was charged with the task of driving Stan and she to their drop-off point at 5:40 a.m.

So, there was Mark and I in the bedroom. There were a few folks in our back room, which is attached to our room by an enormous window. And there was a brother, who was set up on the couch but who needed more room to spread out, so he moved to the floor.

We set an alarm clock in the back room for 5:05. And we set a back-up alarm clock on my cell phone for 5:15.

However, at 4 o'clock or so, someone got up and went to the bathroom. I could see the light under the door. The power of suggestion overcame me, and I suddenly was struck with the urge to use the bathroom too.
So I waited.
And I waited.
And I might have dozed some more.
And I figured when I came to, a half hour later, that maybe someone had just forgotten to turn off the light in the bathroom. It was awfully quiet. I didn't hear any of the sounds that bathroom-goers usually make.
I got up and knocked lightly on the door.

My mother threw open the door, smiling and energetic. The room was a bit steamy - I thought maybe she was having a bath. Her make-up was on.
I said sleepily, "I have to pee."
And she gave me a little pre-view of a twisty-dance move and said, "I was doing my morning exercises."

Getting to the Same End

I procrastinated in sending out a thank you card to my good friend Mel. I procrastinated so long that I found myself looking at it sitting on the table by the door as I set out to meet Mel for a lunch date. “I could just GIVE her the card now, instead of mailing it,” I told myself. (A perfectly logical solution). The problem was, I had already affixed a stamp to the card’s envelope. It was a sticker-type stamp that wouldn’t easily come off. Then would come the issue of whether it could be re-used and re-stuck to the next envelope. Would I have just wasted fifty two cents? And it’s not even about the money, so much as the idea of wasting something that hadn’t been allowed to fulfill its destiny – its functional right!

I remember being faced with a parallel situation almost ten years ago. Hilary and I had gone on a road trip to Hamilton and Kingston and Ottawa and then back. We had perhaps not been very confident drivers at the time, for we’d planned the entire trip around the Greyhound bus schedule. We bought return tickets, obviously, because we planned on ….well….returning. But then, while we were in Ottawa, my friend Mélanie, offered us a free ride to Kingston. I immediately wanted to decline, since we’d already purchased our tickets to Kingston via Greyhound. However, Hilary felt my logic was flawed. If Mélanie wanted to spend more time with us and we wanted to spend more time with her, what were we losing? I argued that we were losing out on the bus tickets we had already paid for. BUT, said Hilary, we will still be GETTING to our destination AND we will have the additional bonus of spending time with Mélanie. The bus ticket money is already spent, the only thing undetermined is how we will get to Kingston. Who cares how we get there, right? It was a refreshing and new idea to me. This abandonment of an imagined obligation to use a ticket or a stamp that has already been paid for if the same end can be attained in some other way. Really, has anything been lost?

I remembered this discussion Hilary and I had over a decade ago as I left the card on the table by the door. I went and had lunch with Mel, returned home, waited another three or four days and then finally got around to mailing the thank you card.

Uber Geek….and PROUD!

The other day, I was visiting one of my very best and long-time friend in the small town of Goderich. This time, I brought my fiancé along for the visit. Mark’s seen Hilary and I together, but perhaps he’d forgotten the dynamic or maybe he just found it intimidating how we revert to a strange land of contemplation beyond everyday happenstance. We’ve always been able to wonder aloud to each other about things that the general population probably never thinks of in their entire lives.

Anyway, it was on the way to the local flea market, when Mark and Hilary and I passed a strange metallic sculpture that was kind of shaped like a tree with pots at the end of its “branches”. The pots had been lovingly wrapped in aluminum foil. So we started to wonder about how that could possibly benefit the plant. And then we began to extrapolate our knowledge of radiant energy and heat to the usefulness of the metallic layer on space blankets. At a moment when I was feeling quite interested in the conversation Hilary and I were having, Mark piped up, “You guys are Uber Geeks.”

Last night, Mark and I and three other friends were over at our place hanging out, when another friend referred to a mutual acquaintance of ours also as an Uber Geek too. It seemed humourous and ironic to me when the comment escaped his mouth, but as much as I tried to explain it to him, he didn’t seem as amused as I was.

Some interesting statistics about the five grown adult people in the room last night:

Four out of five of us were engrossed in Settlers of Catan
Two of us can proudly solve the Rubik’s Cube
One of us was choosing to read The Walrus and Discover Magazines over playing the Nintendo Wii
Two of us went to see the new Transformers Movie on Opening Night (and LOVED it)
One of us likes to collect tapes more than CDs and knows a band called Mangina
One of us wants to camp out to buy the Harry Potter book on the first day it becomes available in stores

These are facts. Not judgments.
I love these people and the things mentioned above are part of what makes us fun and interesting in my humble uber-geek opinion.

Killed a Dragonfly Today
(alternate title: Sewing with my left foot)

I was just a few minutes ago ironing with my right ankle resting on the ironing board. You know, keeping it elevated.

It all began a few minutes after Mark got home from work and I was going into the back room to show him the note we’d gotten in the mail from my great Aunt Win and Uncle Dick. Apparently, I didn’t lift my right foot high enough as I stepped up into the room. Apparently, I was moving quite fast. Apparently, the poor dragonfly on my big toenail (painted lovingly by Andy a few weekends ago) got her wing torn off. I might have also lost some skin.

My first thought was “DARN IT!!!!!!!!”

Then I told Mark quite loudly that I needed a band-aid. Then I got quite nauseous and he had to get me a bowl in case I threw up. Then suddenly, I had to use the washroom in a bad way, but I was too dizzy to walk, so Mark had to kind of support me. It was upsetting enough to have half the skin removed from my big toe, but I started suddenly to worry about the strappy shoes I’m supposed to wear for my wedding in 24 days. Mark looked at my toe and said, “Oh, you might need stitches.” Note for future situations: Never say that.

Then I laid in bed for a long time and Mark got me water and stroked my hair and we contemplated going to the walk-in clinic, but we had to wait for the meatballs to finish cooking in the oven. And despite how much he teases me, I think it’s a very good thing I had the timer on. We decided to go to the walk-in. Then we decided not to. I examined the toe and declared, “I don’t think I can run with Jen tomorrow.” And Mark solemnly agreed, “I think you’re right.” Then we ate some meatballs.

He went to Shopper’s Drug mart and returned with hydrogen peroxide and special butterfly bandaids and polysporin (apparently the triple threat kind that heals stuff quickly). He told the pharmacist what had happened and he repeated her instructions about when to use what and when to “air it off”. She also said that if it’s my wedding, I can put on a fake toenail. I find little comfort in that right now.

Mark also bought me a special candy bar treat, which I gladly enjoyed despite the fact that I will likely not be running much in the near future.

And every time I walk past that step-up on the way to the back room, I scowl at it. I think it’s getting the picture.

Things I’m thankful for anyway:
1. That this didn’t happen on July 27th
2. That my trial cupcakes taste and look delicious and beautiful
3. That I did not sever my leg at the ankle
4. That I have a wonderful and loving fiancé

Groomal Shower

I know what a bride-to-be receives at a bridal shower. I have been blessed with three bridal showers in my honour over the past few months. But have you ever wondered what it would be like if a groom’s friends threw him a shower? What kinds of gifts would he get?

Let me answer that for you.
He’d receive:
Scope.
Earplugs.
Tylenol.
Dicklets (chicklets shaped like…well, you know)
A measuring tape and a book about reading body language (with sticky notes indicating useful pages).
A bottle of Smirnoff Ice.
Two travel size bottles of gin.
A bottle of vodka.
A bottle of Crown Royal.
A roll of toilet paper.
Cologne spray called “Mesmerize”
Cologne spray called “RPM”
An XL novelty beer glass.
A bartender’s mixer’s manual called “Sex on the Beach”
Silly glasses with googly eyes.
Costume jewelry.
Three Candy Love Rings (not for your finger)
A bottle of Mr. Clean (with Mark’s name written with a Sharpie above bald Mr. Clean himself) and a pair of Latex gloves.
The Complete Idiot’s Guide to the Supercharged Kama Sutra.
60 000+ Baby Names
Edible Undies.
A cock ring with a tassel.
Anal beads.
And many warm wishes for a long and happy marriage.