Back from the dea- HOLY CRAP!

Anyone get that Strong Bad reference? Ahem.

Since my blogging sabbatical, I chopped and darkened my hair, absorbed unhealthy amounts of Canadian fiction, took daily baths whether I need them or not, promoted, performed in a play, inhaled coffee, and avoided cleaning the apartment.

Oh, and I gave birth to twins and finally wrote that "I'm-Setting-the-Catholic-World-on-Fire" dramatic piece. (I hope you know I'm kidding. I'm such a kidder.)

In payment for my absence, I will share somewhat embarrassing tidbits of my newlywed life. Sorry, husband.

Darin continues to amuse me with his nocturnal chatter and odd habits. For example!

"ARGH! That's ridiculous!!"
"I'll just have some NyQuil with a side of ribs."
"I know I logged off, but it's okay."

Today I discovered that Darin cups his hands over his ears in the shower so shampoo doesn't creep in. I'm not sure why, but that's kinda cute.

And here is where I owe my darling husband an apology. A couple nights ago, Darin and buddy Carl stayed up into the wee hours working on a website. Since I had an early work day ahead of me, I crashed earlier than usual. I slept peacefully and didn't even notice when Darin scrambled into bed. My lovely slumber didn't last much longer.

I awoke to a smell... a stench, rather... a motley of sewage, burning rubber, and brown rice... I gasped and abruptly sat up.

"Did you just...?"

Darin squealed, jumped, and began fanning the blankets in attempt to dilute the foul odor, failing miserably of course. David just couldn't beat Goliath. Now, this sorry event could have ended up in divorce for some couples, but Darin and I settled our- differences- and ended the night with a tickle fight and hug. Let this be a lesson to you.

It's my bedtime, friends! Wish me luck.

Goodbye, Fat Pants

An unfailing source of comfort. A non-addictive sleeping pill. Blindness to flaw. Tenderness, acceptance. Unpretentious and mysterious.

These are a mere few of the endless delights offered by my fat pants.

The palest of grey cotton jersey, the mesh of the vertical blue stripe along each leg, the everlasting brown carressing the cuffs... these pants have journeyed from Target's "last chance" rack to Annie to Torie to Natalia... ending with me, only to perish at the hands of my own husband.

Darin recently said to me, "Louise, I don't see how you can feel any less than gross in those things." How could I have not seen the extent of his hatred?!

Woe! I, nor anyone else, will ever lay eyes on my beloved fat pants again. They are gone forever, taking their final asthmatic breaths in a landfill. *wistful sigh*

Will I ever experience comfortable sloth again? More importantly, will I ever love again?

Woe! Woe to the Fat Pants! Woe to memory! Convenience! Questionable stains!

Woe to Darin, who will suffer greatly henceforth. Poophead.

Rest in Peace

From Mr. Wilson to Mahluli to Darin...

We'll miss you, ghetto Saturn.

Darin and I are driving back to the inlaws today to pick up a car for temporary usage.

Why did you have to die, ghetto Saturn? With your mismatched fender and crooked steering?

*single tear*

Too Lazy for a Real Post

It is Spring Break at my alma mater. This is why I am perpetually present, pretending that I am, once again, a brooding college student. Some tibidgins:

A toast to Quentin Tarantino

Monica, the girl in every picture

Meghan and Monica's death wish

A ten-minute study break with Shakespeare and Oscar Wilde


I'm running off to work now. Ciao, my loves!

In the Name of Love... and chili beans.

I wish my inlaws didn't infuriate/amuse me the way they do. Before I continue, let me express my undertstanding that most of the annoyance lies within my own weakness. I really do love them dearly.
That being said, it's time for some

Schmeez Droppings
Thoughts, Realizations, and Excremental Wisdom

• I love Eric, Darin's younger brother. We were on NET together in 2000, and can easily communicate and tease each other. I enjoy spending time with him, despite his poor taste in film. (C'mon, Unbreakable?!) Anyway, he's cool, intelligent, and a taller version of Darin. Plus he laughs at my jokes.

• Brian, on the other hand... This Recon Marine cannot maintain a conversation unless it regards himself. His wife is the same way. If ever I volunteer information, Brian and Sharron look at me in a slightly puzzled manner and quickly revert the topic back to themselves or their children. Brian is rude, crass, and egocentric. A typical conversation:

Brian: "Louise, if you saw my fist come flying at your face, would you be scared?"
Me: "Uh, yeeah..."
Brian: "So would I!" (guffaws)

• Why does Mr. Dad avoid good books? I desperately want to introduce him to some Fathers and Doctors of the Church. He has never even touched the Confessions. He is a huge follower of Poem of the Man God and stuff by "Anne" the Lay Apostolate. Momma say Whaa?
• My mom-in-law is very small, sweet, and considerate. That is why I feel so badly when she annoys me. If she was boisterous, it would be easier. This woman has two characteristics which I cannot hope to ever understand. She mutters and hovers. While the family sits down at table with after-dinner coffee, Mrs. Mom will not join in. She quietly leans over the conversators, wiping up every microscopic crumb, slowly and without a sound. I want to scream, "For Aslan's sake, woman!!! SIT DOWN!!"
• If there is any kind of wait at a restaurant, she wants to leave. If there are leftovers in the fridge, she force-feeds. If someone double-dips, she shows more emotion than if someone swears in front of the children.
  
• What would you do if your eldest brother-in-law smacked you on your bottom? Hard?
• I got into a debate with Mr. Dad about interracial marriages. He says that the child of a mixed marriage will not be accepted by either race. I pause for effect. He is slave to the ludicrous idea that all black people are from the ghetto and participate in drive-by shootings. Love does not play into his arguments at all... Isn't the point of marriage to bring the other person to heaven? He was absolutely appalled when I revealed that despite their strict dating rules, my parents made it clear to me that it did not matter which race I married into. He also wasn't aware that I have a 1/2 & 1/2 for an aunt- half black, half hispanic. Don't mess with me, buddy. Mr. Dad also thinks leftys should be trained at a young age to be right-handed. My case is rested.
• Brian's kids are adorable. I had a lot of fun playing with them. Good times.
• I do love my in-laws! I do! I am just completely happy to settle back into my cluttered apartment, with my own coffee and Splenda and computer and schedule.
  
• GIYOOO!!!
• Meghan and I are doing a scene from Twelfth Night. I am utterly excited, as I have never done Shakey before. I am Olivia, she is Viola- completely appropriate. I see it as a throwback to the AMC newspaper caption under a pic of Meghan and I from "The Importance of Being Earnest": Louise and Meghan are two young woman in love. Maybe so.
• I am singing a love song with Dr. A as well. From Evita?! As Angel would say with her head down on the table: "Three shots!"
• American Idol rocks my little Catholic world; Darin and I love Elliott. Any thoughts on this adorably toothy guy from the south?

Off to work. I have 30 minutes to pack an overnight-bag, get dressed, have lunch, make a snack, straighten my hair, and canoodle with Darin. Ciao!

Stay Tuned

Okay, so I got back a day later than anticipated. Let me recover from my Weekend with the Inlaws. Yeah, this one's gonna be good.

Until tomorrow, my loves.

Mawidge bwings us togevah!

Darin has a habit of talking in his sleep. Consequently, this occurs during the nights I need sleep most. Some choice quotes:

"What? You're wearing that?!"

"HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"

"No way. You ain't getting NUTTIN' from me!"

He picked up my hand, felt my fingers, and said, "I don't like little things like this. Do you?"

"Hey manny man man!"

I swear he spoke Chinese two weeks ago.

Since I'm too lazy to write a real post, here's some other Darin/Louise tibidgins:

"Darin, sick! You just threw your scab on the floor!"
"Better get your socks on!"

"Gimme a kiss, Louise. One little peck. Try it on for size."
"But you're wearing a turtleneck."

Now, escape from my little world while you can.

Time Out

Think of Mona's family and pray for the repose of her wonderful father's soul!

I would have cropped the above picture, but the sacrifice of Corwin's marvelous thumb wasn't an option. I'll be back soon.

Bursting Oil

Per request of Darin, I write this post.

Blame him.

Back when I was circa fifteen, I would often visit the B family. These wealthy loggers/realtors owned a vast 40,000 acres which included a gorgeous lake. Swimming, boating, salamander catching, crawdad roasting... a perfect place to channel the stinky and dirty side of life. While enjoying the scenery, of course.

One afternoon, a B son and I canoed around the lake, exploring hidden inlets and apprehending minnows. At one point the bottom of the canoe hit a stump, causing me to jerk forward and lay my hand on my friend's back to steady myself.

Comedy happened.

The boy winced in pain, shrugged his shoulders up to his ears, and fairly screamed with a nasal "OW! My ACNE!"

This phrase has oozed its way (pardon the pun) into my marriage's vocabulary. Darin often mentions the pubescent trials of "winter backne." I recently reached for my moisturizer only to see "Crackne Medication" written on it.

Has this jest from my past reached its inevitable demise?

No. Pimples will always be funny.

Of Pimples and Sealing Wax

Marriage has helped me become more vulnerable. To be precise, I've completely passed over the vulnerability stage and into the uncharted realm of obscenity. Mom will be so proud.

Me: "I'm embarrassed... I am getting a huge zit."
Darin: "That's okay, I get 'em all the time. We can be Pimple Pals."

I would further this thread if I was assured that only females read this blog, but as many of my readers are friends of the male species (I love yins) and gross old men with a taste for saucy brunettes (stop calling me), my hands are tied. Moving on...

I don't really care what any other human being thinks of me except my husband. He is the only one who has ever heard the ridiculous phrase, "Do I look fat?" pass through my lips. Only he has to reassure me that I am attractive, intelligent, unique, and amusing. I just assume that everyone else feels the same way; if they don't, I'll make sure to forget the fact.

Speaking of fat nudity, Darin set up a massage appointment for me tomorrow morning!

*grateful bow*

I have never received a professional massage before. All previous massages have been from loving amateurs:

My brother Dave- "This is a good one, Chew. I call this... THE DEATH GRIP!!!" I cry.

Megen- "Lou, you're soooo tense!" She repeats this phrase throughout the massage, defeating its purpose.

Erica- "Schmeeeeeez... [insert little made-up song]"

Indignant Darin- "Two minutes is more than enough!"

Mona- A ten-minute hand massage to prep me for a tough night of paper writing.

Mandy- "Walking on the back is good for you!"

Justin- "Are you sure Darin won't come in?"

That androgynous hobo on the bus- I don't want to talk about it.

Although I am entering into a new stage in life's twisting journey, please know that I will not reject you, nor your offers to manipulate my tissues. Until then.

Oh God. Petey's dead.

*contented sigh*

I am currently sprawled out on the carpet with my lappy, sipping French Roast, clad in oversized pajamas. Snow is lightly falling, I am well-rested, and the apartment is cleaner than usual. Napoleon says "YES!"

Last night I made espresso drinks at the college for a study/game night. It was so much fun to have everyone together again- I miss that! Afterwards, I chatted with Nat for a while- long overdue, I must say. Let's all support Natalie on her journey to Mexican food.

Schmeez Droppings
Thoughts, Realizations, and Excremental Wisdom

• If you ever fall off the Sears Tower, just go real limp, because maybe you'll look like a dummy and people will try to catch you because, hey, free dummy.
• Chris Felix is my hero. Remember the post when I was in the depths of despair after Pat D. said (very maliciously, I must add) that I looked pregnant? Well, months later, Chris saw Pat. He punched the latter in the arm the only way an L.A. native can. Pat asked, "Why did you do that?!" Chris answered, "That's for what you said to Louise at the dance." Isn't that the best thing you've heard? For those of you who know Pat, I am sure this is very satisfying for you. Mwa ha ha! Chris, you rock my world!!! Napoleon says "YES!"
• Dad always thought laughter was the best medicine, which I guess is why several of us died of tuberculosis. (For more, print this out.)
• Girls, nautical is in. Go to the Value World and stock up on sailor pants, stripey shirts, espadrilles, and salt water taffy.
• I had a good four days off earlier this week. People, I spent it downloading free King's Quest-ish PC games. I didn't leave the chair for anything except Jazzercise and sustenance. SICK, I tell you! SICK! I'm sure Corwin relates.
• I went for drinks with Meg and Danny. Very fun! Three alcoholic beverages later, I called Darin to inform him I wouldn't be home that night. In true Lou fashion, I woke up bright and early, feeling wonderfully rested. *groan* I drove back at 6am, crawled into bed with sleeping husband, and slept until noon.
  
• My new favorite band- Pink Martini! My bro introduced me to these Portland-based talents. Here's their own description: "Somewhere between a 1930s Cuban dance orchestra, a classical chamber music ensemble, a Brasilian marching street band and Japanese film noir is the 12-piece Pink Martini." Choice.
• I'm now on to my second cup of coffee. Giyoooo!
• Valentine's Day is coming- ready your firearms!

Meow, baby.

My heart will go on and on and on...

I was just scrounging through my honeymoon photos when I came across this. Darin noticed this actual advertisement during a walk through the park. We had a good laugh over it.



Can anyone think of a worthy caption?

These Crazy Pills are Delightful!

"I was picking my nose and looking at my computers, that's all!"

Darin is funniest when he doesn't mean to be. He constantly makes unexpected, strange comments, causing me to laugh like I'm taking crazy pills. (Unexpected and strange?!? Add bacon and it's a perfect combo meal!) I spend a lot of time rolling on the carpet during our conversations. Here's the typical rundown of things-

1. Darin makes funny statement without realizing its potential.
2. I laugh.
   
3. Darin thinks, "You like that, huh? Well, listen to this!"
4. Darin expands on previous statement, this time not too funny.
5. Laughter dwindles.
6. Darin repeats first successful statement with confidence.
7. Laughter resumes.

I like him.

*Untimely change of topic*

I asked Angel tonight if she feels slightly embarrassed to reveal her occupation when asked by current AMC affiliates. Angel, like me, currently associates with the work-a-day secular world. Little imp answered me with a resounding "YES!" (So glad I'm not alone in this.)

"YES! Lord, YES! Actually, I'm setting the world on fire with a new Catholic drama. And I am the personal secretary to Mel Gibson!"

Oh, Angel. What are you up to now... *personal joke- ask me if interested*

I miss my girl friends. Poor Darin's estrogen levels are at an all-time high from listening to my "feelings" and weird feminine psycho-babble. The guy lives in a cross-bred world of American Idol, polka-dots, and menstrual cycles. When he starts moisturizing, I'll begin to worry.

A special shout-out (is that the term the kids are using these days?) to neighbor-girl Mandy who consented to marry long-time beau Justin. Break out the AirHog!

And there I was, naked in Shoprite.

A Pocketful of Splenda

It was so great to see Darin again! He is my sole consolation in regards to my return to this grey, cold, world. *agonized scream*

I arrived yesterday evening, sore rear in hand. Fully convinced that I would burst into tears at any moment, Darin jumped out the of car. He was so happy to see me and... giddy, actually. I'm glad to be back. Good ol' Darin. I don't know what I'd do without him.

Then, *edited for content*

*edited for content*

And *edited for content*

Yes, it is good to be back.

Oh, and why the unrelated title? I really do have Splenda in my pocket. As the official sweetener of Room 37, I pilfer at least ten packets per coffeehouse visit.

Day 4 1/2

Consensus: Dial-up is the devil's spawn.

I have a few good posts in the works, however, completion is futile between Tib's bellows and Mom's ramblings.

Example: She looked up my name on myspace... she noticed that my status was "single." I never thought I'd have to say to my own mother, "No, I am not looking for guys on the internet!"

Change the default profile settings, people. Change them now.

I'm glad I can laugh about this.

Day 1

An Airplane Haiku

Bunking with strangers
O my Lord I bumped his arm
How my buttocks aches

For the first time in years I wasn’t scared that foreigners would hijack the plane. I was able to enjoy the geometric farmland and decipher crop circles. The long flight and lack of sleep and food paid off. Home was sorely missed.

After a joyful reunion, Mom and I drove to Dave’s school where he is headmaster. (I know. They call him headmaster.) We had a quick lunch at Dave’s favourite café. Please note the English spelling of “favorite.” This charming hole-in-the-wall simply cannot be described with white-trash American spelling.

Costello’s Travel Café, with its burnt golden and sage interior, is perfection… a choice place to unwind and philosophize. My brother generously treated Mom and I to a late lunch. I ordered spicy chai and an Amsterdam pannini. My steaming drink was served with a fern delicately imprinted on the foam. I took a sip- I now know what Edmund tasted when he accepted Jadis’ sustenance. Spicy… warm… tingly… smooth … I always wondered what was in that mug.

The grilled pannini finally arrived, stuffed with chicken breast, provolone, fresh basil pesto, and tomatoes. A side of romaine drizzled with a light vinaigrette accompanied the meal. I love being with David, so this was a perfect beginning to my visit.

Mom and I drove home, where I met our new kitten Tib and tried to win Lulabelle back, to no avail. After I visited Faith and her two kids, I went to Caren’s. Argh. After an over-enthusiastic greeting, she proceeded to put her acting skills to practice in everything she said and did. I ache for her. She is so unhappy with herself, and her children suffer for it. Tonight is Gemma’s 1st birthday party- she looks like she hasn’t aged since I last saw her six months ago… so small and thin. I want to rip Caren’s business manuals away from her, smack her (hard), and force her to make the children priorities, not burdens.

All in all, I am so happy to be back. I miss Darin, but I don’t miss the Midwest.

The West is Best.

(My apologies for the late post, but my parent's dial-up connection suffers.)

I'm heeeere.

Holidays are hectic.

Like clockwork, I contracted an illness before Christmas which barred all speaking abilities. In addition, I worked full-time in retail.

*pause for effect*

Please don't. I've wept enough for all of us.

The important thing is, I'm back. And at a very opportune time, too. Tomorrow morning, I'm flyin' outta this Midwest wasteland of cold and ghetto, and into the land of lollipops and pumpkins! West coast, baby.

Why should you give me another chance, you may ask? AHEM.

My eldest sister, i.e. The Ice Queen, has more or less disowned the rest of the family because of a dispute between her husband Joe and my dear brother Dave. She feels that everyone has taken my brother's side in this abomination of her husband's character and business integrity. Let me add that the truth is quite clear.

In short, I am going to have an exciting eleven days at home. I foresee a cross between Jerry Springer, Dr. Laura, and EWTN. Despite all potential crap, I can't wait to see my family and pets. It's been so long since I've spent non-stressed quality time with my mom. (Let me tell ya, wedding planning does not bring out the best in people.)

In conclusive conclusion, say a little prayer for my flight. I'll be sure to update as much as possible. With pictures! And profanity! And Jujubes!

Ciao.

Groan

This is the busiest week of the year for the store. Consequently, I cannot post as much as I would like. Keep watching.

My tootsies ache ferociously... yes, I said 'ferociously.'
My cold is mild but lasting; today is day six, and my voice sounds like a smoker frog.
I am exhausted.

*Sound of head hitting keyboard*

Fa la la la BRAAAK!

As you might have guessed, I am not going home for Christmas.

Lack of money
+
Job security
+
Expensive flights
=
a Darin & Louise Apartment Christmas!

Darin and I decided that since a West Coast Christmas is impossible, so is a Christmas with the inlaws. I would be far too homesick and pouty, thus invoking misery in each of my extended family members.

I will be heading back home, however, in January! Eleven days of West Coast lovin.' The only downer is that between a heavy class and work schedule, Darin cannot come. Argh.

Here's a preview of my little winter vacay:

1. Wait for Lulabelle to stop ignoring me, plead for her forgiveness regarding my long absence, and cuddle her before I go to sleep.
2. Jump on Mom and Dad's bed (while they're in it, of course).
3. Scandalize my eldest sister with the clothes I wear and love. Caren has rebuked my fashion sense ever since I lost my baby fat. To her, dressing prettily is dressing as a lady of the night. Maybe so, Caren. Maybe so.
4. Go hiking where Darin proposed. (The first time.)
5. Visit my buddy Mandy across the street. Harass her parents. Tease her mother.
   
6. Read in the guest bedroom with the heater on full blast while lying on my tummy. This has been my "comfort food" since I was a little girl, reason unknown.
7. Eat mom's pumpkin custard.
8. Get a back massage from my wonderful brother Dave.
9. Leave family dinner early enough to avoid religious debates, late enough to properly digest.
10. (Edited for content)
11. Go to the beach with my parents, make a fire while sitting on driftwood, eat clam chowder from Mo's, go crabbing.
12. Without flinching, tell Dad I love him.
13. Drink lots of mochas from my favorite hole-in-the-wall coffeehouses.
    
14. Get "love vibes" from Mom.
15. Spend the night by the Christmas tree.
16. Meet our new little calico kitten, Tib.
17. Dance in the living room with my nieces and nephews until someone gets hurt.
18. Order in from my favorite Mexican restaurant and watch old movies with the parental units.
    
19. Instead of avoiding the Annual Family Blow-up, take pictures for future blackmail usage.
20. Continue the argument with my father on why "Kill Bill" is a great movie.
    

Keep reading through January, for the posts will be frequent and (I have a foreboding feeling) extra juicy. Shudder.

Of Cabbages and Poles

On Phase 2 of our honeymoon, Darin and I drove a U-Haul from the W.C. back to Midwestern Lands. On the way, we took a detour to Preston, Idaho. Yes, THE Preston, Idaho of Napoleon Dynamite.

The picture below is of me glorifying the very place Jon Heder played some raucous games of tetherball. On a second inspection of this photo, I realized that the tetherball pole looks similar to another kind of pole. Any old perv who saw this pic out of context might think... *Groan*



Anyway, isn't Idaho beautiful? Not half as gorgeous as my home state, but it has its purpose. I invite those of you live east of Montana to renounce your Midwestern roots and move to the west. Man cannot live on crap alone.