I'm married now! (In which I explain a lot of stuff, almost making you feel as if you were AT the wedding. Except, this is probably longer.)

The-Guy asked if I was going to blog live from our wedding, and although the idea had merit, I think it would have taken a little something away from the ceremony.

And then after the wedding, I had a wedding hangover. It's like a regular hangover, except with only two shots of tequila and a few sips of beer. And seven hundred and fifty three pounds of lamb tacos and baked goods instead of aspirin and puke and stuff.

But now I'm coming out of my wedding fog and thought I'd do the next best thing and tell the whole kit and caboodle in as short a version as I could manage. Sorry in advance to those who have been reading since before I met The-Guy and have the basic gist.After much convincing from a friend who would prefer to remain unnamed on this blog (I'll call her "Linda"), I joined a dating service and was on it for ten days, from start to finish.

To the dating profile question that asked who I was looking for, I answered, "A guy who likes songs about chickens. Or songs about whiskey."

I got a bunch of emails and I answered all of them, but I only gave my phone number to two guys. The other guy collected all kinds of junk. I talked to him on the phone, but he had an antique gas pump he was planning on keeping, and an antique jukebox he was planning on selling. This sounded like a severe case of confused priorities.

Meanwhile, The-Guy had emailed me saying he knew a good song about chickens. Not only that, he had a 45 with the chicken song on one side and a whiskey song on the other.

Still, I thought I should seek the advice of girlfriends before actually committing to a date. I showed his picture to my friend "Linda" and my friend Laurie.

Laurie protested, "Don't go out with him! He's wearing khakis!" But my friend "Linda" countered, "He's cute! I think you should go out with him!"

"Cute" sounded more convincing than disqualifying someone on the basis of clothing, and he DID know a song about a chicken. I gave him my phone number and he totally impressed me with his use of the word "umbrage". I'm a sucker for a guy with a larger vocabulary than I have.

And so we went on our first date, and I fell totally and completely in love with him, because he didn't have a television. It was a Thursday, and he asked to go out again on Sunday.

But, of course there was a Friday and a Saturday in between and yes, as the rabbi mentioned during the ceremony, I did kiss a bald Spaniard on the Friday in between. But it was only in self defense, because men say all the time that they're going to call and they hardly ever do. Little did I know that The-Guy was canceling a Saturday date just to make more time with me.

We spent most all our free time together after that (of which I had about 37 seconds a week, having two jobs, two kids, and two cats at the time).

And as the rabbi mentioned during the ceremony, I really did pull the rabbi aside as he was dropping off his kids for preschool and say, "My boyfriend doesn't know it yet, but he's getting married."

The part the rabbi omitted from the ceremony was his response to me, which was, "Well, sometimes men take a little longer to realize these things than women do." He also offered to give The-Guy a good talking to if it took him too long to come around, which turned out not to be necessary.

And then The-Guy proposed, and my dad said to make sure to have the wedding during my brother's vacation and my aunt said, "I'm coming to a wedding if I have to make the potato salad myself!" And I said, "We gotta have a wedding too?!?!?! Can't we just get married in the rabbi's office on my lunch break?!?!?!?"And even though we had to invite some people and not invite other people, and even though I forgot a cousin here and there and never got other people's addresses, and even though the music may have been a little loud (my brother said the music wasn't too loud, the crowd was too old) it turned out to be perfect and wonderful and fun, just like people said it would be.

And only one person was injured, and he TOLD my boy to try and hit the beer bottle with the shuffleboard puck for cryin' out loud.

So very many thanks to my friends and family, and my family that are my friends, and my friends that are my family, and everyone, everyone for making everything so special and wonderful and memorable and meaningful and all that kind of stuff. Wedding pictures still to come!

I Don't Really Have a Title. But They're Wedding Photos. Or Pre-Wedding Photos. Or Engagement Pictures Even.

My friend Beth noticed in my joke from last post that I would be kind of hungry if I only ate things that start with E on Thursdays. Luckily Arizaphale and DJ Kirkby thought up plenty of E-food, but really that wasn't the point. The point was WHOLESOMENESS! The-Guy helped me choose letter E like this:

Me - What letter do you think is the MOST wholesome?
Him - Most wholesome?
Me - Yeah! A nice wholesome letter.
(no answer)
Me - You know? Like one nobody associates with any swear word?
Him - A! Oh. No...wait...
(several moments later)
Him - E.

That's what he goes through just to hang around with me and take pre-wedding photos. Jeff actually called them engagement pictures, which sounds better, although I think both are accurate descriptions.

First some in my decoy wedding dress. Because, you know, The-Guy isn't supposed to see me in my real wedding dress.

I searched and searched for a decoy dress that looked weddingy, but I didn't find one. Luckily a teacher across the hall from me had given me her daughter's old prom dress. So I just wore that:The-Guy - "Look at the definition in your arm on this one."
Me - "That's definition? Oh good! I just thought my arm was lumpy."Please don't worry about correcting him. "Definition" sounds way better than "lumpiness".More casual ones:


Woo-hoo! The wedding is over! We're all jumpy and happy!Wait! The wedding's not over?!?!? Drat. That's okay. We're still jumpy and happy. Or exhausted from picking out tacos. One or the other.

On Thursdays, I Only Eat Foods That Start with the Letter E

Hello internet! I missed you that one day without access for no apparent reason!

Here's a phone conversation I had with The-Guy last week:

Me: I got chicken sausage for dinner. You know? Those long kind?
Him: Yeah?
Me: You know, the long kind that look like...
(Pause as I attempt to find a way to distinguish between sausage varieties without referring to male anatomy)
Me: that look like...
(pause)
Me: that look like cucumbers?
Him: I just took you off speaker phone.

I've been deemed unfit for broadcast amongst his coworkers. Again.

I wasn't going to say it looks like a penis though. Because we were just talking about spring rolls the other day. And who wants to be known as a gal with only one simile to her name? Or was that metaphor? I can't remember my exact words actually.

In any case, in addition to eating a bunch of different foods that look like male body parts, we also got (pre)wedding pictures taken. I can't remember exactly why Jeff (friend/wedding photographer) said it would be good to get some pictures beforehand, but it was fun.
I mean it was like, actual fun and not that kind of "fun" that I'm supposed to be having trying to deciding what kind of tacos we'll be serving. Except for trying to find a decoy wedding dress to get the pictures taken in. That part was a little stressful.

I'm not wearing the decoy wedding dress in these pictures though. These are some of the casual pictures.

And also, I don't only eat foods that start with the letter E on Thursday. I just asked The-Guy what he thought was a nice wholesome letter of the alphabet. That way I figured I could balance out the whole body parts thing.

If You're Going to Get Married, Try Not to be Born in Washington, DC

We went to get our marriage license and The-Guy-Who-Knows-A-Song-About-A-Chicken was born in Washington DC. It turns out that these two facts are not necessarily compatible. The form for a marriage license requires your birth city, county, and state. The-Guy didn't have anything to put down for two out of the three blanks, and it made the clerk upset.

She was doubtful of his claim that Washington DC is not part of any county or state. As The-Guy started to give her the full explanation of how Washington DC differs from other cities in the United States, I could see the look on her face change from one of confusion to something closer to mistrust or outright suspicion.

"Oh no!" I thought, "What if she gets defensive about her lack of political knowledge and doesn't let us get married?!?!?!"

Because by this time The-Guy, possibly from nervousness but more likely because of a true wish to inform, had moved into a full explanation of Washington DC's lack of representation in congress.

My fears were ungrounded, however, as she decided the best course of action was to call the Texas state capital and make sure that people from Washington DC were, in fact, allowed to get married.

And then we raised up our right hands and took some oath and she pronounced us practically just about married or ready to get really married or something like that and it was all very happy and official.

AND she gave us a booklet on being married published by none other than the Attorney General of Texas which is the exact person I always think of going to for marital advice...The booklet is full of sterile yet helpful information. For example, "Knowing what your spouse wants is only half the story. You also must know how to provide it to him or her." and "If you have not had a conflict yet, sooner or later you will." and "Arrange to spend time together on a regular basis."

Now that we've read the booklet, I'm pretty sure a successful marriage is practically guaranteed. I feel bad for all those poor suckers who got married before this booklet was published.

And also, I'm really glad we were both born here in the United States. Because if being born in Washington DC caused that much trouble, can you imagine how badly being born outside of the country would mess with the paperwork?!?!?

Weddings Are Like Oil Spills. Apparently.

I believe it might have been Disa awhile back who requested a wedding plans post. There are only two and a half more weeks to go, so I figure any wedding plans post has to be done kind'a soon.

The problem is, we haven't really made many actual "plans". I'm pretty sure the wedding is planning itself at this point, because once that man put an engagement ring on my finger, the wedding took on a life of its own.

It's like those large underwater oil plumes in the Gulf of Mexico. Except not. Because we created this monster ourselves. On purpose.

It will be fun though. I think.

Here are pictures of the place we're getting married. I've been calling it a bar, but apparently "honky tonk" is the more precise definition.


So yeah. All we need now is some wedding food. And some wedding plans.

Here's that darn cat, apparently waiting for his shower.Here's another piece of food that The-Guy-Who-Knows-A-Song-About-A-Chicken grew in the back yard. You might not be able to tell from the picture, but this particular piece of food is a cucumber...... a really, really big cucumber.

So anyway, that's what's going on around here. It's summertime and the livin' is easy. I have declared our wedding more fun than a disastrous oil spill. The-Guy is growing Texas sized food.

In fact, maybe that one cucumber will be enough to feed all the wedding guests. We'd probably even have leftovers.

Some Jews Do Fix Stuff. But not that many I gather.

I think I've mentioned that The-Guy-Who-Knows-A-Song-About-A-Chicken commands the plants around here. He told them to do this:
And this:

And this:

And this:
And they did, because he's in charge.

And he even told them to grow food, like this:
And this:And the plants did it, because they listen.

And then a few weeks ago I was out to dinner with some coworker-friends and I volunteered The-Guy to build something on our school playground. Apparently fixing stuff is not a Jewish thing to do.

The woman who teaches in the classroom next door to me interrogated the other women around the table, "Does your husband fix stuff?!?!?!" Everyone answered no, except my friend Missy.

But the other teacher was not so easily placated. About Missy's husband she said, "Well he's not Jewish. That doesn't count!" Apparently marrying someone Jewish does not impede one from performing household repairs.

She wanted to know if I was SURE The-Guy-Who-Knows-A-Song-About-A-Chicken was Jewish. He is. AND he's remodeling the bathroom. I didn't get a before picture showing the ugly wallpaper and mildewy shower door. But here's a halfway in the middle picture:"After" pictures coming soon! By the way, does anyone need any fresh yellow summer squash?