These days, I am all about "Mirrormask." I don't know why, but I have been thinking about this movie a lot recently-- loving the look of it, the story, the originality-- and then there is a song on the "Where's Neil When You Need Him" compilation by the Cruxshadows called "Wake the White Queen," and I played it yesterday while I was painting trim in the bathroom and then again this morning on my way to work.

Something's up with Mirrormask; I have to figure out why all the sudden I am on this kick for a movie I've really, really liked for over a year now, but never gave it this much dedicated thought until now. Hmm. Well, either way, if you haven't seen it, I highly recommend checking it out (provided that you are cool with fantasy, strange images and cats with human faces, among other things. If you're more of a "The Departed" person, notthatthere'sanythingwrongwiththat, you might not love it like I do, just be forewarned).

I really enjoy the Bobs.


So anyway, Thanksgiving was nice. We didn't do much cooking since we picked up a prepared meal from the grocery store the morning of, and just spent some time doctoring up the stuffing and green bean casserole before my Mom came over to join us. We just didn't have it in us to make an entire Thanksgiving dinner this year... poor Greg is cooked-out after all the homecoming chili and wedding rehearsal dinner food. And I am STILL afraid of turkey gizzards, so my hands were tied. But really, the dinner turned out pretty well and we all stuffed ourselves appropriately. I loved how mellow the day was, overall, and how we actually got the dogs to stay away from the dining table as we ate. They looked SO HUNGRY and DESPERATE and PLEASEOHGODPLEASE GIVE US SOME FOOD! But they were well-behaved and stayed in the doorway for the most part; Hailie doing a super-adorable thing where she peeked her face around the corner so we only saw part of a snout and one pleading brown eye.

Greg and I saw Casino Royale on Friday afternoon, and it was pretty good. It was my first Bond film. I have never seen anything with James Bond in it; mostly because the usual Bond-reliance on gadgets, fancy cars and beautiful women seemed to get in the way of any storylines that might have lured me in. But, this year I read a decent article in some magazine talking about the new movie, and how Daniel Craig is more of a 'gritty' Bond and the story actually mentioned the plotline before what models of cars were being touted in this movie, and my interest was raised. Greg wanted to see the movie, and because of this article I'd read, I did, too. I'm glad we did, because it was kind of fun and I really loved Judi Dench. M seems like the type of character I'd want to play if I ever go back to acting again.

I could have done without the graphic nuts-being-pummeled scene, though. Christ. Being a woman, I obviously don't have little fellas of my own, but I swear I could feel phantom balls-pain while watching that scene. The theater was SILENT as every person in there froze and clenched up in phantom balls-pain along with me. I don't even recall the obligatory, "OOOHH!" that some guy always seems to yell out when there is any scene with anyone being hit in the nuts. So you know this scene was bad. I'd go so far as to say it's somehow grosser and more tortuous than the crap they did in "Hostel" or "Saw." You just don't tie a naked dude to a chair with the seat cut out and slam him repeatedly in the scrotes with a knotted rope. No, sir.

Well, other than eating turkey and watching Bond get his balls whacked, we did other stuff this weekend, too. On Saturday we took a grueling (for me) hike up the mountain formerly known as Squaw Peak with Hailie and Indy. I am SO out of shape since I've skipped out on going to the gym for over two months now. But it was so nice outside, and the trail is pretty fun, so there we were.

I thought I was about to develop asthma right there on top of the summit we reached. My lungs were tight and breathing was so hard I was wheezing. I felt nauseous. But once I got moving again, I was fine. Still...hiking kicks the SHIT out of me. I love it. And I must say, I loved hiking with the dogs, too. Indy helped pull my slow ass up the mountain, all while assisting me in keeping my balance. This was the very first hike we've taken him on, and he seemed to love it. Hailie is a great hiker, too-- she is an excellent climber of rocks and seems content to jog alongside Greg rather than pull him down the trail like a maniac. I was just having a blast watching the dogs sniff and explore their surroundings, and having Indy actually make eye contact with me when I called his name when we were alone on the trail. He's getting better.

We did other stuff, like go furniture-browsing for possible dining room tables and watching "Scrubs" (see new blog quote above) on Comedy Central and staying up late to watch "The Venture Brothers," even though it was a repeat last night. It was a decent four day escape.

Now, I am wishing for something totally random: Pop Rocks. Strawberry. I haven't had them in so long, and I feel like having them right now. This too shall pass, as they say.

Time to go. This quote is for the Venture Brothers fans out there:
The Monarch: "What a dick move!"

If you like laughing, you will probably like this:

If you hate laughing, what the hell is the matter with you?

Wow, today is/was the 2nd Annual Thank God I'm Not in High School Anymore Day, and I totally crapped out on it. I just want to apologize to this blog, because I think it's really disappointed in my lack of old-picture-scanning action. So sorry, Armsweat.

My car is in Tha Shop this morning, getting the handle on my driver's side back door fixed. I'm so glad that the Toyota shop can fix it in one day, and it won't cost all that much. The handle just stopped working while Greg, Kristen and Ezzy and I were down in Bisbee last week, meaning no one could get in or out of that side of the car. I am partly to blame for this, too, since I was too freaking lazy to get the car back to the body shop that created the problem over one YEAR ago.

Last year, I wrote this post about the day the repair shop broke my car's driver side door off when they backed it out of the shop with the door open...and hit a huge pile of tires. The repair shop covered the repairs to my car, as well as the cost of a rental car for the two weeks I was without my dear little Rav4, but I have to say I was less than impressed with the job the body shop did. Not only did the new door have a broken lock and window button panel (it isn't held down by anything, I just push it down with my hand...hard to explain, but suffice to say it's sloppy, but doesn't impede the function of my locks or windows, so I don't really care very much. Plus you can't see it unless I lift the loose panel up, so it looks FINE.), but the door that now has the completely-busted handle would no longer open from the inside.

I called it the Kidnap Seat. I could shove someone into the car on that side, and they can't get out. Ah HA, I got you!

Anyway, I attempted to get the car back to the body shop at the time, but I got the runaround from the scheduling department and whoever answered the phone there. First it was something about there was only one guy who could do that repair, and he was out...could I call back later? I would call back and he was NEVER available. I left my name, number and a message. Never got any calls back. Eventually, I gave up and figured "one of these days" I would get it in for repair, when I didn't need my car for a few days since that place can't seem to do ANYTHING in less than 10 working days.

Time passed...and passed... and I would warn my passengers about the door and let them out myself, often with a laugh or a sigh of, "I really have to get this in for repair one of these days." You get the idea.

So here we are, over one year later, and the door now won't open from the inside or the outside. And I am sitting at work, waiting for the Toyota dealership down the street to call and let me know the car is all ready to go. If I had gotten the body shop to do the repair it probably wouldn't have cost me anything since they CAUSED the problem to begin with, but I have chosen to pay for the repair myself to avoid dealing with those chuckleheads. At least now it will be taken care of, and my car will be a little more normal once again.

I love my car, I really do. She's a cute car. But... I am reaching this awkward point of sort-of wanting to get rid of her. She's getting so much older and beat-up looking. There are scratches and dents on her, and one ugly spot where I bumped my car into one of the brick columns on our carport. She's passed the 70,000 mile point, and the windshield has at least 12 chips and cracks from rocks on the freeway. I guess none of this is all that bad, really, and she does run very well. STILL...I am finding my eye beginning to wander to the new 2007 Rav4s, the Chevy HHRs (which I think are adorable), the Hyundai Santa Fe.

I feel SO GUILTY! And MATERIALISTIC! Has anyone else faced this quandry, and how have you dealt with it-- did you just take yoga and relax or something, or did you go and get a new car?

Well, whatever the case may be, I am thankful to have my car, and a reliable one at that. I shouldn't be whining about this when Thanksgiving is but hours away! There are bigger things in life to think about, and pray for, etc... and here I am wanting a shiny newer car than the one I already have. Sheesh. I have lots of things to be thankful for this year:

* My new marriage
* My health (especially the medication cocktail I'm on that's brought me out of depression)
* The health of my family and good friends
* My brand-new short story (being written RIGHT NOW! YAY!)
* Malcolm :)
* Hailie :)
* NOT Indy (just kidding)
* The passage of Prop 204 here in AZ, which bans gestation crates and veal pens... and the non-passage of Prop 107, which would have backed legislation that would make it impossible for same sex couples to ever get married (and taken away rights of some straight but unmarried couples, too)-- these two things gave me hope that Arizona isn't such a backwards, uncompassionate place to live! ('Course, they passed some REALLY STUPID props, too, and voted in some jackasses, but I'm thinking baby steps here)
* The fact that I care about things. Really. For a long time I didn't act or care about this stuff due to problems in my life, and now I have the courage and conviction to speak up and do things!

OK, enough of this mushy stuff. I am wondering what you're thankful for this year. So leave a comment and let me know, if you want to.

And I wish you all a fantastic Thanksgiving. Try not to take a dump in public; I don't care how full of turkey you get, you can always hold it until you reach a toilet. Unless you're drunk. So try not to be drunk and poop-ready. It's best for all of us if you practice restraint.

Some car crashes are violent. And some are just STUPID.

So here's what happened: today I was driving to work like I always do, and I see the stupidest car crash happen right in front of me.

I don't know what possessed the car full of blonde chicks in front of me at the stoplight to decide to make a left turn from THREE lanes to the right, and to do it right in front of a big, black pickup truck, but by God, they DID IT.

I don't think anyone got hurt. Is it evil of me to be disappointed that at least one of those girls wasn't thrown from the little silver sedan they were spacing out in? Because I did feel a little sad that I didn't get to see that.

It's funny/uncomfortable to see a really dumb accident happen. You see it coming, and there's not much you can do to stop it, because events are now set in motion and these events are ruled by destiny. Some stupid people are just destined to smash their cars into the front of other cars in other lanes when the light turns green.

I had been sitting there, pondering the moronic females' license plate, which was from Arkansas. I was particularly struck by the catchphrase of "The Natural State." Wow, Arkansas...that's pretty impressive. You really came up with a winner there. I'm supposing that all the other states are artificial, then? Or, is this some sort of metaphysical thing you're going for-- to be in Arkansas is equal to being in a natural state of being, right? We, as humans, are in our natural state when we are in Arkansas. The rest of the time, when we are in other states in the US, we are just out of sorts and acting like stressed-out howler monkeys or something.

Maybe that can explain why the ladies from Arkansas decided to make that beautiful left turn. They were out of sorts! They cannot be blamed for actions that occur outside of Arkansas-- they were just not used to dealing with the environs of Arizona. Sure, they thought the fact that the first two letters of the state are the same would mean that this would make life in the Grand Canyon State a little easier to handle than, say, a state like Wyoming. (I mean, WOW, that state has two scary, exotic end-of-the-ABC-song letters at the front of its name!)

Here's the setting, just for clarity's sake:

It's a 4 lane road, with the left two lanes designated for turning left. The third lane goes straight up a ramp leading to the freeway, as does the fourth lane...the third and fourth merge on the ramp. It's really not that hard to navigate, especially with the huge freakin' signs on the lightposts that illustrate the lanes and their recommmended directional use.

The Arkansas geniuses (genui-i?) and I were in that fourth lane from the left. There is a shiny new black pickup in the third lane, next to me. Beyond him, two lines of traffic are lined up to make that left turn to go under the overpass and off to whatever adventures lie over there, in LeftWorld. Things seem normal, uneventful.

The light turns green, and the cars roll forward. Well...except for the girls in the Arkansas car. THEY moved forward, and then with no real provocation, cut the wheel and hit the gas to try to cut off the big black truck and make a left in front of him.

The guy in the black truck hits his brakes and his horn, but the chicks keep on rolling...right into the front bumper on his passenger side. The girls' car goes sideways for a split second before they yank the wheel back and cut off the OTHER cars to get over to the left. The whole thing happened in slo-mo for me, and I had to keep driving since I couldn't turn around on the on-ramp or anything, so all I could see in my mirrors as I drove past was the dumb girls finally pulling over and the black truck trying to ease its way out of the intersection, so the driver could presumably pull over and give those chicks the beat-down they so deserved.

It's one of those times where I wish I could have turned around and stayed until the cops showed up so I could be a witness. I just wanted to describe this incident to law enforcement officers SO BADLY as I drove to work! I wanted to use rich language and highly-descriptive phrasing to give them a clear picture of the stupidity I witnessed. I wanted to see those chicks CRYING. I wanted to hear the inevitable, "OHmyGODIamSOSORRY!" whining. I did; I wanted to smirk and feel superior to the morons. What would possess someone in a little cheap-looking sedan to just cut in front of a moving line of traffic to make a last-minute left turn? I hope whatever it was happened to be a particularly colorful little demon or hell-beast that will also visit intense bowel troubles, acne and IRS audits upon the girls, in addition to making them crash up the car.

Sorry, Arkansas. Today you lost. I'm sorry, but I call 'em as I see 'em.

Easin' Back

I think I can safely say that today has been a good transitional day back at the office for me. It's my first day back, and as far as first-days-back go, this one wasn't too shoddy.

First of all, I only had 56 e-mails waiting for me. However, only about 12 of them were actually e-mails I needed to read and/or respond to. The rest were safely deleted.

There were no new projects created while I was out. In fact, it really appears no one did much of anything last week. And this being Thanksgiving week and all, I don't anticipate a big rush of work coming down the pipeline in the next couple of days. I appreciate this lack of work SO MUCH.

And finally, only a few people bothered me for all the details about our wedding. I was happy to talk with the people who did ask; I just didn't want to go over it with the set of co-workers I can't stand. Luckily, most of them are out this week for a long holiday. I was so glad to just sink back into my office chair, yet again enjoying the molded comfort of the two indents my ass cheeks have made over the past two years. And I loved being left alone. Ahhh... sweet quiet and sweet blog catch-up time. That's a good day at work.

This past week has been QUITE the week. Wow. I think Greg and I burnt ourselves out a little; trying to do too much and see too many people, too frequently. But it was all good, ultimately. I mean, I got to spend time with my Dad and Kristen and her husband, as well as all of Greg's good friends and his family. There was one day where we scheduled breakfast with one couple, lunch with the entire family, and dinner with two other couples from out of town. Hectic and a little chaotic. It's tough to be "on" for so long when you are normally a laid-back, homebody type with little to no friends, let me tell you! :)

But we did it. And I don't regret it. I do wish we were rich and were able to go right on our honeymoon after the wedding so we could enjoy each other's company and the newlywed status-thing a little more, but what can you do? We did the best we could do, and we got to see a lot of really amazing people. So there isn't much to complain about, really.

Like every time I see Kristen and Ezzy, I felt the same way: why the hell can't we all live in the same city? Or state? I have such a nice time with them, and they're constantly positive, upbeat and friendly-- they're so easy to do things with. How rare is it to have friends that are flexible, never complain, never give you guilt trips, and always make you laugh? I really wish we lived closer so we could hang out like we did this week on a regular basis. Although...

I might have had a few too many alcoholic beverages this past week. I'm not saying I was drunk everyday, but I did definitely enjoy myself and get stupid for several days in a row. Drinking 4 bottles of wine over dinner with your best friend since elementary school is bound to bring about some tipsiness, as well as poor behavior. But who cares?! We had a great time, that's all that matters. Sure, hotel management received complaints (yeah, multiple complaints-- yay for us!) and sure, our husbands were forced to 'separate' us when we got out of control, but it was all in good fun. At least for us, anyway.

And I love being Greg's wife. We haven't been able to savor the marriage yet, but we are finally getting back into our more-ordinary routine (which is hard to recall, since we've been preparing for this wedding for so many months now) and that means the real fun begins. I'm so glad we did this, and I am so glad it's HIM. Sometimes we argue, and sometimes we are stressed and can't spend proper time together, but every single day I look at him and think the same thing: "I am so in love with this guy." I don't know what it is, but it's real and it's exactly perfect. I only hope I can make him as happy as he makes me. I'm ready to do this-- I'm ready to give this marriage my absolute best. I sound like a cheesy Hallmark card, but I don't give a flying fig.

What the hell does that mean, anyway-- what is the inherent value of an airborne fig? I guess it's not too valuable, otherwise there would be a problem in giving it away. I just like the sound of it, and so I say it. Another one I have actually uttered in the past? "I don't give a mouse vagina what you say." See, I was trying to do a little play on that "I don't give a rat's ass" thing when I said that. I think I impressed myself with my own wittiness on that one.

Then again, I am a person who is super-impressed when people can burp words, so take it in what sense thou wilt.

November 11, 2006: Greg and Lisa make it official, instead of living in sin forever. :)

Well, it's a done deal... Greg and I are married now! The wedding was really perfect. I had so much fun! I felt so calm and happy once we were in the car driving over to the wedding site. Of course, up until that moment I was more stressed out than I think I've ever been, running around trying to finish up the last minute things and get ready.

I actually got ready for my wedding faster than it takes me on most mornings to get ready for work. But adrenaline was running high, of course...and with Trish's help, we got my hair up, makeup slapped on and the dress zippered up in less than a half an hour.

Trish and I made the bouquets and they were gorgeous. I'm so glad we decided to make them ourselves, because they were exactly what we wanted and totally personal. It was fun sitting there with my sister, putting the flowers together in the insane hours before the ceremony. :)

It was a little dark out by the time the ceremony took place, but it was wonderful. It felt amazing to say the vows and feel that deeply about the conviction behind the words we were saying. I cried when it was "Ring Time." Greg looked so cute in his pinstripe suit, wingtips and tie with the stars on it. I really got the sexiest, most adorable man ever!

And the reception was awesome! Our backyard didn't look like our yard anymore, with the tables and chairs all set up and decorated, and white lights everywhere. The caterer did a great job; the presentation was way better than I'd expected, and everyone loved the food. Greg's mom made our wedding cake and it, too, came out perfect. Our little dia de los muertos skeletons on the top really set it off. It tasted great (and we still have a lot of left over, so say hello to my new Size 30 hips, everyone).

We got drunk and danced and laughed; it was so much fun. I didn't want it to end. I couldn't believe everything went so well, especially after all the stress of doing it all ourselves, for the most part. I'm so grateful for Greg's family, who flew into action once they arrived in town, to my Mom and Trish, and our friends who pitched in to make sure it all happened as it should. We are so fortunate and blessed to have such a great group of people around us! It's more than I ever thought I could have. :)

There were only a couple of snags, although one of them was pretty frickin' huge: our videographer NEVER SHOWED. So we don't have a wedding video! That really, really sucks. He just didn't show up. He didn't call, or anything. Fucking prick. Well, I am going to do a little something called negative publicity and make it known the guy is a shitbag. See if he works in this town again, or with anyone related to the Phoenix Film Commission, again. Ha, fuckface.

Also, the electric at the wedding site wasn't turned on like it was supposed to be, which would have meant no music. When I found out, I surprised myself by shrugging and saying, "Well, everyone can just hum the Wedding March or something." The back-up camera for our photographer had dead batteries. I didn't have time to do my nails.I can't believe the ONE day where I would want to have pretty-looking nails and I end up with ragged, different-sized plain nails as I am going down the aisle. But up until a half hour before the wedding I was still in my jeans, trying to get the PA system to work. So there ya go. Can't have everything!

I just didn't freak out! I can't explain how great that was-- I am normally a stress-ball. I was nice and mellow and happy. Nothing was going to ruin this day for me. I felt at peace, you know? Just this awesome feeling of "this is the greatest day of my life, because Greg and I pledge ourselves to one another today." Who cared if there was music, or videos, or pretty nails... none of it made a difference. It was fun and absolutely beautiful.

I will try to write more very soon, but my body is crashing. But now, I must go off to take a nap until we meet family for lunch. It's a busy week of seeing people, now!

Have a great day, everyone who happens to read this blog. You are good people.

When will the pre-wedding insanity end??
Let me just say one word: Argh. Yes, argh. And for proper effect, it needs to be uttered in a gutteral wail of anxiety.

I feel so overwhelmed with things! There's all these THINGS to get done before Saturday. All sorts of things, big and small. But a lot of the things that need to get done can only be done the day or the day-of the wedding, so it's just this icky anticipation and worry that we just won't get it all finished, or...

...we WILL get it all finished, but collapse of stress-induced heart attacks before we can enjoy the various fruits of our labors. There they are, the lovely bride and groom. Dead. So sad.

Actually, no, it's not so bad. But yes, we are quite busy this week. People are arriving, dogs need to be shuttled away to the dog sitter's house, food needs to be prepared and houses--OK, just one house, and it is ours--need to be cleaned. And then there's the little wedding details like decorating and getting everything ready to go. It's a lot to do, and it's sort of surreal that It, The Wedding, happens in just a couple of days. Wow!

It really is going to be a LOT of fun. I'm excited as hell.

However, it must be noted that the fun of our wedding will pale in comparison to Office-Sanctioned Wedding Celebratory Luncheon(TM).

Today, my co-workers did a nice thing and threw me a luncheon in the training room here at work. They put a lot of effort into ordering good food (Italian, just the way I like it), decorating with my color and having a delicious rum cake on-hand to cap off the festivities. But you know what, though...it was STILL an office thing. It's just weird to do this at work. I don't like it, I feel uncomfortable and today, when it was my turn to be the center of the workplace attention, I wanted to puke a little in my mouth.

Not because I hate the attention, but because of the phony, trite small-talk I heard coming out of my own mouth as I tried to be cordial and smiley. I understood the importance of being smiley today--if I was scowling and my usual bad-attituded self, that would give a strange impression to everyone that I was not happy to be getting married. I had no choice, I HAD to be smiley, you see.

It could have been worse, I suppose. It could have involved music and mandatory participation in a Corporate-Approved version of the Electric Slide. Or they could have ignored me altogether and just glossed over doing anything nice at all for the "quiet girl in the corner." This was the best the officemates could do, under the corporate circumstances.

Feast your eyes on the special bride's chair they set up for me:

Now I liked this; I thought it was sweet that the ladies went to the trouble to decorate and go all out with the tulle and gasp--a feather boa! They made it feel like an actual wedding-related event. That was very nice and I don't criticize what they did. However...

You can't mask the fact that it is still an office chair, sitting in a bland office room, at a conference table that has brought me nothing but boredom and misery in my previous moments spent sitting at it. This picture amuses me quite a bit. Festivity! Gaiety! Conference Room!

Yup, so, the world knows now that Armsweat's getting her ass married. No mistake about that. I am just really ready to leave the office today and not come back for a week and a half, already. I don't want to be doing this when there are wedding-things I could be doing, where I free to go. This is probably the hardest thing; sitting in the office trying to work when I am only thinking about a pile of other more interesting and exciting things. And crap that needs to be done. There is crap, after all. But the good stuff outweighs the bad.

All this business with my schedule being packed and stress making an idiot out of me has meant there have been sacrifices. I haven't worked out, I have been eating weird (eating only twice all day some days, and bingeing on others), and most of all I have yet to see Borat. This pains me, for I know how hilarious this movie is reported to be. And I love the character so much. I could totally use a few hours of hard laughter in a dark theater. I can't wait until we can go see it!

I'm all over the place with this blog. I should be working. Either way, it's crazy times and despite my extreme happiness at getting married to Greg, I repeat my affirmation over and over to get through the week: I will NOT cry due to stress, I will NOT cry due to stress, I will NOT cry, damn it! I'm a tough old broad, and we tough old broads don't cry. We might get a little loud and shouty, but that's it. NO TEARS! Be tough, slap myself in the face a little, get a beer and DEAL. I mean...fuck. I can do this!

I once organized a gigantic charity march to raise dollars for children afflicted with cancer of the ass; 500 million people across the nation came out to walk for the Ass Cancer Kids, and it was all because I was the seed that sprouted into the glorious plant of a Great, Selfless Idea. I was the change I wanted to see in the world, Mr. Ghandi. I DID it. So yes, if I could pull that little trick off, I can certainly handle a small wedding! Shyeah!

I won't even get into the time I developed a vaccine that will undoubtedly eradicate the horrors of the common cold, or when I worked with an international team of experts to build the perfect human being, capable of great feats of strength, skill and endurance; the perfect soldier, if you will. My point is, to paraphrase the feminist icon, Barbie, we girls can do anything. And that includes me, for I am a girl and I am not made of molded plastic, giving me an automatic edge right there.

Hey. Look at this ol' picture of me. Look at it, look look look:
This picture means very little in regard to this post; it's just a picture we took on our summer trip up to the Grand Canyon. This metal thing in the street in Flagstaff just bellowed out to me: "Take a picture with me! I'm some weird thing that deserves to live on in your memory in photographic form! And you want to stand next to me because it's something you can throw on the blog at random sometime!"

It's late and I should be asleep, beginning my week of Plenty of Sleep in Anticipation of the Wedding. God knows I need it. You should see my skin-- I am breaking out like a motherfucker. It's awful. Also, I think I am picking at it more than I normally would...could it be due to stress or something? Why would I want to make myself more ugly on the one day I'd like to look kind of nice? I don't get me.

ANYCRAP. Tonight I picked up my wedding dress from Brianna, who is an amazing friend and super-talented seamstress who did my alterations in just a couple of days and did a great job, I must say. But the journey to pick up the dress would be fraught with peril and inconvenience. Allow me to tell you my tale of Full Moon Road Horrors.

I left the house to drive out to Brianna's--who lives one hour away-- and was about a quarter of the way there when I stopped for awhile and realized I couldn't restart my car. Luckily I was in a parking lot and not the side of the freeway, and I called my insurance agent to take advantage of the "emergency roadside assistance" and found that I needed to call one of 2 towing companies they had on file. So I did. Only problem was, both companies were actually two towns away, and wanted to know what repair shop I wanted my car delivered to. I had no idea. It's not like I drive around with a ledger filled with the street addresses of all the repair shops in the Valley and a tiny Japanese robot that can calculate the distance to the closest one, as well as perform robot massage on my parts that get tense. I'm just not that lucky!

I called Greg, and he came up to where I was stranded and jumpstarted my car. I impressed myself by reading the owner's manual while waiting for him, and even attempting to replace a fuse I was almost-convinced was blown; I had to find the fuses, pull 'em out, and see which ones controlled what, all while getting my hands dirty. Yup, I think it's safe to say that tonight, I made my mechanic-father proud. I bet he got a twinge in his hand at the same moment I, 3,000 miles away, was saying "ouch" from breaking my fingernail on the cover of the fusebox. "My little girl is under the hood and attempting repairs," he probably said as he looked wistfully off in the distance, smiling a little before he shrugged and went back to watching Animal Cops: Houston and cursing out the goddamn sick bastards who hurt dogs.

I was wrong about the fuses, and Greg was right about the battery needing a jump, and we got my car going and drove all the way back home. Once there, Greg saved my ass once more by removing the old battery from my car, driving me over to Wal-Mart, where we bought a shiny new battery--figurately speaking of course, since auto battery cases tend to be more on the "matte" side-- and going back home and putting the new battery in my car. I was ready to attempt my second try at getting out to Brianna's house.

I was so happy to have a car that worked again, and a husband-to-be that can do anything and helps me out when I need him most, and I drove along back up the freeway again with my music blasting and a feeling of happy excitement to see my altered dress. And that's when I saw the little orange road sign on the shoulder that said, bluntly: "ACCIDENT AHEAD."

And that's how it came to be that I sat for almost a FULL HOUR in the longest line of traffic I think I've ever been in since I moved here. NO kidding. An HOUR. I moved only about 2 miles in that time. And to make it worse, my phone battery was basically dead so I couldn't sit and bullshit on the phone with anyone to pass the time. I was stuck. At least the full moon was gorgeous tonight, and the "Random Play" button on my MP3 player was picking some of the finest tunes available, meaning I had to perform only minimal skippage. BUT STILL...

Sitting there for an hour definitely bummed me out, and made me a little superstitious all the sudden about that dress. Maybe God didn't want me to have that dress! Maybe this was a sign from the universe that I needed to go shopping. Maybe I just want to go shopping, period. And I want a "sign" that will back it up. Yeah, because shopping is fun.

Happily, I finally made it to Brianna's door just a little after 9pm. I think I left the house initially around 4pm, thinking I'd have a whole night to do fun things once I got home with my pretty frou-frou and sparkly dress. It's just amazing what can happen in the weeks before a wedding; that's what I'm thinking.

Because, in other news, we fired our photographer.

Yes, I know. It's less than one week until our wedding.

But the pictures this clown took are not to be believed. We finally got him to do our 'engagement photo' this past Tuesday and when we picked up the photos, it was laughably bad. We've got shots of us completely washed out, and then several that are completely out of focus. We're not centered on another one. And as the guy took the pictures, he never once gave us any direction; you know, like 'tilt your head to the right more,' that sort of thing. As a result, we look uncomfortable, and stuck perpetually at unflattering angles. And you can see the growing malice burning in our eyes, because the whole 'shoot' was rushed and uncomfortable as he bitched about the light, and because he took full-body pictures when we specifically asked for waist-up/torso shots and close-ups-- seriously, we both look annoyed right behind our insincere smiles. (This is NOT a look you want immortalized as a pre-wedding photo! God damn it, no.)

Luckily, we will be refunded for our deposit. And my friend and co-worker is stepping in to take some pictures. Sure, they won't be done by a professional, and he is a little nervous that he could screw something up or miss an important shot, but we're out of options, really. And besides, I think he will do hundreds of times better than what this so-called photographer did. It's just important to have pictures of the day, and who cares if they are glossy or perfect? I don't. I just want something to capture it. At this point, I'd give someone in the crowd a Polaroid and ask them to just start taking pictures and don't stop till the cartridge runs out. And when that happens, that's when the court sketch artist steps in.

But all of this aside, I am feeling pretty giddy about everything. It's coming up so soon. And there is so much to do and yes, things that I admit I am stressing out about, but the overall emotion is intense, bright excitement; kind of like how it felt to know your 6th birthday was only days away. A big party! With friends, and cake! And maybe there will be a magician or clown there, woo hoo! (No seriously, I think we do have at least one of these in the crowd.)

I KNOW everything will come together OK, and that we'll have a great night and our guests will be able to get properly hammered in the comfort of our home, and our marriage will KICK the ASS because we are cool like that... yeah. It's all good.

Well, I'm going to sleep, but let me just remind everyone of something very, very important that's coming up soon and you all need to participate in if you want to stay in the cool circle and get invited to my next party with cake...

It's time again for our annual THANK GOD I'M NOT IN HIGH SCHOOL ANYMORE Day!

November 22 is the date...I'll post more on this and some links in the next day or so. I'm too sleepy to do it now...but start looking for those old embarassing photos and scanning them in so you can embarass yourself to an audience of internet peers you've never met. It's good clean fun, I tell ya! You'll love it!

Thoughts on basements, cellars and other subterranean storage spaces

I don’t have a basement, and I wish I did.

Today, Janine posted pictures of her fiancé working on a project in their basement. Since she lives in a part of the country where basements are the norm, she happens to have a basement. I live in the Phoenix area, and in this part of the country, houses are almost always built without a basement.

Why? I think I heard somewhere it had something to do with the soil conditions. I know first-hand that the soil out here is ridiculously dry and hard; I’ve witnessed Greg using a pick-axe to cut down far enough in the yard to place sprinkler lines or make little trenches for landscaping pavers. When you have to dig with a pick-axe, I think it’s safe to say your dirt is unfriendly, unyielding and generally better off left alone.

In New Jersey, everyone had a basement. And in my part of the state, approximately 95% of all those basements had some sort of water problem. I heard the words “sump pump” uttered frequently in our house, and there were talks about mold, drains and sometimes even mushrooms. By the way, I think I said “supp pupp” in my head until I was in middle school or so. But that’s just because I am an idiot.

Anyway, if you were lucky enough to have a basement that didn’t leak water or become full-out flooded during a rainstorm, you could potentially have the crown jewel of basements…the FINISHED basement. Oh my god. I loved going to friends’ houses that had finished basement. One girl had a whole game room down there with a pool table and a pinball machine, a wet bar (of course we only sipped the liquor as to not arouse suspicion with her parents), a full-sized couch and TV, carpeting and cool track lighting. Most of my friends had basements that were just concrete and fluorescent lighting, but they were still cool, too.

Tracy’s basement was one of my favorite places to be when I was a kid. If she’s reading this, she is probably thinking, “What the hell? You only liked me for my crappy basement?” Yes, Tracy. That’s true. I did only like you for your basement. You knew it. And we know you only liked me for my awesome lip-syncing skills and great dialogue when playing Cabbage Patch Kids Who Get Married.

Seriously though, her basement was fantastic for roller skating. We would crank up the Olivia Newton-John and coast around down there for hours. It was also a great place to build forts out of boxes and yard tools and make a haunted house tunnel behind the hot water heater. In one kind of strange game, we played “Russia,” where one of us would be a soldier of some sort set out to capture the other, who was a “Defector”—usually a ballerina on the run. I’m almost positive that when her family finally moved out of that house, it still had chalk scrawled on the walls down there in that basement that said “Welcome to Russia” and “No Freedom.”

Yes…I am guilty of playing a game where a catchphrase was “No Freedom.” What a dork.

As for my own basements, well, they weren’t so much “basements” as they were “cellars.” And they were SCARY.

In the first house I lived in, the cellar could only be accessed from the outside of the house. The washer and dryer were down there, and so was my Mom’s ceramic kiln and some of my Dad’s auto repair machinery. When my Mom wanted to do laundry, she had to go out the back door and walk around to the side of the house, and go down these crumbly old concrete stairs and into the dark cellar. I didn’t like going down there at all because there were too many shadowy places and after a rainstorm, the ground was always a little damp and there was a distinct Cellar Smell in the air.
Plus, the stairwell leading down to the cellar had walls on both sides, and most of the time there were daddy long-leg spiders and/or snails on the walls. So you had to walk between spiders and snails. Nope! I didn’t want to do that. It was safer to stay up in the living room, watching the Electric Company and eating celery sticks and Stella d’Oro cookies.

When I was 10, we moved to a bigger house in Belford, and that house had a basement that was even worse. This one had brick walls and a dirt floor. Dirt floor. Oh, man. I had visions of bodies buried in that dirt more times than I can count. I was really good at freaking myself out. In addition, the ceiling was pretty low down there, and there was a really old and decrepit looking wood-burning furnace down there. We didn’t use it, of course, but the previous occupants never removed it so it was just lurking in a dusty corner, looking sinister and to me, like a good place to burn the chopped-up bodies of the ones who weren’t buried under the floor.
Wood plank steps led up from the cellar and into the closet that was in our living room. It was definitely scary to me and Trish to think that just behind that benign closet door was another door that led down to the awful, death-filled cellar. Of COURSE, the cellar was loaded with ghosts. Probably hundreds of them. They’d sneak up to the main house at night by slipping under the doors as smoke and then take form and walk up and down the hallway, scaring the crap out of two girls with overactive imaginations.

Later on, my bedroom was the basement level of a condo in Middletown, and it was awesome. It was a big room, it was private, and I had an entrance to the back yard right there in my room. It was so helpful for letting the dog out. I still kind of miss that room, even though it had ugly paneling.

And now, after over 8 years in Arizona, I have never lived in a place with a basement. In fact, I’ve never lived anywhere with an attic, either. There are crawlspaces, but they’re not really built for people to go up there and store stuff. Plus, it gets ridiculously hot up in those spaces, so good luck putting anything that could melt or warp up there.

Now I’m thinking about all the crap I have, and how even though I have steadily reduced the amount of crap over the years so I really only have the stuff I REALLY like, I never seem to be able to reduce the clutter or number of boxes stored in closets and under the bed. I think if we lived in a place with a basement and/or attic, the house would not be so junk-filled. We built a shed this summer, and even with all the holiday decoration stuff out there, we still have more stuff that could use a place where it could be stored. I lust after those homes that are just clean, neat and minimal. I want to do that in our home. And that’s why I wish so hard for a basement.

I want to stash my crap.

And…

I want to be a little spooked by a place in my house.

There’s just this very primitive part of me that wants to be scared, and wants to imagine crazy things going on under the floorboards. I’ve always been that kid who wanted to read the ghost stories and write messed-up stories filled with blood, gore, psychological terror and demons. I’m still that kid, really; I’m just a little bigger now.

And when I become a mom someday, I want to make sure my kid has a scary place in the house, too. I won’t intentionally scare my kid, per se; I will, however, make no attempts to hide the shadowy spots or light them up and make them ‘safe.’ Kids need to be freaked out a little, I think.

And on that note, I bid you adieu. And remember, there is no basement in the Alamo.