the slack daily

Back from Vegas!

My husband wraps up the weekend (and the year) here.

Now on your first anniversary, you might be prone to taking a snapshot at dinner with the waiter; handing your camera to a stranger to catch you hand in hand; you might partake of the Venetian's gondola rides and purchase a portrait of you cuddled against your loved one.

Will and I?  We took photos of the in-room entertainment:

MySpace Shots:

And oh yeah, tacos:

A very special thank you/shout-out to the SlackParents, who generously paid for our room and dinner at the Four Seasons' Verandah restaurant where we had our wedding reception.  Thanks, SlackParents!

Should I Move?

Pensacola Airport:

-Free WiFi.

-Women's bathroom smells like cake batter.

My House:

-Will pays for WiFi.

-Bathroom smells like farts and sunshine.

However--

Pensacola Airport:

-No Will.

-No Daisy the Wonderdog.

Solution:

-Will and Daisy the Wonderdog should move to the Pensacola Airport.

Four. Score!

Four months ago, Will and I got married.  There aren't many things I can do for 120 days straight, even things I should do like showering (like you haven't missed a day), flossing (see previous) eating (you wouldn't know it to look at me), leaving the house, I haven't done these for 120 days in a row but I have managed to be married each and every day.

Here's few things I've learned being married:

1. Women get angry when they no longer get to see your husband's wenis.  I can sympathize.   I imagine that must suck. 

2. Husbands lie about things like the frequency of poop tubs; however, they also lie about things like telling you you're beautiful when you're filthy and stinky after a shift at the gym, so it all balances out.

3. Your marriage vows say that you get each other's stuff.  While he gets things like 3487329423 pairs of boots and a new bed, you get band t-shirts and records and blog friends and stories a-plenty. You definitely win here, so don't blow it.

4. You have to obey your husband.  This can be difficult to do, especially when he forces you to sit and watch TV while he pours you a glass of wine and makes dinner and does all of the dishes.  However, it's compromises like these that make a marriage work.

Most married people told me that the first year of marriage is the hardest.  I don't know, because we're only a quarter of the way through.  It's true that the past four months have been difficult, but someone like Will makes it easy.  I would loan him out so you could see but then you'd have to marry him and where would that leave me?   So you're on your own kids.  Sorry.

...

Later this week we head out to Long Island so I can meet BetheRelatives.  However, we're carving out one evening for our studio audience, so If you'd like to see us in action - clothed, mind you - then come on out next Monday night, September 17th to The Magician.  We'll be there from 8pm 'til you get sick of our faces.  You should be there, because then you can buy us drinks. 

Ambrosia.

I was determined that Will experience the small-town-ness of Glen Ellyn, and there was no better way to do so than 4th of July Fireworks.  SlackDad dropped us off at the high school football field and we bought cokes and popcorn and made our way through the muggy night up the bleachers to find a seat.  The place with packed with blond men and blond women clothed in matching khakis and polo shirts.  Their blond children twirled glowsticks in their sticky popsicle hands.  Will leaned over to me and said

Is Mayor McWhitebread attending the festivities?

We laughed and sat back and I pointed out where my friends and I would swing on the swings by the lake when we'd cut class and where my red-and-black 84' Firebird almost slid donw the hill.  Our conversation was interrupted by the zip! and pop! of a test firework being shot off.

Yes sir! came the voice from behind us.  You can do it!

Does he think the fireworks can hear him? I asked.

Maybe he's a fireworks lifecoach.  They need encouragement, too.

And encouragement they got.  With every zip! every pop! every bang! came the parade of cliches yelled out into the night.

C'mon, higher!

Way to go!

His wife shushed him and he tried to be quiet for a firework or two, but he wasn't able to contain himself.

That's the way daddy likes it!

Show me the money!

We weren't the only ones that noticed; our entire section on the bleachers was laughing openly.   It wasn't malicious, it was just one of those moments where you all were in on the joke, even the one with Patriotic Tourettes.

Bring it home!

As the finale wound down and the last sparkly bits of fire streaked across the sky, he sighed and declared.

Ambrosia!

Will and I walked home through the muggy night holding hands and telling stories about our respective hometowns.  As we walked through the front door into the air-conditioned house I thought

Ambrosia, indeed.

Isn't it Romantic?

Mr. Boy is in the city that begins with a "T" and ends with a "A" and has an "uls" in the middle this week.  Last night I sent him a sweet goodnight email.  This morning began with a phone call.

Tulsa is awesome.  They have dogs in bandanas here!

Daisy could wear a bandana.

Nah, these dogs are tough.

This from the boy who got woozy from paint fumes?


From this morning's travelogue:

Take it from me, Tulsa is good, in fact, if I had a womb I would have the city's baby but I can't so ladies come let Tulsa get you pregnant. You'll be glad you did.

Is that a Get-Out-of-Jail-Free Card to have sex with the entire city of Tulsa?  I just want to make sure I know what the rules are.  This could change the entire scope of our honeymoon.