girlfiend

Tonight, in a frying pan, I cooked the perfect steak. Before cooking I rubbed it with a clove of garlic and seasoned it with Lawry’s and fresh ground pepper. It was black and crispy on the outside, a rosy pink on the inside. I don’t know if it was pure luck that it was cooked so well or if it was the fact that since I’m a married woman I’m only buying organic meat.

This was not something I deliberated over. On a whim at the supermarket I made the decision that Boyfiend and I have to stop eating meat pumped with hormones. Despite the hefty price difference, Boyfiend didn’t argue so I bought the $14 dollar Porterhouse and the outrageously expensive boneless chicken breasts and chorizo sausage. I accidentally overcooked the chicken the other night and haven’t yet cooked the sausage, but the steak was delicious.

On the side we ate steamed broccoli and sweet potato fries baked with garlic flavored olive oil and fresh grated ginger. Now Boyfiend is cleaning the kitchen. So far married life is good.

Wedding/Honeymoon

• The rabbi was late and had dry mouth
• We had a view of the nude beach at our resort
• I blacked out after Karaoke night
• They’re not kidding when they say your wedding is the happiest day of your life
• I only cried during the father/daughter dance
• I couldn’t stop smiling the entire night of the wedding
• I am deeply in love with Boyfiend but I haven’t changed my name yet

Back home

• It rained all day yesterday
• Howard is still broken and is meowing upstairs. I feel incredibly guilty but he’d kill himself on my stairs so he’s stuck in the red room that serves as the office staring out the window.
• He’ll be in a cast for 4-6 more weeks
• Boyfiend keeps fixing things in my house
• Being married to him just gets better and better
• I’m so into him
• We had 12 rolls of film developed and the pictures are wonderful
• Tonight was tropical cocktail night with the neighbors. We used our new blender to make pina coladas and lime daiquiris

I can’t get to blogger at work anymore, otherwise I’d have written something today. I’ll get back to writing regularly any day now.

Boyfiend loves me.

I’m getting married tomorrow. It seems like forever ago I was waiting impatiently for the proposal that wasn’t coming. My fifth graders, who couldn’t stop whispering and giggling all week, threw me a surprise party. They pretended to have lunch detentions so they could make it past my room with their lunches to make me a banner and a card without my getting suspicious. In the process they managed to get themselves after school detentions for disruptive hallway behavior.

To set up the kids had the principal call me down to her office to go over some paperwork. When I made it back to the room I was attacked by a swarm of overexcited 10-year-olds. High up on my wall a banner, signed by all of them and a couple of extras I don’t teach, read, “Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Feeend.” Their card read, “Congregations Ms. Feend, or should I say Mrs. Boyfeeeend.” (I really need to spend more time on spelling.)

After shoving about $12 of crumpled dollar bills into my hand as a wedding gift, they hijacked my computer and played the same two songs over and over while they had dance competitions. When the party was over I was left to sweep up crushed cheesy poofs, pretzels, squashed jelly beans and the remains of Champagne Poppers. It was worth the mess, but I still have a Destiny’s Child stuck in my head. Later at the faculty meeting, the staff presented me with some gifts from our registry. I might hate my job, but I can’t complain about the people.

Tomorrow. We’re getting married tomorrow. I can’t wait to enjoy every minute of it.

Only four days until my wedding. Here’s a picture of my ring. With Isaac thrown in for good measure. The jeweler screwed up my wedding band so we’ll be using this for the ceremony. I don’t mind. I love this ring.

My vet calls my cats the bridge club. Their names are Isaac, Howard, and Phyllis. Isaac’s the heavyset one, Howard, who’s from the same litter as Isaac, is the badass, and Phyllis is the crazy one.

Phyllis hates me. I don’t take it personally- she hates most people. Unless of course you’re eating meat or dairy products. Then she’s a coquettish little whore who can’t stop rubbing up against you. When she’s not trying to steal meat off your plate she’s either outside killing things or pissing somewhere she should not. She’s pretty though. And when she condescends to let you pet her when you’re not eating, it makes you feel kind of special.

Isaac is the most popular cat in my neighborhood. In the summer when he likes to be outside, I’ll occasionally get a 3a.m. phone call from a neighbor telling me that Isaac’s sleeping over their house and he’ll be home in the morning. Isaac enjoys the outdoors, but only in between snacks. At 18 pounds, he requires many small meals throughout the day, and bites my ankles if the food bowl isn’t full. Despite his hunger induced crankiness, Isaac is a lover.

Howard is a lover, too, but he’s a badass, so his love is the painful kind. An attention whore, Howard can’t stand being in a room with someone who’s not petting him. If you’re otherwise engaged, Howard will make every possible effort to force you to stroke him, headbutting your hand or whatever you’re holding in your hand. Howard is not safe to be around when you’re drinking red wine.

I don’t usually like to write about my cats- most people immediately start to snore- but this time I have a reason.(Please don’t call DHS. It was an accident, I swear.) Last week I accidentally broke Howard. I was emptying the trash and slammed the can on his paw. After limping around for a few days I realized he wasn’t just faking it. I took him to the vet and came home with one sad, funny looking kitty with a paw that’s fractured in two places.

Embarrassed by his enormous cast, Howard did not wish to emerge from my closet this afternoon. This sadness alternates with anger. In this picture Howard is loudly expressing his disdain for me.

He’s not moving around too well with his cat in the hat arm so most of his time will be spent like this for the next six weeks.

I know he’s a cat, but I swear he’s pouting.

Obviously in no condition to handle stairs, Howard is stuck in my bedroom, the only room in the house besides the bathroom with a door. Luckily his brother likes to visit.

pissed off

I just learned that the date of my wedding is on Poultry Day and my birthday is on National Goof Off Day. I’m all about having a birthday on National Goof Off Day, but it’s a shame I missed Be Nasty Day. What bizarre holiday does your birthday fall on?

Every morning when I get dressed for work I think that there must be a conspiracy to make all women dress like a skanky 13-year-old. Of all of the shirts I’ve purchased in the past year, whether I bought it at Banana Republic, Ann Taylor, Old Navy, Marshalls or H&M, not one of them covers my belly button when I lift my arms. Whatever happened to shirts that come to the waist? Writing on the chalkboard is a logistical nightmare. I have to write with one arm while the other constantly tugs at the bottom of my shirt. Why must my students know whether or not I have a navel piercing?

At first I thought the laundry was shrinking all of my clothes. But pants, underwear and skirts have remained the same size. I’m beginning to wonder if my torso has suddenly become freakishly long. Although I guess my mother would’ve pointed that out already.

Speaking of conspiracies, why does Martha Stewart have to wear a poncho in public? Just because she’s wearing one doesn’t make it all right for the rest of you. Let the ponchos go.