Our wedding is about four months away and while most of the stuff is taken care of, I’ve now got to start working on the little details. I’m not stressed out, which is why I’m confused about the wedding-related dreams that have featured the following horrors:
- Sitting in the audience watching my own wedding and not realizing until my bridesmaids have already walked down the aisle that I am neither a) dressed nor b) sporting a hairstyle that is remotely attractive.
- Realizing that I have not written my vows and that my dress is not the one I purchased.
- Being informed that the church is only reserved for 20 minutes. Also: I’m not dressed.
My dream last night featured a running slideshow of every boyfriend from my past, which is weird because I didn’t like them then, so why would I be thinking of them now and besides, Jason is the only one in the world who will indulge my weekly Buffalo Wild Wings excursions and the only one who orders pizza with extra cheese, even Papa Murphy’s pizzas, which are topped with at least 3.5 pounds of the stuff. He is also the one person I will do my Bill Cosby impersonation for and the only person who tolerates my penchant for bacon, my obsession with Marlene Dietrich, and my need to check that the doors are locked 3249873245987 times.
I also dreamt last night about tornadoes - a recurring feature in my dreams - which is so comforting, especially since every dream book I’ve ever read says TORNADOES = GIANT STRESS THAT WILL WIPE OUT CITIES. I’m a little scared to admit that my dream involved not one or two tornadoes, but FIFTY.
Last night I got home from work and set out to expose my greatest failure as a human being: my complete and utter lack of spatial ability, as demonstrated by my attempt to properly water the lawn.
Now while Jason is some kind of lawn-grid genius who knows exactly where to position the sprinkler for optimal water saturation, I am not. In fact, despite wearing a path into the newly mowed grass from the faucet to the sprinkler after adjusting and adjusting and readjusting, I could not figure out how to place the sprinkler so that only four rotations were needed to adequately hydrate the grass.
After running back to shut the water off YET AGAIN in order to reposition the sprinkler, I decided to just move it while it was still running. And to tell you the truth, I’m guessing that grabbing a running sprinkler is a lot like grabbing a snake’s head. Only wetter and more amusing to the neighbors.
I finally got the front yard sprinkler set up how I liked it. (Actually, the sprinkler was getting more of the street than the lawn, but at that point 15 minutes had escaped from me and I NO LONGER CARED.)
That left the backyard. After I finally positioned the sprinkler in a semi-logical spot, it started to rain.
“Yes, yes, yes!” I thought, envisioning myself dancing through the rain-slicked grass to perform the blessed activity of shutting the water off.
The rain lasted for four minutes.
Which was about half as long as Jason’s speech about my crappy sprinkler placement.
With a long Memorial Day weekend at home, we decided to prepare for a garage sale we are having with a friend in two weeks. Some of the better items for sale will be a television, a 10-in-1 game table with pool and foosball, a set of golf clubs and a rowing machine. Other items that may not be worth people’s time include Shauna’s entire lighthouse knick-knack collection and all of my VHS movies (unless you are a big Kevin Smith or Adam Sandler fan).
Also up for sale is my collection of football and baseball cards (or most of them) from my childhood. I retrieved them from my parents’ house about a year ago and they have spent the time since then in the rafters of our garage. Shauna was impressed at the great condition they are in, realizing that most of my ultra-neat, anal-retentive tendencies started early in life.
We did find one surprise upon opening the box of baseball cards: an empty box of condoms. It’s come back to me now where I was hiding some of my “personal” items when I was in high school at home.
Maybe I’ll tell my Mom that it was an unopened, unused pack with an expiration date of 1991.
Conversation while watching a Perkins commercial last night:
Jason: Did the announcer just say Date Rape Breakfast?!?
Me: Daybreak.
Jason: Ahhh. Thank God.
