Hello, 2010.

2009 started so well - at a trendy Hollywood bar, drunk, and making out with a hot stranger. Four minutes later, everything started to go downhill when my friend Sandra threw up on my feet. Since then, it's been a steady descent into an abyss of darkness and despair.

I thought I turned things around last summer when a Secret Admirer sent me flowers. I was intrigued. Three dates - and one very bad bender in Vegas later - I found myself married. The rest is history.

But I am Wendy the Optimistic Cactus and I am convinced that 2010 is going to be an amazing year. Well, at least it will be better than 2009. Or, about the same as 2009.

Ok, look, 2010, I'm going to be straight with you: please have mercy. I am a broken woman. 2009 kicked me in the shins - again and again and again. Just when I thought 2009 and I could be friends, it threw acid in my face and stole my wallet. 2010, I know you are probably going to be a miserable, wretched year but if you just let me divorce my husband Ralph, I can take any other abuse - I can even spend Saturday nights at home. Alone and celibate. Watching Glee reruns.

Worst. Christmas. EVER.

It's official: Ralph is the Worst Husband in the History of Bad Husbands. Excuse me, I have to go compose myself.

Ok, I'm back. I just spent the past 4 hours sobbing hysterically in bed. I think I'm done now. Wait, no.

Ok, I'm really done crying now. My tear ducts are exhausted. When I cry now, it is tearless - I just shake and heave and moan in agony. But I am a strong, independent woman and I do not need Christmas presents to be happy. Good thing, too, because my Christmas presents this year were total crap.

1. My mother gave me a selection of business cards for divorce attorneys that her friends recommend.

2. My single friends would not let me participate in our Annual Single Girls Secret Santa because I am married now and don't need silly single girl gifts like lipstick and shot glasses. I started that gift exchange, damnit!!!

3. Ralph gave me a used vacuum cleaner and a $25 gift certificate to Starbucks. He found the vacuum cleaner in the alley behind our apartment. It probably does not work. Actually, it will probably work just long enough to give me an electric shock and set the carpet on fire.

I've already spent the $25 gift certificate on seasonal flavored frappucinos. I was feeling depressed and thought the sugar would make me feel better. Instead, I felt depressed, ill and fat.

Please go away now.

Feliz Navidad!

It's almost here - CHRISTMAS!!!


This is easily my favorite Christmas ornament. I made it myself last weekend when I was feeling depressed about my marriage.

In 2010, I'm thinking about redecorating my apartment with a bunch of portraits of myself. I have thought about doing this before, but I was worried it might seem a little creepy. Well, now that I have seen myself as a Christmas ornament, I have realized the error of my ways. Of course I should plaster my apartment with images of myself. Everyone knows that men are attracted to confident women.

Merry Christmas! If Ralph didn't spend at least $25,000 on my Christmas presents, I am going to be seriously pissed.

Best Christmas Present Ever

For our annual Christmas present exchange, I gave Miles possibly the greatest Christmas present since the birth of Christ. The wrapping job is a little messy, but it's the thought that counts.


Miles eagerly unwrapped his present and - VIOLA!


IT'S ME! I gave Miles the gift of MYSELF. He gets to be my friend for another year and listen to all the drama in my life and buy me drinks and treat me to expensive pedicures.


Miles was so happy, he collapsed and remained silent for several moments. I told him, "I know, I know, you are too happy to speak." Finally, he began to shudder and cry softly. I said, "I know, I know, you are crying tears of joy." Then Miles started to mutter "selfish, selfish, selfish" but I knew he was just overwhelmed and was trying to say "so incredibly selfess, selfless, selfess."

Tonight, I feel like Wendy the Selfless Cactus.

Bah Humbug

I am just not feeling the Christmas spirit this year. I loved Christmas as a child -the presents! the tree! the cookies! - but as a mature woman, I came to love Christmas even more. You know why? The Christmas parties! the egg nog! the mistletoe! more egg nog!



But this year, it's different. I can't canoodle with a strange hot man under the mistletoe. (Which means I better not indulge in the egg nog). Instead, I just stay home with my husband and furtively sneak out with my girlfriends when Ralph goes to the bathroom. This weekend, all my girlfriends disappeared. It feels like a conspiracy, but I guess they have dates or maybe someone got the evil swine flu.



I tried decorating our apartment to get me into the Christmas spirit. It didn't work.

Spa Day

The holiday season always wears me out. I needed to go shopping today and buy Miles' present for our annual Christmas gift exchange. Last year, Miles gave me a selection of luxury bath products; I got him a lint brush. In 2007, Miles gave me a luxury cashmere blanket; I gave him a box of q-tips. In 2006, Miles gave me a t.v.; I gave him some old coasters I didn't want anymore. I really need to step it up this year, but I could not bear the thought of the mall - the struggle to find a parking spot; crying children with snotty noses; all the ugly people.

So I got a facial instead.


I love spa treatments! But today, I was disappointed. I wanted to zone out and go to my happy place - a place where I am still single and leading an exciting, glamourous life. But Tanya (the woman giving me my facial) WOULD NOT SHUT UP.

It would have been acceptable if Tanya was asking me a series of thoughtful questions and giving me the chance to vent about all the drama in my life. But no. Tanya would not stop talking about herself. Blahblahblah, me me me, I have breast cancer, blahblahblah, I'm trying to stay optimistic, sigh moan sigh, I'm just so lucky to have such a supportive family. Yeah, cry me a river, Tanya. Thanks for ruining what was supposed to be a relaxing morning. And I still don't have Miles' Christmas present. Crap, I'm the worst friend in the world.

A Present For Ralph.

I know exactly what Ralph wants for Christmas: he wants me to put out. But that is so not going to happen in this or any lifetime. So I got him this instead:


It's the complete DVD collection of the greatest television show in the history of television: Sex and the City!

I have always wanted to own the complete DVD collection of SATC. I could have bought it for myself, but instead, I bought it for Ralph. Sometimes I am amazed at how incredibly selfless I can be. Ralph is really lucky to be married to such a thoughtful and sacrificing woman.


Look at them - aren't they beautiful? I think I like them better than I like my own friends. I cannot imagine what my life would be like without them. Indeed, my life has felt a little empty ever since the show went off the air. The re-runs on Bravo are just not the same - they edit out all the good bits.


I admire all of the girls, but I identify with Samantha the most. She's just so strong and independent and she sleeps with a lot of hot men. This might sound sentimental, but Samantha is my role model.

Celibacy Update

As you may recall, I am trying to remain married to my husband Ralph for a decent amount of time. I'm concerned that if we get divorced too quickly, men will assume I am unstable, crazy or bad in bed. It would be really easy to stay married to Ralph if I could take a lover. Ralph, however, will immediately divorce me if I cheat on him. (Actually, I believe his exact words were "I'll lock you in a closet until you are on the brink of death and then I'll flay you'll alive," but I have to assume he was speaking in hyperbole. Right?)

Since I cannot take a lover, and it's too early to divorce Ralph, I have no choice but to practice celibacy.

And I am here to tell you that celibacy is a bitch.

These are my options:
1) Divorce Ralph now and spend the rest of my life alone, shunned by hot wealthy men.

2) Experience carnal relations with my husband. (Excuse me, I just threw up in my mouth).

3) Throw myself into a new hobby.

A new hobby it is! Knitting did not work out so well, but there has got to be a hobby out there for me. Of course, an unhealthy addiction would be just as an effective.

Vital Statistics

It has been brought to my attention that my audience might be interested in some of my background information. While my daily adventures are extremely exciting, I must agree that all the little details that make up Wendy are equally fascinating.

So, allow me to introduce a new weekly* column That Does Not Have A Name But It Will Be About My Vital Statistics Which Are Extremely Interesting So This Weekly* Column Does Not Need An Interesting Name.

Let's start with some very basic information (I don't want to overwhelm you):

- Favorite colors: Pink, green, red, yellow, and argyle. Sometimes blue and purple.

- Greatest Ambition: To be friends with a Famous Person.

- Biggest Regret: I am not a person who dwells on the past. I accept my mistakes and move on. Oh, who am I kidding? Biggest Regret? Marrying Ralph.

- Favorite Athlete: Beckham because (a) sexy body and (b) he's married to a Spice Girl. I'm not certain what sport he plays but he has a British accent so I think it might be grasshopper or basketball.

- Flaws: None.



* By "weekly," I mean "whenever I feel like it." By "whenever I feel like it," I mean (a) when Ralph is annoying me, (b) there's nothing good on t.v. or (c) I don't want to blog about what's happening in my life at the moment because it is too humiliating.

Dress Rehearsal

I have learned the secret to a successful marriage: Acting. When I was about 11 years old, I had a really bad day at school and I told my grandma I wanted a nose job. Grandma Cactus told me that I am beautiful just the way I am and I should always "be true to myself." Well, I love you Grandma Cactus, but that has got to be the worst advice anyone has ever given me.

Marriage is all about pretending you like your spouse and convincing everyone that you are happy. It has nothing to do with "being true to yourself." This is especially true on Christmas morning.

I expect my husband Ralph is going to shower me with many thoughtful and expensive presents on December 25. Now, when I'm near Ralph, I usually want to vomit. But I don't want to accidentally vomit on my new Manolo Blahnik's. So, I decided I need to practice the things I will say to Ralph on Christmas morning.

(The penguins and snowmen helped me get in the Christmas morning mood).



I am working on the following script for Christmas morning:

- Oh my god, I love you so much! (I will say this while staring at my new expensive purse. Ralph will think I am saying "I love Ralph" but actually, I will be saying "I love you, Prada Purse.")

- Why don't you open the present I bought you? I think you're going to love it... what, you don't want the complete Sex and the City dvd set? Oh shoot, I bought it three months ago. I guess we have to keep it!

- Where are the rest of my presents? Oh, I guess 27 presents is enough you bastard. (I will say this last bit very, very softly - but loud enough so Ralph can hear it.)

Santa Baby

Dear Santa/Husband Ralph,

I want presents. Lots and lots of presents. Expensive presents. Expensive and impractical presents. No vacuum cleaners, sewing machines or toaster ovens for this party girl. On Christmas morning, I expect the following items to be waiting for me under the tree:

(1) A gift certificate to Tiffany's in an amount that involves at least 3 zero's. My self-esteem would really benefit from this gift.

(2) A one week vacation at a luxury spa - ALONE. A pampered wife is a happy wife. Well, a complacent wife. Ok, a pampered wife will probably not kill you in your sleep.

(3) Shoulder pads.

(4) A new purse. I'm not too particular about this one, I'd just like something that Paris Hilton owns.

(5) A pair of Manolo Blahnik's. Nothing black. Think Sex and the City.

(6) Whatever the expensive new "it" gadget is. I don't actually know what this is BUT I WANT IT.

I reserve the right to revise or expand upon the scope of this list. Thank you for your prompt attention to this matter. Ralph - if you buy me all of these presents, I will probably hate you less.

Wendy T. Cactus

A Math Lesson

What happens when an unhappy wife finds the key card from her husband's illicit stay at the Embassy Suites?

Well, allow me to answer that question with a math equation:

Angry Wife + Glue Gun = ?



Angry Wife + Glue Gun = Husband with New Hairpiece




Class Dismissed!

What the hell is this?

I found THIS in my apartment:



It's the "key" for a hotel room at the Embassy Suites. I am confused and upset. Confused because apparently Ralph tricked someone into sleeping with him, and I really can't get my mind around that concept. He is such an ugly toad and don't get me started on the halitosis. Upset because he stayed at the Embassy Suites. Am I really married to a man who conducts his extra-marital affairs at the Embassy Suites? That is so BORING. If you are going to cheat on your spouse, and you need a room, then you only have two options: (1) ridiculously expensive hotel, where you rub elbows with the likes of Bon Jovi and Cher; or (2) sketchy roadside motel where you rub elbows with prostitutes and serial killers.

But the Embassy Suites? I'm so humiliated.

I Need Help.

A Light Lunch

I kind of pigged out on Thanksgiving. Honestly, I am comfortable sharing with you the number of calories I consumed - if only I knew. Unfortunately, I blacked out when I got up for a third serving of mashed potatoes. I cannot tell you what happened between 5:45 and 7:50 p.m. but I am told that I ate the pumpkin pie. All of it.

I decided it was time for some damage control today. So I had lunch at Long John Silver's.




I ordered chicken, fish, and potatoes. Lean protein + vegetable = healthy lunch.



It was amazing. For the second time this week, I lost consciousness. But once you lose consciousness, the calories don't count. If you can't taste the food, then it can't make you fat. Amen.

An Open Letter to My Husband

Husband:

I know you are reading this. I don't care what your mother says, but it is an invasion of my privacy when you read this blog. Didn't anyone ever teach you about boundaries?

But, since I have your attention, I thought I would take this opportunity to share some advice. Last night, you asked me: "How can we save our marriage?" I'm sorry I laughed so hard, but I honestly thought you were joking. I thought your tears were part of the gag.

I have meditated upon your question, and I have some advice. If you want to make this marriage work, there is something you can do: shower me with presents.

Ralph, in celebration of the Christmas season, I think you should give me lots of presents. Expensive presents. Treat me like the Trophy Wife that I was born to be. Also, please try to be less ugly.

Your Wife,

Wendy

p.s. Remember to wash the dishes.

Happy Thanksgiving!

It's here it's here it's here!!! The day I can eat whatever I want and no one will judge me. Candied yams! Stuffing! Cranberry sauce! Pumpkin pie! I can eat it all and no one will frown and shake their head while staring at my waistline.

Here is the conclusion of my Gratitude List:

5. I look damn cute in hats.

4. I have a happy marriage. Well, a content marriage. Ok, fine, a faithful marriage, but only because my husband is too fat/bald/ugly to score with the ladies. I hate my marriage.

3. Sex and the City, the greatest t.v. show ever.

2. I can't remember. I was thinking something about self-esteem last night, but that can't be right.

1. Chocolate.

Gratitude, Part 3

Yesterday I was floored by a diabolical stomach virus from the 4th (possibly 5th) level of hell. It was truly evil and my illness made me feel grateful about the following: Nothing.

Today, I am feeling a little better. Before I retire to the couch, I will try to think of a few more things I am grateful for:

10. Dark sunglasses, blonde wigs, and crowbars.

9. Antacids.

8. Drunk dialing.

7. My cat-like reflexes.

6. [CENSORED - THIS IS A FAMILY BLOG DAMNIT.]

Greatest Gratitude Hits, Part 2

It's here. The moment you have been eagerly waiting for: My Hundredth Blog Post. I thought I would celebrate this moment with cupcakes and fireworks. Instead, I'm going to commemorate this historic moment with a shitty gratitude list. So today, I am grateful for:

15. Nothing. I'm drawing a blank.

14. I had a bad day.

13. I accidentally farted in front of a cute guy at Starbucks.

12. It was really loud.

11. But the coffee was pretty good, so I guess I'm grateful for that.

Giving Thanks?

Thanksgiving is this Thursday. I love Thanksgiving because it is the holiday devoted to consuming as many calories as possible in a single sitting without any consequences (it's true, you can't gain weight on Thanksgiving). But I recently learned that Thanksgiving is allegedly about giving thanks - I think Oprah or Martha Stewart said something about it. No, not Martha - she said that Thanksgiving is the holiday about making fancy napkin rings that look like pilgrims.

It kind of makes sense that Thanksgiving is about giving thanks (think about it for a moment. If you are struggling, take a closer look at the name - Thanks + Giving. Clever, huh?) Since Thanksgiving might be about giving thanks, I'm going to keep track of the things I'm thankful for this week. A Gratitude Countdown, if you will. Wendy the Cactus's Top Twenty List of Things That She Is Grateful For. This is going to be tough.

20. Selective memory.

19. Women who are uglier/fatter than me.

18. The very strong possibility that I will someday be super famous and paid to make appearances at parties and clubs.

17. The quizzes in Cosmopolitan. They offer me so much insight and are extremely accurate.

16. Scented candles.

My First Scarf.

Here is a photo of me with my first scarf. From a distance, it looks really professional and sharp, like something Angeline Jolie would wear.

The scarf, a little closer. This is probably as close as you want to get.

You probably should not read the rest of this post. I would not be surprised if your internet browser suddenly shut down due to the ugliness of the following photos (Rated RFU for Really F'ing Ugly). I mean, just look at this piece of crap. It's as if I deliberately knit The World's Ugliest Scarf. A homeless person in South Dakota in February would rather go naked than wear this thing.

This is my favorite part. I can see right through the scarf BECAUSE THERE IS A BIG F'ING HOLE THE SIZE OF THE GRAND CANYON. Holy crap, I might as well have been knitting drunk while riding on a unicycle, it's that bad.

Please go away now.

I Knit My First Scarf.

After hours of suffering and agony, I finally managed to knit my first scarf.

But I'm not going to show it to you. It's too humiliating.

I am breaking up with knitting. Time for a new hobby. Any suggestions?

And We've Reached A New Low.

Please go away now.

Somewhat Frustrated.

I thought it would take me 20 minutes to learn how to knit (25 minutes TOPS - I am a very fast study). But it's been 2 days, and my progress is slow.

Very slow.

Wendy the Knitter

Exciting news: I am going to learn how to knit! This is going to be so awesome. I can see it now: I'll be that quirky but hip girl knitting at the coffee shop; all the hot hipster guys will fight to buy me lattes. I'll knit my entire wardrobe - sweaters; scarves; hats. This time next week, I'll probably have finished my first sweater. I can knit everyone's Christmas gifts and all my loved ones will be so touched that I made their present this year. I'll join a knitting group and meet this really fun and exciting knitter, Nancy, and Nancy has a twin brother who is just perfect for me and even though he just broke up with his girlfriend of three years, he is still emotionally available and ready for a serious meaningful relationship.

Ok, enough blogging - I have to get my knit on! Someday, when I'm on Oprah, I'll have to remember to tell Oprah about the day I learned how to knit. I can already tell this is one of those life-changing moments.

Operation: Stay Married

Objective: Stay married until Spring 2010.

Viable Strategies for Implementing Objective: None.

Desperate Strategies for Implementing Objective:

• Get kidnapped by a cult. Pros: Lose lots of weight because it's a vegan cult. Cons: Where do I begin?
• Coma. Pros: Lose lots of weight because I'm living off an IV. Cons: I can't go that long without a bikini wax.
• Go to Antartica to study the penguins. Pros: I like penguins. Cons: Bad cell phone reception.
• My husband gets kidnapped by a cult and when he's rescued, the shock of civilization sends him into a coma. Pros: Where do I begin? Cons: None.

It's going to be a long winter.

Happy Halloween My Ass

There is nothing happy about halloween when you are practicing celibacy.

My Halloween Costume.

My evening commute was a total ordeal, but it gave me an opportunity to reflect upon my marriage. Initially, I decided to stay faithful to my husband for two or three months, and then launch myself into a series of steamy adulturous affairs. But, if I have an affair, I will blog about it. And now that my husband knows about this blog, he will read about my affair and know that he has been cuckolded. Then, there is a strong possibility that he will either (a) divorce me, (b) kill me, or (c) post my old fat photos on facebook.

I thought I wanted to divorce my husband as soon as possible, but I realized something as I sat in bumper-to-bumper traffic - if I divorce my husband after less than six months of marriage, everyone will assume I am a flighty, crazy woman. Damaged goods. No one wants to date damaged goods.

So, I have to stay faithful to Ralph as long as possible. My goal is to make this marriage last at least two years. 18 months. A year at least. Ok, definitely 10 or 8 or maybe 7 months.

Halloween is a slight problem. Halloween is my favorite holiday because it gives me the perfect excuse to dress up in a trashy costume, get drunk, and hook up with a stranger. But not this year! This year, I will be almost sober and chaste. If I want to be chaste, this means I should probably not wear the Slutty Nurse costume that I bought last week.

I have to wear a different costume.

A costume that says "I am lousy in bed."

A costume that says "Please do not buy me any drinks."

A costume that looks like this:





For Halloween 2010, I am dressing up as Wendell the Cactus.

Bottoms Up!

Ok, it's time to wrap up this Gas-X storyline. I never intended to let it go on for this long. Actually, I don't recall writing the entry that started this series of posts. I've been taking diet pills this month and there have been some troubling memory gaps.



That said, let's conclude The Flatulence Chronicles. After far more suffering than I care to remember, I finally took the damn pill after breakfast this morning. I didn't want to - I hate pills (except diet pills! because they make me gorgeous!) - but I was a very brave cactus and I took my medicine.




Now, it is time to elevate this humble blog's content level and move on to more serious matters: like Halloween candy! I think after all my tribulations this week, I deserve to consume at least 4000 calories on Saturday.

Also, I think I need a hobby. Stay tuned.

I don't know.

It has been brought to my attention that it is probably safe for me to take the Gas-X because the pills are in some child-proof packaging and ... well... my husband has the emotional maturity of a child, so it is highly unlikely he could actually find a way to tamper with the pills and not leave behind some evidence.

But I don't know. It still feels too risky.

Has anyone ever read the information on a Gas-X packaging? It's so funny, I'm almost enjoying my plight. My favorite bit: "Use for the relief of pressure, bloating, and fullness commonly referred to as gas." (If I have to explain the humor in this, you should probably not be reading my blog.)

Still Smelly and Bloated.

We live in a cynical world.

Relief has arrived. When I came home from work, hark - Gax-X! I started to weep (50% joy, 40% relief, 10% from shock that someone is actually reading this blog).


Then, through my tears, I saw something truly horrible: my husband. He Who Shall Not Be Named had bought me the Gas-X. This means I cannot take the Gas-X because the Unbearable Husband probably poisoned the pills. Sigh. Ever since I stopped putting out, Ralph has been bitter and cranky and plotting his revenge. I don't trust the bastard.

p.s. Who told my husband about this blog? People, come on. Is nothing sacred?

p.p.s. Husband, I still hate you and I'm not going to edit my anti-husband comments, even if they do make you feel sad and think about divorce. Divorce is the new black.

Really Bad Gas, Help Needed.

Beloved and Respected Readers:

I have a problem. For the past three weeks, I have been suffering from the most paralyzing and horrific gas imaginable. I need help. I need Gas-X. But I am too embarressed to go to the drugstore and buy some. I don't want the clerk to know I have Gas. It would destroy my reputation.

I tried to buy some Gas-X this morning. I went to the drugstore and started to fill up my basket with Decoy Purchases - lip balm; candy; some new pens - in other words, a bunch of crap I don't actually need but this way, the clerk thinks that I am running errands and I am also picking up some Gas-X for my boyfriend. (I also deploy the Decoy Purchases Technique when I buy tampons).

But I couldn't do it. I bought the Decoy Purchases but there was a really cute guy in the Gas-X aisle. He was looking at the laxatives (probably for his Super Model Girlfriend). Icould not let Really Cute Guy know that I was responsible for the farts in Aisle 7. So now I am home, bloated, smelly and miserable.

I thought about buying some Gas-X online except then it will show up on my credit card history. What if I become a celebrity? What if I marry a celebrity? Gas-X is the sort of credit card purchase that could ruin my life.

Will someone buy me Gas-X as an early Christmas present? Please, have mercy.

Depressed (and Gorgeous!)

I have had no interest in blogging this summer, because I have been too depressed about my marriage. But, something good has come from the depression: I lost weight. A lot. This might sound a little effed up, but I think I'm glad I've been depressed because I lost so much weight without even trying. (Ok, that sentence sounded better in my head, but I'm too depressed to hit the delete button. )

Here is a photo that was taken of me on Easter day:


And here is a photo of me that was taken about 11 minutes ago:

Look at that sexy waistline! My mother started to cry when she saw me yesterday, but I assume those were tears of joy. My sister says I look like a deflated balloon, but I think she is just a jealous bitch. I am gorgeous. G-O-R-G-E-O-U-S. I feel like I should be taking advantage of my depression weight loss and dating men who are normally out of my league. Except I promised myself that I would not cheat on my husband during the first three months of marriage. I have to give this whole "Married to an Ugly Annoying &*#$" thing a fighting chance (right?)

My Gorgeous Kitchen Floor.

It has come to do this: in order to avoid spending time with my husband, I clean. I have cleaned the bathroom, the windows, even the little dusty space between the floor and the fridge. Rather than think about my life, I polished every piece of silverware that I own (well, it's the color silver. but I bought it on sale at Target. Probably not silver). Look at my kitchen floor. Have you ever in your entire life seen such a clean kitchen floor? I don't want to brag, but I could probably pass on a few tips to Martha Stewart.

Excuse me, I just realized that I forgot to vacuum under the bed.

Let Me Be Frank.

I was reviewing my last few posts and I realized I haven't been very straightforward about my true feelings about Ralph, my husband (gag). So, I'd like to take this opportunity to straighten the record:

I hate my husband.

Meet Ralph.

I'd like to introduce Ralph. My husband. Excuse me, I need to go vomit.

It seems ironic that my husband is named Ralph because Ralph also means "vomit" and well, I don't think I need to explain myself. (I can never remember the differences between "irony" and "coincidence" and "tragic.")

I know the lighting in this photo is not very good. Let me explain: we took the photo inside by the light of a single lamp because Ralph is extremely ugly. I cannot be seen with him in the following places: (1) public, (2) well-lit indoor spaces. I enjoy being seen with Ralph in the following places: (1) no where.

Please don't judge me too harshly. I made a terrible mistake, but I think we can all understand. When a passionate woman like myself has been dating a man for a week; and she thinks that she might eventually kind of like the guy if he stopped farting every time he laughed; and then that man proposes; well, of course the Passionate Woman has to take a chance and say "yes!"

Right?

I Was Lonely.

Miles left Los Angeles to spend the summer in New York with his grandmother. I know he is coming back the first week of September, and I thought I would be fine without him. But then he emailed me this photo from his cross-country flight and I started to cry.

So I got married. My sister Lucy says I overreacted. Ok, yes, it is possible that I overreacted. I probably should have joined a book club or signed up for swim lessons. But that just seems so ... conventional. You have to admit that marriage is so much more exciting!

It Started With Flowers.

I cannot believe this is happening: I have become a Cautionary Tale.

Yes. I, Wendy the Cactus, have become That Girl. The girl who got swept off her feet by romance and sweet whispered nothings. The girl who abandoned all reason and sense and turned her lifed into a big complicated pile of crap.

And I know, Cherished Readers, that you are as shocked as I am. I have always been the Sensible One. Did you ever think I would be so foolish as to marry a man I barely know? Of course not.

But how could I resist? This man - my husband (oh just kill me now) - sent me the most spectacular bouquet of flowers. Just look at them. I was mesmerized.


And, just to make matters more intriguing, the flowers arrived WITHOUT A NOTE. How could I help myself? I fell in love with the mysterious flower sender.

I still haven't told my mother.

Long Time No Post.

I know I haven't posted since the 4th of July, but I have good cause. There's been drama.

I got married.

I'm sorry, I'm too upset to write about this. Maybe more later.

Happy 4th of July!

Independence Day is definitely my favorite holiday for the following reasons:

1. I look good in red,white and blue.
2. Fireworks.
3. Beer.
4. I think the "star" is my favorite shape (but I am also partial to trapezoids and parallel lines).

Ooooohh Noooo.

I honestly have no idea how this happened.