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).