Friday, October 29, 2010

I Can't Take Me Anywhere

So, I'm at the tanning salon...

(DISCLAIMER: I do not promote going to tanning salons. It's dangerous. Don't do it.)

(DISCLAIMER TO DISCLAIMER: In my defense, I will be prancing down the aisle in a white dress in less than 8 days and then traipsing around a beach for the next 7. Girl needs a tan! I realize this makes me a big hypocrite. Quit judging me!)

So, I had just laid down in the bed and was relaxing, listening to music, baking. All of a sudden, I feel a sneeze coming on. Trying very hard to keep my mouth shut so as not to spray the tanning bed with my saliva, the sneeze implodes and forces my head up...straight into the acrylic of the bed's very low lying ceiling. The force of the impact shoved the little purple goggles into my eye sockets and then slammed my head back down against the back of the bed.

Remember that time when I couldn't stop laughing when Lobster was trying to sleep? Yeah, Round Two.

Of course, this time, my body is covered with tanning lotion and because I'm lying flat on my back my uncontrollable laughter causes the small of my back to press and un-press against the acrylic of the bed making very rude tooting sounds. Naturally, this causes me to laugh harder, which causes my back to toot louder. It was a vicious cycle.

After a good ten minutes of laughing, rubbing my forehead, and back-tooting, I finally calmed down. Just in time to get dressed and leave. As I'm walking through the lobby, I say good-bye to the staff, who all give me strange looks. Evidently, they heard me laughing...

I just hope to God they didn't hear my back-tooting. I can only imagine what they would think I was doing in there.

Good gravy. I'm a nutcase.

Thursday, October 28, 2010


Dear Naked Lady in the Gym,

I appreciate that the gym locker room should be a place for us ladies to feel comfortable undressing and re-dressing before and after a hard workout. However, when women like you, Creepy Naked Girl, choose to stand in front of the giant community mirror for TWO HOURS completely naked except for a (kinda racy, if you ask me) thong, we other ladies start to get a little, oh, how do you say? CREEPED OUT.

Okay, so maybe you love yourself. Awesome. More women should. But I don't want to see you naked boobies hanging out while your turn this way and that checking yourself out. Nor do I want to see your ample behind, as lovely as you may think it is, jiggling at me as you stare lovingly at your au natural reflection. Go ahead and admire yourself, Naked Creep-o, but please do it at home. Or for a shorter period of time whilst at the gym. Or not at all, which would be preferred among most of us non-self-admiring-while-naked-for-TWO-WHOLE-HOURS ladies.

Many thanks in advance,

Girl Who Was Trying to Avoid Looking in Your General Naked Direction

* * *

Dear Fall,

My dearest. I can feel you trying to force your way down here in Texas. I am proud of your valiant efforts. I know it's tough trying to shove all that hot air back to Hades where it belongs. Please keep up the hard work. I miss you enormously and cannot wait for your full arrival!

Longingly (and getting impatient, to be frank),


* * *

Dear Life Beyond the Wedding,

You are so close! I can't wait to think of and partake in activities that are non-wedding related including, but not limited to, reading, writing, baking, cooking, decorating for Christmas (WEEEEEEE!), snuggling with my husband on a cold winter morning (WEEEEEE!), taking my poor doggie to the park, and taking a second job to pay of wedding debt (BOOOO!). Okay, not looking forward to that last one.

Counting down the days (8, to be precise),
Soon-to-Be Mrs. Lobster

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

I'm Not Dead. Insane? Quite Possibly...

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking the Wedding had finally done me in, right? Yeah, I don't blame you. And you're kinda right. Although the Wedding has not killed me (note: the Wedding is now a proper noun because it has taken on a life of it's own...just FYI), it has been slowly making me crazy. See, when I'm majorly stressed out, I release my stress by doing one of two things: crying or laughing. In my book, I'd much rather laugh. But in Lobster's opinion, both of my reactions are unsettling and, frankly, rather annoying.

Case in point: Monday night Lobster and I were relaxing before bed. He was watching ESPN (riveting, I tell you) so I was reading a magazine. When Lobster turned off the t.v. and then his bedside lamp, I put down the magazine and reached for my lamp as well because I'm a nice fiancee who turns off her light when her hubby-to-be is ready to sleep. In the process of reaching for my lamp, I knocked my magazine off the bedside table. The noise of it smacking on the ground slightly startled Lobster. Normally, this is not a very funny event. But I started to snicker and, because I'm a nice fiancee, I took my snickering self to the bathroom so that Lobster wouldn't realize I was snickering. Have you ever been in church and started to laugh but you knew it was inappropriate so you tried to stifle the laughter, which just made it harder not to laugh? Yeah, same situation here. I spent a good five minutes in the bathroom stifling my laughter. Thinking I had myself under control, I went back to bed. Quietly, I laid down and pulled the covers up to my chin. I breathed deeply. I willed myself to just go to sleep.

Suddenly, like a ninja sneeze that comes out of nowhere, I literally BURST into eye-watering, chest-heaving, stomach-muscle-spasming laughter. Lobster shot upright in bed and yelled, "What? Are you okay? What's the matter?" (Later, I found out he thought I was crying. Sobbing, in fact. That's how deeply I was laughing).

"I-I'm okay!" I managed to sputter. "Laughing!" I clarified through the relentless spasms.

"WHAT?!" Clearly, Lobster was not amused.

"I'm sorry, baby!" I giggled. And then snorted. And then began sob-laughing again.

"You scared the sh*t out of me!" Lobster yelled. "I was almost asleep and now my heart is going 90 miles an hour! You're going to kill me!"

I tried to say I was sorry again, but all I could manage was another round of snort-laughing out of my nose because I was desperately trying to stop myself from launching into another round of belly laughs.

Glaring at me in the dark, Lobster sighed frustratedly and turned over with his back to me. He was still not amused and now, highly annoyed. After about 30 seconds of deep breathing and forcing myself to think of as many un-funny things as possible (like math or our Wedding budget), I thought I was finally under control.

And then I began wondering what had been so funny in the first place. Oh, yeah, my magazine fell.

And then I burst out laughing again.

So, no, although the Wedding has not killed me (yet) there is a good chance that it has driven me slightly insane. Lobster should hightail it while he still has the chance.

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