# 41: So This is Awkward

Hi. It's been awhile, hasn't it. Wow 5 months? Really? You look good. Have you lost some weight? ... This is a little awkward, meeting you like this. I've been meaning to write, you know. No, really I have! I even started to write once - about the wedding. But it got so long (it's sitting right around 10 pages) and I didn't want to bore you. I mean, our wedding wasn't boring, but nothing went wrong. And stuff going wrong makes me seem funny. I'll eventually post the wedding story, but I need more time. I want it to be accurate, but I also want it to be entertaining and 10 pages of "and then we went out to eat with our parents" is not entertaining. (Except maybe to our parents - hi parents! I can't believe I have four of you now!)

But I admit that I have been slacking. So! Here is what I've been up to since April:

1. I became Mrs. Sir


2. My husband and I went to Jamaica for our honeymoon (This is the view from our room.)


3. Got me a new computer as a wedding present from my dear husband (Oakie says "I'm stealin' ur internetz.")


4. I read the new and last (sniff) Harry Potter (Oakie enjoyed it but felt there were one or two instances of misrepresentations of character.) (And no, I did not pose him for this picture.)


And finally -
5. Worked. And worked and worked and worked and worked. In fact, I would say that since we got back from our honeymoon, I have stayed late at work 75 percent of the time because I have so much work to do. I even brought work home to do this weekend - which is nuts. Everyone knows that weekends are for sleeping in late and going to the movies (which just goes to show you that I am in no way ready to have kids).

Hmm. Besides the wedding, I have been a boring-ass person this summer. No wonder I haven't updated. ("Dear online journal, Today I worked a lot! Love, Me")

Anyway, I'm glad we're talking again. I kind of missed you!

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#34: Ocean-side

You know what day it was a few Saturdays ago? It was OCEAN DAY!!!! For the first time in three years, I got to go see the ocean. It was the number one thing I had wanted to do since moving here. (Besides be with Sir blah, blah, blah.)

We had to get up at 6:30 on a weekend to do it, but, all-in-all? TOTALLY WORTH IT. Even so, I was dragging my ass as we packed up the car. We had decided just to go out to the beach for one day, but there was still a lot of crap to remember to take: sunblock, sandals, towels, something to change into after the beach, extra make-up to touch up the spots the humidity would inevitably melt away, water, etc., etc. We managed to pack my poor little Jetta full and still had to turn around three times for things we forgot.

From here to the beach, it's between a two and three hour drive. I excitedly babbled the whole way, incessantly asking, "Where's the ocean?" "I want to see the ocean!" and "Are we there yet?" Sir found my excitement very cute (because I am, duh, incredibly adorable) for the first 30 minutes or so. Then he got plenty of practice rolling his eyes at me. (Just wait until we have kids, my darling. Bwahahaha.)

We hit some traffic as we neared the island where the beach was. A gigantic draw bridge was letting some huge barges through. It was incredibly frustrating to me to be stuck, in a car, sooooooo close to the ocean that I could smell it, but still not be able to see any water. Plus it was about 95 degrees outside and 110% humidity and Sir had all the windows down. And it was noon and I hadn't eaten lunch yet.

We waited at that bridge for so long that the carload of people in front of us found time to get out of their cars, walk up to the bridge and watch the boats pass.

Now some people might tell you that at this point I began to get a little cranky. But I tell you that all I wanted was to get to see the ocean. And maybe get a hit or two of the air conditioner. And eat. But that's it.

We finally got to cross the bridge over the cape to the little beach island. We drove from one end to the other, with about 3,000 other wanna-be beach visitors, looking for a decent parking spot, and then any parking spot, and finally some place where Sir could just push me from the moving car onto the beach so I could just see the DAMNED OCEAN ALREADY AND STOP WHINING!

After driving around and around the five streets of the island, we decided that maybe this beach wasn't for us, and I decided that eating had suddenly become my top priority. We wanted to check out the historic district of downtown Wilmington, because supposedly it was really quaint. Though right at that very moment, hot and hungry and extremely frustrated with the lack of ocean-seeing this trip had so far produced, I could have cared less about how historic or quaint anything was as long as someone got food into my belly.

The maps we had of the area weren't great. Only one of them had the historic area marked, but we couldn't figure out where here was, much less how to get there. Under normal circumstances, I think Sir would tell you that I am an above-average navigator. However, at that moment, I was too busy growling and sweating and being agitated to really give a shit about where he was going.

We went down one road for two or three miles and when I didn't recognize where we were on the map, I made him turn around. We went in the other direction for two or three miles and realized that the road was going to take us back onto the island. We turned around again and headed down a different road, only to end up going in a large circle. It was nearing 1:30, I hadn't eaten, it was so hot my butt was sweating, and I HAD NOT SEEN THE OCEAN YET. I told Sir to take this next turn, and we ended up on a road we had already driven down. Twice.

"Where exactly are we going?" He asked, frustrated.

"IF YOU WANT TO FIGURE IT OUT THEN BE MY GUEST SINCE I'M OBVIOUSLY CRAP AT DOING THIS JOB!" I screamed and chucked the map directly at his head.

We rode in silence for a long time.

Sir just drove, taking random turns this direction and that. The force was strong within him, because as I pouted and looked out the window, I started seeing signs for "Historic Downtown." I gathered all of the civility that was left in my starved, melting body and quietly pointed out the signs. We followed them and, about 10 minutes later, were driving through the cutest east-coast downtown I have seen to date.

The old brick buildings looked like there were from the late 1800's and some of the streets still had cobblestones. There were old music shops, florists, and dozens of original clothing shops. We parked the car and walked along the street that ran right up against the water of Cape Fear. All the shops had widow boxes and flowering trees and plants sitting outside and there was a nice breeze next to the water.

The longer I was out of the car, the more I could feel myself unclenching. We found a steak and seafood restaurant on the waterfront and managed to get one of their tables on a private balcony. It was still hot outside, but how often do you get the chance to sit on your own private balcony? Plus, the waiter was pretty good about keeping our water and soda glasses full.

We ate a leisurely, light lunch and listened to the jazz music drift our way from a festival across the cape. We walked around the boardwalk and decided we would head south to a different beach instead of going back to the tiny little island we had been to before. This turned out to be the best decision we had made all day.

After being well-fed and convincing Sir to turn the A/C on in the car, I was feeling much more amiable. Sir and I were back to our cuddly, loving-on-each other selves (Ew! Gagg! Gross!) and now I had just one more mission to complete for the day. The beach.

We rolled into the town of Carolina Beach around 3pm and found ourselves a parking lot. As I tried to figure out how to change into my swimsuit without having to touch anything in the grimy public restroom, a man offered Sir his parking ticket, which was good until the next day. Score! Free parking!

We flip-flopped up the boardwalk and the roar of the waves banished any more remaining banshees from my insides.

The beach was amazing. White sand, plenty of room for us to spread out and relax. It was still hotter than sin, but a nice breeze managed to rouse itself every time you felt you were about to spontaneously combust. Even the ocean water, once a wave or two smacked you in the face, was warm enough to enjoy.

We stayed on the beach, swimming, sunning and building sand castles, until the sun started to set, then reluctantly shuffled our way back to the car, picking up seashells on the way.

After deciding to leave a snooty-ass Italian restaurant after they chided us for being dressed like we had (shocker!!) just come in from the beach (even though we had changed, me into my sundress, Sir into shorts and a tank top), found a seafood restaurant called Big Daddy's where our attire was deemed appropriate. There wasn't really anything special about this place - it had screaming children, mediocre food and service - but the name still makes me crack up, so I figured it was worth mentioning.

After dinner we went to the local movie theater and saw Cars and drove home. The salt from the seawater made my skin tight and itchy, I wasn't sure I was ever going to get a comb through my hair again and every time I licked my lips, I tasted salty - but, settled into the car, on the way home to my own bed, I was so pleased to just... be. The ocean was only a car ride away. I had seen it with my own two eyes, played in the water with Sir... and we could go every single weekend if we wanted to! Un-freaking-believable. I felt so lucky in that moment to be where I was. I looked over at Sir n the driver's seat, and promptly nodded off.

Per. Fect.

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#28: The Happy Ending that's really a Happy Beginning

My life over the past few weeks had been incredibly dull. Since Sir set out for North Carolina I was intent on living in mediocrity. I got up, went to work, occasionally went to the gym, came home, watched TV while pretending to pack up my apartment, and went to bed. I had the song "Ain't no sunshine when she's gone" (only replace "she's" with "he's") stuck in my head for days. ("Ain't no sunshine when he's gone [bohm, bohm, bohm] It's not warm when he's away [bohm, bohm, bohm].) I walked around like that for two weeks, melancholy, Sir's name on my lips, a sad, sad little love ballad in my head.

My mom, bless her heart (See ya'll? I'm working on the southern speak), called to tell me she was taking me out to a "dress-up" dinner at a swanky downtown restaurant on Friday (Nov. 4). "Reservations are at 7:00," she said, "Be sure not to make other plans." Fiiiiiiiiine. Not like was I going to do anything besides laundry anyway. Siiiiiiiiigh.

Friday afternoon (that same Nov. 4th - for those of you keeping score), Sir called me at work around 11:30 to ask how my day was going and what my plans were for that weekend. He told me he was in Durham, North Carolina looking for part-time work at one of the malls. I mentioned dinner with my mom and then moaned about how typical my weekend was looking and how no one loved me and none of my friends were going to be around for the weekend so I guessed I'd just do laundry and sleep and be unloved. He told me that he loved me and that he would talk to me later. Me: "Siiiiiiiiiigh (there were a lot of those after Sir left). Whatever. Pout."

About half-an-hour later, the front desk called my cube to inform me that I had a package and did I have time to come pick it up? I figured it must be flowers or something since all other packages would have been delivered to the mailroom instead of the front desk. The thought that Sir had sent me flowers (because who else would?) brought a brief smile to my sad, sad, Eeyore face. I hoofed it downstairs, through the security doors and to the front desk where the receptionist was on the phone and there was a beautiful vase of pale pink and purple roses, daisies, and lilies. The card stuck in the middle of the bouquet did indeed have my name on it, written in Sir's handwriting.

I communicated, with hand gestures, corporate ID waving and perhaps a shimmy or two, to the on-the-phone receptionist that I was the one for whom the flowers were intended and that I would be taking them now. I picked up the bouquet and was heading back through security when I heard a "Psssssst!"

Psssst?

Hey I know that psssst...

There he was. My beloved, handsome, wasn't-he-in-Durham-a-half-an-hour-ago, lying, sneaky but-oh-so-lovely Sir. Standing in Minnesota, in the atrium of my office, wearing the biggest grin I had ever seen.

I don't remember running from the security doors to his arms; I don't know how I didn't drop the flowers. But somehow I ended up with my face planted in his chest, my one free arm around him, trying my hardest not to sob in front of the receptionist. I couldn't stop kissing him and hugging him and trying, through snot and tears, to ask, "How are you here? What are you doing here?"

Turns out Sir and my parents and his parents were all in cahoots. His parents had used their frequent flier miles to send him to Minnesota for the weekend, and my mom had picked him up from the airport. My mom also, by making reservations at Swanky Downtown Restaurant, had not only kept me from having other plans for the night of Nov. 4th, but had actually made the reservations for Sir and I instead of her and I, too. And the whole lot of them, parents and Sir, had been keeping this visit under wraps the entire time I'd been moaning and lamenting and siiiiiiiiiiighing on the phone to them. The entire time! Tricksy parents-es.

Sir mumbled into my hair, as my head was still firmly attached to his chest, that maybe I could take some time for lunch? I knew I couldn't just have one hour at lunch with him and then come back for the rest of the day at work. My concentration level is probably only at 25% during the second half of the day on any given Friday anyway. But knowing Sir was at home waiting to spend an ENTIRE weekend with me? Anyone at the office would be lucky if they could get me to react to a loud noise or bright light, let alone get me to do any work. As soon as I had convinced myself that Sir was not going to disappear if I left his side, I ran back to the office and took the rest of the day off.

After showering and napping at home, and much MUCH squishy, cutsy cuddling and dewy-eyed staring (the details of which I'll spare you, because I love you guys that much), Sir and I headed out to the restaurant. And though I suffered from poorly labeled exits in the parking garage stairwell (I ended up in a totally different building than the signs said I would), we were successfully seated at a fabulous table facing windows that overlooked the park.

I was nothing but couth that night, I tell you, as I always am in expensive restaurants where people tend to stare if you let food fall out of your mouth even if it is really hot and burning your tongue. I daintily ate most of the bread. Then I benevolently shared half of the appetizer with Sir. I ate the majority of my meal and had a few lady-like bites of Sir's meal. And then there was the gigantic mountain of mashed potatoes I may or may not have consumed. (Well, it was all so GOOD and there are starving people in Africa.)

Sir barely touched his food, which I found odd because he ordered steak. And people, if there is one thing my man loves, it's his steak. What I found even more odd? He barely drank any of his beer. It was that which finally began to freak me out a little.

"Are you ok?"
"Yeah, I'm fine."
10 minutes more of him pushing his steak around in his plate and gazing longingly at his beer without actually drinking any of it.
"Are you sure you're ok?"
"I've got a bit of a headache. No biggie."

Well, ok then. He sometimes does get headaches when he flies, change of pressure and all. So I didn't think anything more of it.

On our way home, I was feeling bloated and stuffed to gills and just a tad gluttonous when Sir turned to me and said, "I've been on a plane all day, let's go for a walk." Fair enough, my waistline could probably use it. But it's 35 degrees outside, I'm in a short skirt and four inch heels. Can I change first?

He looked at me like I had pronounced the workweek would be extended from five to seven days and national holidays? Are cancelled. "Yeah, I guess that'd be ok," he mumbled dejectedly.

I took my time changing into jeans and hiking boots, mostly because Sir obviously had not wanted to come back to the apartment and sometimes it's kinda fun to push his buttons (I know you're reading honey, I love you!). As I changed as slowly as possible, he wore a hole in my carpet from pacing between the television in the living room to the table in the kitchen. One final, and not really necessary but funny (because poking the proverbial bear is fun! Poke! Ha!) (Confidential to Sir- LOVE you!), primping, I was ready to go.

We drove to "our lake," which is a park that Sir and I have frequented from the beginning of our relationship: in the winter, cuddling on the dock and looking at stars (awwwwwwww), in the summer, reading and picnicking in the grass. Sir put his arm around my waist and led me down the short path from the parking lot to the dock. Ok, I thought, you wanted to take a walk Mr. GrumpyPants McNoYouCan'tChangeFirstFineDoItFast, and now we're taking the shortest path out here?

Once on the dock though, he pulled me into a nice big bear hug, and all the GrumpyPants McNoYouCan'tChangeFirstFineDoItFast thoughts flew away as, resting my head on his chest, I remembered that during the last few weeks of siiiiiiighing, the only place I had wanted to be was in his arms.

Because of our height differece, my head rests just right for me to hear his heart when we hug. And folks, at that moment, I was afraid Sir's heart was going to fly through his chest cavity and attack my ear. It was thumping at an alarming volume.

"Are you REALLY sure you're ok?" I tried to remember the symptoms of a heart attack. "You're heart is pounding like mad!"

"It's beating for you," He said sweetly (awwwwwwww.) He took a deep breath. "I have a lot of good memories of this place," he said. "You know what my favorite one is?"

No, I really didn't.

"It's the one where I flew in and surprised you for the weekend. Took you out for a nice dinner at the Swanky Downtown Restaurant. Got down on one knee." He got down on one knee. "Pulled out a ring box." He pulled out a ring box. "And asked you, 'Will you marry me?' "

Well right around "got down on one knee," I lost it. I finally understood what was happening: the surprsie visit, Sir being too nervous to eat, his anxiety at delaying our "walk" and his poor pounding heart. My hands flew up to my mouth and I mumbled, "Oh my God, oh my God," through the rest of his proposal. By the time he got around to the "marry me" part, I attacked him, nearly knocked the ring into the lake and blubbered "Yes" about a thousand times into his ear. (Wouldn't this have been an awful story if I had answered "no"?)

We're engaged! I am the future Mrs. Sir! (Lady Sir? Sir's Lady? The Princess of Quite a Lot Now With More Sir?)

I'm sure you all ya'll (argh!) have questions. Here are the answers to those questions we've found people ask most often when they find out we're engaged:

1. The ring? Share the details of The Precious!
   
   My ring is a beautiful princess-cut solitaire on a white-gold band. Exactly what I wanted. You done good, Sir!
   
   
2. So when are you two planning on getting married?
   
   We DON'T KNOW YET, OK? (Can you tell I've been asked that a lot?) Right now we're talking about it, but we're still concentrating on step one, which is cohabitating the same state.
   
   
3. How long have you two been dating anyway?
   
   We met in August of 2003 at our former workplace, Evil Company That Will Never Be Mentioned By Name Again. We celebrated our first anniversary on Jan. 1, 2005.
   
   
4. Are you guys planning on having kids?
   
   Now look here. There is the line. You left it all the way back there when you leapt over it. One thing at a time, k? Thanks.

Other than strange people asking me strange questions, I am very much enjoying The Sparkly Precious and the attention it brings. I wish Sir were here to share that attention. It's sort of weird and hard (oh feel the siiiiiighs coming on again) to be apart while we're trying to celebrate and revel being engaged. Siiiiiiiiiiigh.

But hot damn people. I'm going to be a wife!

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