Dear Eddie,
Back in 2001 when we first met on Livejournal and started chatting online via ICQ and AIM, did you ever, in a million years, imagine that we would end up like this? I know that I certainly didn’t. You were in Vancouver and I was in Providence, and yet we immediately hit it off as though we’d known each other for years. We talked online for hours at a time, and once I managed to get drunk enough to work up the nerve to actually call you on the phone, you still kept talking to me, even though chances are good I was babbling about how cool your accent was and how drunk I was. And I was impressed that you stayed on the phone and humored me, and that you didn’t run screaming for the hills when I told you one afternoon before we’d even met in person that if we ever got married my initials would spell out “cam”.
So I traveled out to meet you and we had some fun. We had a lot of fun, even though I was out of shape and not used to walking everywhere and complained all the time about how my feet hurt, or my calves hurt or couldn’t we just stop for a second so that I could check that my legs were still there? You introduced me to caribou burgers, public transportation, and good beer that has a perverted sounding name. I saw my first movie on DVD at your house, and took my first solo flight to be with you. You took me bar-hopping to some fantastic places, gave me a flower that you picked off a tree, and when I passed out on your bed that first night you didn’t even try to get me naked, you just threw a blanket over me and decided to try again later.
I fell in love with your goofiness, your geekiness, and your scruffy good looks. I love everything about you, from your posing topless like Demi Moore’s pregnant magazine covers to the fact that you give me a kiss every morning before you leave for work, even if I’m asleep or if we’ve fought that morning. I love your laugh, your smiles, your kisses, and your obsession with the Back to the Future trilogy. I love that you’ve already decided that you’d shoot me if I ever became a zombie, and that you will always, ALWAYS try to scare me during scary movies, and that you always try to send me into the other room to turn on the light when we’ve both creeped ourselves out during scary movies. I adore that you collect rubber ducks, but only the right types of rubber ducks. I love that you think I’m a total dork for liking A Tale of Two Cities. We’ve moved twice since you made the big move down here, and you’ve put up with a lot of my hoarding shit. You’ve packed up boxes upon boxes of stuffed animals that I always insist that I’ll snuggle with and yarn that I plan on using eventually. I love how you cook chicken, and I love how you love me even on days or during times when I’m sure that you shouldn’t, because I’m positive that no one else would love me during those times like you do.
Now here we are, married for 6 years today, living in my Mom’s basement like stereotypical gaming nerds. I’m a slob, I’m a pack-rat, I’m psycho, and yet somehow you still love me through all of that.
So what do you say, should we go for another 6 years?
This morning I awoke to the sound of gunshots. I guess that’s the hazard of living beside an outdoor shooting range.
I’ve married the sweetest guy on the planet. Not only did he snap some adorable pictures of my tiny paper star collection just to make a creative post devoted to his love for me, but he also cleaned them back up and I assume he prevented Chaucer from eating any of them.
Also, he’s been hiding his secret identity pretty well for the 7 years I’ve known him. Who would’ve known that I’d actually married Cthulhu?
I’ve only got 3 more work days before my vacation week. Just saying “vacation” at this point makes my bits tingle.
I hate weather like this. It’s been about a week where glimpses of the sun are few and far between; gray clouds and rain overwhelming the local 7-day weather forecasts. The doom and gloom seem to seep into my skin and infect my overall attitude, leaving me eager to do nothing more than just sit under an afghan and watch tv.
Eddie and I went out yesterday, taking a trip downtown to check out the Providence Arcade. This didn’t go very well at all since we couldn’t find a place to park close to the building and we didn’t want to be stuck walking in the rain, so we ended up going to Thayer Street to visit the shops down there. We had a fantastic pizza for lunch and checked out the little stores, where I got to squee over a huge selection of Sanrio items and drool over boxes of beads. We left Thayer and drove back to Warwick to go to Newbury Comics, Target, and FYE. We picked up a used copy of Lost: Season 1, then came back home. I headed for the bathroom with my upset tummy while Eddie went to the store to pick up some food for dinner. I was sitting at my desk, checking email, when he came home and announced, “I got something special for you.”
I turned around and he was holding out a beautiful bouquet of yellow and white roses, bought for no other reason than he thought that I needed them because I seemed so sad all day. They’re currently sitting in a vase atop the tv, where Chaucer can’t reach them and munch on the leaves (again). We had a bunch of tacos for dinner and watched Lost before making our way to the bedroom to watch some SNL. Jonah Hill sucked, so we didn’t watch much and just went to sleep.
I slept late this morning, lounging in the bed under the warmth of the comforter and curled up with a stuffed animal. Eddie came home at lunchtime and we went to McDonald’s, then left to return to work. I’m downloading some music in an attempt to recreate my former music collection that was on my external drive prior to last summer’s move. We’ll be going to my mother’s house for dinner and a movie tonight. At this very moment the sun is making an effort to burn through the clouds, so maybe it won’t be too gloomy for the rest of the day,
—————-
Listening to: Melissa Ferrick - Drive
It’s been a long week for us for reasons I won’t go into. I’m alternating between complete anger/madness/rage and utter normalcy, which in itself is completely fucked up because the swings are fast and extreme. For example, Sunday I spent the day positively loathing and not wanting anything to do with Ed, while Monday I wanted to just take him into the bedroom and fuck his brains out. There’s also the anxiety that’s back and oh-so-fun. I’m doing what I can to manage the moodiness, and Eddie’s taking the brunt of shit from me.
Work has been dead lately. We think business has dropped off, but it doesn’t seem to be any of our good regulars and we’ve still go the same number of losers that we generally get (that is, we get a slew of drug-seeking freaks in the later half of the week who want narcotics to party with). I’m beginning to think we must have the lowest price on syringes too, since we seem to be getting more folks coming in to buy them. Not to mention that all the old people have suddenly decided that they can’t do anything for themselves and are calling up saying “fill everything!” “Fill everything” is just a shade better than “I need my little white pills that look like footballs”, but not by much. Any day now someone is going to call up from their bathroom and ask for someone to call their doctor so they can get someone out to the house to wipe their ass, and then they’ll whine about how much they’ll charge for a house call. Yesterday we had someone come in and tell us that she was completely constipated, and that she’d given herself 5 enemas. Normal people would stop at maybe the 2nd or 3rd attempt at Roto-Rootering their ass if they didn’t see results, but omgwtf, 5 enemas?!?!? It boggles the mind. And then, and then, when it was suggested that maybe she might want to buy a stool softener, she declined because, get this, the pills were red and she doesn’t like the color red.
Chaucer fell in the toilet the other night. I was in the tub and Eddie was sitting on the edge of it and the cat was stretched between the toilet and the tub. I guess he lost his balance when he tried to get all 4 feet onto the toilet seat because his ass fell right into the bowl. Poor little dude looked so freaked out and mortified. And he really doesn’t like it when you put bubbles on his head.
Tomorrow I get a new computer to replace the piece of shit that I’ve been using for a while. It will be quieter in the living room without the pc fan running at full tilt all the time, and it will have a bigger hard drive so I can put some other games on it and fill it with a buttload of music. One thing that won’t be getting reinstalled? The webcam. It hasn’t been online in about 3 months, but there’s really no reason for it anymore. It was a fun run while it lasted, but it’s done.
I woke up this morning to the sound of Eddie singing. “Happy anniversary, happy anniversary. Happy anniversary, haaaaaaapy anniversary!” Once my brain got over the shock of being jolted out of sleep by a singing Canadian, it then registered that he was holding a massive and gorgeous bouquet of marbled red roses. And then I looked at the clock and saw that it was after 7, when Eddie’s supposed to be in work.
“Why aren’t you at work?”
“I took the day off.”
So now both of us have the day off, and we’re super happy. We went back to sleep after getting the roses squared away, and now it’s time for a shower and then we’re going to head out to grab lunch and catch a matinee or something.
