This week’s Monday Mindbump is brought to you by The Transparent Hypnotist:

“What is the biggest moment you have experienced that has changed your life?”

Getting on that plane to Vancouver, April 2001. It took a lot of courage for me to even get to the point where I could even admit that I had feelings for Eddie, and it took even more for me to go over there. I was alone, it was my first solo trip anywhere, and my first flight out of the country. I was petrified. My thoughts were racing the entire trip over there. I had brought a small notebook with me because when I’m nervous I like to write, and it’s filled with paragraphs about how scared I was, how hopeful I was that Eddie and I would get along and that nothing would be any different than our 3-hour phone calls. I made the trip, I fell in love with Eddie all over again in person, and my life has been crazier and better ever since.

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?

Birdie made a post reviewing Avon’s prewaxed waxing strips, which made me totally remember my one and only waxing “experience”. I say “experience” in the loosest definition of the word, as it was only a near-wax experience.

In April 2001 I made a trip up to Vancouver, BC to meet Eddie for the first time. We spent a lot of time walking around the city doing typical touristy things and I bought a lot of stuff for other people while I was there, and one afternoon Eddie insisted that I do something for myself and made an appointment for me to get my nails done. Having never had a proper manicure, I was thrilled with the idea.

About 10 minutes before my appointment we walked into the salon-type place and I said I was there for a 2:30 appointment. One of the women in the empty place told me to follow her, and we walked off past the little reception desk. She opened a door and gestured for me to follow her in, and although slightly confused I walked in behind her to find an examination table, which she was pulling that crinkly exam-table paper over. She must have noticed my perplexed look because stopped and asked, “You are here for the Brazilian wax, right?” I told her no, I was only here to get my nails done, and she quickly ushered me out before I had to endure the most painful manicure ever known to man.

There you have it folks, my near-wax experience. Thanks but no thanks, I’ll stick to shaving.

I vaguely heard the phone ring this morning, I wasn’t awake enough to catch it before the answering machine picked up on the fourth ring. “Baby, wake up,” he said. I’d asked him to call me from the airport in Vancouver, before he left. “Chickychickychicky…. are you awake?”

“Hey,” I replied, trying to think of something to say to show him that I’m really awake. “How are you?”

“Do you want a kiss tonight?” he asked.

“Of course I do.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to give you one.” he said. “My plane lands at 9:32pm.”