Published: September 28, 2005
WELL, WELL, WELL. It is about time. I know how badly you’ve all missed me, and here I am once again to prove that I spend my nights thinking only of my devout readers (if you are not using this column as a liner for your litterbox yet, now is a good time to start)!
I forget what I blabbered about in the last entry, so let’s get on the updated side of things!
Here is what I’ve been doing:
1. Sleeping.
2. Being married.
3. Did you all see that? Married, yeah. Yeah.
Horrible, horrible Boyfriend has been upgraded to horrible, horrible Husband! We will now refer to him as such. Being the maniac that I am, I decided it would be a good idea if Boyfriend and I finally tied the knot.
“Oh, why shouldn’t we?” I said. “We’ve been living together for two years! We’re practically married anyway! Why, it’ll be just lovely, and we’ll share the Playstation 2 and amass kittens together!”
Right. Nice going, Lily. WAY TO LOSE YOUR DIGNITY! I mean, I was all about it. Cooking this, and Tupperware that, and no more drinking, and “let’s-buy-a-dining-room-set-instead-of-eating-in-front-of-the-TV” all about it. Psshhh, weddings are EASY.
I’ve been planning mine since I was like, four. Nothing can go wrong. You get a fancy dress and some dude who buys you an engagement ring, and then you party all crazy after you kiss each other, yeah?
No. This is how it goes in the real world.
You realize that you are flat broke, decide to make t-shirts instead of buying a dress, and trot on down to the courthouse for marriage papers. The entire ceremony lasts less than ten minutes, and instead of partying like crazy, you just sort of look at each other and go, “we’re married now? Oh, okay, let’s go home and feed the cats.” It was totally fine until I realized he was not going away.
My laptop became his laptop, and he decided to move all of his dumb junk into the bedroom, and now I’m using an amplifier as a chair so I can lean out the window and smoke. For some reason, there is a mixer hooked up to my USB port and there’s an electric guitar in the laundry basket. See, almost every girl thinks it would be nice to date a musician. Oh, they are sensitive. Oh, they write lyrics.
Oh, maybe they will write me a song. Ohhhhh, if I support him forever, he will eventually get a job and stop being a bum!
He will not go away.
I have to bargain for internet time, bath time, and “leave me the hell alone” time. He is constantly asking me to listen to new snippets of songs he’s written, and I’ve found the best way around that is to just fall asleep. Husband seems to like the idea of being married very much, because it gives him someone to ANNOY.
See, though, it is not all bad. I get to yell as loud as I want about everything, I can jump up and down on the bed because I am in charge of making it, and he can’t make me stop smoking because I might throw something at him. Sure, I did these things before I got hitched, but now it all seems much more fun because I’m wearing a ring.
If you’ll excuse me, I think I hear him screaming about some metal guitar riff he wants me to listen to. Where did those sleeping pills get to?
