I am constantly amazed at how good John is at being a husband. He totally read my mind all weekend. This is what I telepathically told him to do, and he did it! Seriously folks, he's good.

I said:

"Make me a homemade Stromboli!" (and he did! and it was AWESOME...I've never had such an awe inspiring combo of pizza dough and every meat product I love).

"Have sex with me, and put your back into it, Boy!" (Here, he got a little confused because he put my back into it, and now I have lots of sexy rug burn on my back...but it was worth getting it, plus it never truly hurts in the moment, only after.)

"Get me drunk!" (Boy did he ever...well, to be fair, I think I was the one swallowing the delicious mixes that he was handing me--but wow! He also wins bonus points for attempting to put me to bed when it was clear that I was no longer communicating with human beings and that gravity was beginning to work against me. Of course, I did not take this bed-time thing lying down, I popped up (of course) to harass everyone while they played wii!)

"Hold my hair when I puke!" (He needed to do this because when I woke up all bleary eyed he handed me an alcoholic beverage, citing "The hair of the dog". I took one whiff of it and scooted off to the bathroom to retch)

"Feed me!" (Several times he fed me. First it was Wendy's to coat my stomach, then he made me some pork meal that used all the contents of our very bare cabinets. You see, I was too busy drinking to actually go to the grocery store and purchase items for consumption. Yesterday I learned that pork, BBQ sauce and pasta actually taste really good together...I wish I had never found this out.)

I hate standing next to ER's (John's bro) girlfriend. It's not because I don't like her...because I do. It's because I hate how imperfect I feel standing next to her. Without fail her hair will be perfectly clipped up/barretted, perfectly coiffed and looking sexy. Mine?Oh it's down, or in a ponytail, it really can't be described as anything else. Her makeup-flawless. Mine? Non-existent. Her clothes? Fabulous! Mine? This old thing? And I do mean this incredibly old thing bought at the GAP, probably the year I was going to enter college (which if we are keeping track...it's seven years at this point).

Perfect hair, perfect tan, stunning blue eyes, gorgeous long black hair, and a size two...why would I hate standing next to her?

Probably because after I put ketchup on my hot dog at the Phillies game, it dripped down the front of my shirt.

T and I went to see Gwen Stefani last night and you didn't. It was our birthday present (from March) and it was absolutely amazing...aside from the fact that I nearly got into a fist fight over my seat (I was in the right...AND...I didn't actually have to hit the evil woman but I should've especially when she gripped my shoulder and said, "I'm sorry that they let you in here..." and then I was all like, "Whatever bitch, you're in my seat and instead of hitting you like I want to, I'm going to listen to T and go to the usher and get him to move your ass!). And aside from the fact that it was 99.8% estrogen in the arena, it still managed to be AMAZING. Now don't get me wrong, I wasn't there to hit on men, pick them up or even admire them...but when you get 10,000 women in the same place it doesn't give off a good vibe! Before Gwen came on I wavered between wanting to embrace all the sweetly dressed little girls and smacking all the weirdly dressed older women (ie. a 40 year old woman dressed in a skin tight silver lame shirt, black leggings and then silver rat killer shoes).

John and Earl (the person responsible for our tickets!!! whoo!) wandered the streets of Camden. They ended up playing pool and some girl came over to John with a ping pong ball and asked him to get the dent out with a lighter. He said, "I really don't know what to do, I think you'd better do it." The next thing you know the ping pong ball was on fire! She leaned in and and whispered, "This was so embarassing! Please don't tell anyone..." He said, "Sure, I'll only tell my wife!" She ran away. But hey, my husband still has it...with socially awkward women.

We are the awesomest, I will not lie.
The other night at the bar, we got everyone to sing along with us to "Don't Stop Believing" by none other than the band known as Journey. Arms were pumping in the air, punctuating the lines as Steve Perry wailed. I wailed, the fat guy at the end of the bar wailed, even the town drunk picked his head off the bar and let out a, "Whooo oooh oooh oooooooo" at the right time.

An older woman walked up after the song started fading out. Ruining the afterglow of the moment she put her hand on my shoulder, "Don't you just love Steve Perry's tight jeans? I'd love them next to my bed."

*in silence I stared at her, unable to come up with an acceptable response and suffering from an involuntary flashback of me watching VH1 with my dad at the age of 7 and asking him what Mr. Perry had stuffed in his pants, that was making his "pants look funny"*

She continued. "Have you ever seen them in concert?" and not waiting for an answer began to regale me with the times that she's seen Journey and which one was the best show, which had the tightest jeans etc.

So besides that, it sure was fun to sing a cheesy 80's song with an entire bar. I'm going to continue to try to find songs that touch several generations to spark yet another sing along.