I'll post tomorrow about the Halloween party...it was fun (and you'll be ever so disappointed in our costume choice--taste wise), except that I misplaced or someone (which I doubt because they're our friends) walked off with my digital camera...sigh...second one in two years, i should stick to disposibles.

Other than that I turn in a very craptastic short story tonight...it's embarassingly bad. It was a story I wrote as an undergrad that just kept falling apart. I tried to revisit it, breathe new life into it as a 29 year old and I've come to only one conclusion, reviving the dead only creates brain eating zombies and really shitty short stories.

Happy Halloween!

...so we first had the idea to be the Incredibles...but we realized we might scare people in all our red spandexed glory.

...so then John toyed around with being this couple briefly and then said, "Nah".
...so then John googled this lovely couple and thought about this for a moment, but decided that too many people have already done this and it's just a dumb idea at this point...let's think creative!
so then John suggested this couple...and it seemed like a great idea but we've been laggards and we did nothing to work on our costume.

So now John has come up with a genius idea (done with love, not with mockery), and wants to be him, I don't have to be a crocodile do I? Ha ha...I think I'll just have to think of something up completely unrelated.

Also unrelated, Johnny was once her for Halloween, hence the reason I got him a Big Fun hoodie, and he once had a vanity plate of the same slogan. I wish I had thought about Halloween costumes earlier because I still have a fondness for this, but alas, I already threw out my cutlass--because I couldn't justify why it sat on the dining room table for a full year. Hmm...what can I be? I may just put my wedding dress on again, 'cuz I wanna!

Johnny, I'm curious, what are you?? I don't buy the part about not wanting to be permanently attached (obviously), I think I threw the quiz off a little by answering the questions as a married woman and not seeking future dates and whatnot.

The Peach Random Gentle Love Master (RGLMf) Playful, kind, and well-loved, you are The Peach. For such a warm-hearted, generous person, you're surprisingly experienced in both love and sex. We credit your spontaneous side; you tend to live in the moment, and you don't get bogged down by inhibitions like most women your age. If you see something wonderful, you confidently embrace it. Your exact opposite: The Nymph Deliberate Brutal Sex Dreamer You are a fun flirt and an instant sweetheart, but our guess is you're becoming more selective about long-term love. It's getting tougher for you to become permanently attached; and a guy who's in a different place emotionally might misunderstand your early enthusiasm. You can wreck someone simply by enjoying him. Your ideal mate is adventurous and giving, like you. But not overly intense. DREAD: The False Messiah CONSIDER: The Loverboy, The Playboy, or The Boy Next Door Link: The 32-Type Dating Test by OkCupid - Free Online Dating. My profile name: crossmelina

As promised there are updates to be had. And here they are.

The other night John and I were lying on the couch watching a movie (Star Wars...who would of thunk it?? ha ha...Star Wars is a pervasive part of our lives in a couple of different ways) and it was about time to go to bed. John got off the couch and valiantly leaned over and offered me his hand to help pull me up. With arm extended he smiled at me and said, "Ya ready, Porkin?" and then his face froze as he heard what his mouth had uttered. I busted into laughter. "Porkin? Are you seriously calling me Porkin?" laughing all the while, "I don't think you should call your wife Porkin, especially when she's not so happy with her weight right now!!" And his excuse? He states he was trying to call me either Pork Chop or Pumpkin (two favorite pet names that we have for each other) and he combined the two. Right...riiiighht. The funniest part? The nickname has stuck and now we're both known as Porkin.

The next item of business is the fact that John and I would like to see if it's possible to go about patenting a way in which to lay on the couch. Truth be told, we spend the majority of the time we spend together...on the couch. Everyone knows the time old form of lying on the couch called "Spooning" but we like to lay on opposite ends of the couch facing each other in "V" formation. My legs then rest on top of his legs and typically the dog lays in the little diamond between us poking us with her bony elbows (seriously, I have bruises on my legs from her damn bony elbows!). We have given this couch position the moniker--Forking...we either have too much time on our hands or (and this second option is the one I like to believe) we're just really witty and awesome. Please, test out Forking and let us know what you think.

And finally Wing Night. Ah, beloved wing night...the girls and I used to go and get absolutely bombed while our lips ne'er touched a buffalo sauced piece of chicken. Now that I'm married I've come to love Wing Night a little more than before because 1) I get to actually eat wings and 2) I don't have a massive hangover in the morning because we're don't drink and cry in our beer like the girls and I used to (Not that it wasn't fun mind you...but it was never fun on Thursday mornings!). This Wing Night was a little different because we were meeting John's friend at the bar. I was scared. I had seen this girl's profile on Myspace and she terrified me....she's like a tiny, tattooed bulldog who seriously has a hatred for skinheads and fascists (that's a good thing...it's just the fervent nature of the message on her page).

I had briefly met her once before, on Thanksgiving Eve (the same night I first met Johnny!) and she came up to my table, and growled, "Where's the can in this place?" I just pointed to it and told Tara, "She's not going to kill me now since I told her where the bathroom was...you, she still might kill." Last night was the first time that I was going to really meet her since then. And I had a few new things to go on. 1) John stated she was "a really nice girl" and 2) John had had sex with her in the past. Hmm, I wasn't sure how I felt about meeting the girl who had a bullring through her nose, the punk rock hair cut of short (nearly buzzed in the back) and longbangs looped behind her ears. Not because how she looked but really because she had sex with my husband!! I swear, it's hilarious how indignant and jealous I get about it (it was a while back). John just rolls his eyes at me and in his head I know he's thinking mean things about me and all the people that he could run into concerning me...but he doesn't say it--and that makes him a good boy...a really good boy.

And let me tell you...John wasn't lying, she was a really nice girl. And to be honest, I barely thought about that time that John put his penis in her. Sure it popped into my head once or twice, but for the most part it was a pleasant two hour hang out. When John and I got into his car he asked, "Well what'd ya think?" And I said, "Well, she's really nice...to the point that I barely thought about the fact that you two banged before." And his reply? "Well, if it makes you feel any better it was really, really awkward." And indeed, because I'm a grinch with the heart the size of a pea, I did feel better--even though there was no reason for me to feel badly, since she has a boyfriend and regaled me with tales of Johnny being drunk trying to eat congealed pork fat. It's a proven fact that when a girl tells stories of a man eating anything congealed, she's just not that into you...because you're gross (unless your my husband, then you're just a hungry drunk).

or something like that.

Last Wednesday night I had the best sex of my life...officially, don't know what it was about it--maybe the semi-drunkeness, or the fact that we both tasted like hot wings...but it was Grrrreeeat...at least for me. And because the best experience of my life must be tempered with horrible moments, at approximately 2:45am I woke up with a choking cough that racked my body and made me unable to sleep for the rest of the night. Please note: John is able to roll over and sleep through someone hacking her entire lung up (that was me, if you didn't know).

During my reign as Queen of the Sick, John took excellent care of me. Thursday, I was just semi-zombiefied so I managed on my own. Friday I went to watch some girls play a little Flag Football and supported a good cause, unfortunately, I should've been supporting my cause for healthiness. I came home and shivered, shook and just whined a lot. John answered my whines by handing me the Tivo remote and running out to get me Wendy's...because greasy food cures all that ails you my friends. And then...then he left me blissfully alone to watch Dateline NBC catch sexual predators...with junk food for my brain and body I drifted blissfully to sleep on the couch (hopped up on tons o' vitamin C and Nyquil) while John painted the basement. (Truly, I'm not sure how I managed to get the well trained husband, but he rocks!)

Saturday was the highlight of my weekend because I hardly remember it due to various reasons. First, in the morning I dragged my body behind me and went to the grocery store because I wanted to make breakfast (feed a cold people, feed a cold). I ran into my mom's friends and they then told my mom that my "husband was sending me out in the cold and sick to buy him breakfast foods" ha ha...I love it when rumors get spread about him! He gets all defensive and hangs his cute little head and says, "Your mom thinks I'm a scumbag, doesn't she?" which isn't the case but it's just too much fun to solemnly nod to him whenever he asks. This is the night that I also attempted to drink...but it didn't really work. I claim it was all the Dayquil I was swilling, John claims I just had a lot to drink before we left the house (He's says tomato, I say I'm right). Either way, I think it was the first time I've been in bed by 8 o'clock on a Saturday in my life.


Notice there hasn't been any mention of any sex...you know for curative purposes of bronchitis type symptoms? Well no, there was no sex, why?? Because for some reason my friend/Aunt Flo/the crimson tide/the curse/lady trouble whatever in the hell you want to call it decided to make an encore presentation--this time in a way in which I wished I had purchased stock in Tampax. It made me very sad, because when you're feeling crummy...sex is the best cure, better than all the Nyquil in all the land...but cramps made me feel less than amorous and because I couldn't breathe through my nose John also suffered a bit because I couldn't perform my other favorite wifely duties.

Monday we took off together for recuperation purposes...it really became errand day. I have to say that we were ultra productive, but again my mom said to him, "She should really be recovering, you know?" Again, he just can't win!!! he he he...

Tomorrow: The origin of the term forking
When John slipped and called me Porkin
And possibly a recap of what occurs at Wing Night

Don't mix cold meds and beer...they will have you leaving a house party 25 mins after you get there so that you can sniffle, fall over and pass out before 7:30 pm.

Have I told you how much I hate being sick? bleech.

Whine....

I'm getting sick.

It hurts.

I think it's bronchitis...a common ailment for asthmatics like myself...boo.
I have returned home from work and I'm ready to lay on my couch with one leg hanging out of the blanket so that I can balance the hot/cold/chill/fever ratio that my body is waging war on me right now. My sinuses are about ready to explode and my lungs couldn't feel any more raw as I wheeze, rasp, sneeze and sweet jesus---cough, ever so painfully.

On another front...John and I decided that we're going to be these guys for Halloween, I think it was a brilliant decision--of course, John came up with it. We both will have to wear wigs...as I do not have blond short hair (nor am I going to be cutting my dark locks) and John doesn't quite have the long hair that Ritchie has either. We're going to be the cutest married couple playing brother and (adopted) sister in love. What could be more perfect???

We took the drunk bus down to Philly on Friday...we did it once before if you remember back when Johnny and I were rocky. This time we certainly weren't having any relationship problems but we were both having a hard time fighting gravity. You see, for the cost of $27 a person ,you too can act like an idiot. Paying $27 ensures that you will get a ride to and from the city (safe!) and that your cover will be paid to enter the bar...and...there's free beer and booze on the bar. Well, on this particular trip, the "promised booze" turned out to be a small bottle of Jameson in a paper bag which was passed around like we were all 16 and drinking MadDog or something.

It's a strange thing when you think the beer is free...something clicks deep within the human psyche and you begin to horde beer. You also try to throw as much of it down your throat as humanly possibly (because of course, "You want to get your money's worth"). This whole process is easier said than done in a hired out school bus. School busses have the springest shocks in all the land and half the time, my hoarded beer that I attempted to pour down my throat ended up going over my head and landing in my hoodie (this is only an assumption, but it seems plausible as my hoodie hood reeks of Miller Lite and PBR and no other part of my clothing does. The other half of the time I was trying to keep my body from involuntarily shooting towards the metal roof of the vehicle. Seriously. School Buses + Drunks= Death Cab (but not for Cutie). Speaking of equations...

Melina + one too many beers (at the end of the night)= stumbly/beligerent and full of beer tears. Johnny+ one too many beers= babbily/beligerent and also full of beer tears. We got made fun of because we had a little spat on the bus and then both started to cry...because that's how we roll. Luckily, we're both very forgiving and we're both quite used to being stubborn little butts when we're drunk so we can laugh it off and then take a night off from everyone else out at the bar to 'poon on the couch...(I'm so cutsey pie now. I've changed spooning, to 'pooning...which could sound dirty, and sometimes it is, but most of the time, it's just cuddling on sie couch).

The show itself was fun, I sat on a stool and got pretty rip roaring drunk with T who somehow twisted her ankle at some point in the night, she made out with one boy and went home with a different another (Tony)...the same boy who will always "fight" for her when there's someone else interested in her (at least that's my theory and John nodded sagely when I suggested it, so it must be true. It. Must. Be). John lost his glasses mid-show...perhaps it was from his impromptu performance (he was asked to sing one of his band's old songs with Tony) or perhaps it was from doing a (several?? I dunno?) beer bongs out of this?? One may never know. I do know this-- he lost them and then I went around trying to find them. Drunkenly bobbing and weaving (dangerously approaching the ground with my skull as I tried to focus on looking down), I was triumphant!!! I ran to give him his sludge covered glasses (honestly, I ran...he was outside smoking a cigarette and I flew around the club and then out of the doors holding my little dirty prize in my hand) and he wasn't as grateful as my drunken little self wanted him to be! "How dare he?" I questioned...didn't he know that "I stopped a punk rock show to find them!??!!" but of course, he did know when I told him just under 9,257 times.

( I had so much fun doing my drawings yesterday that I decided to do another one...and I'll keep on doing them until I'm bored of 'em!!)


Last night John and I went out to dinner. I kinda wanted to take him out on a date after being such a banshee towards him on Sunday afternoon/evening. So we went to the local brewpub and sat outside enjoying what seems to be the few remaining warm Fall evenings. Dinner was tasty--coconut shrimp to share, a Cuban sandwich for Johnny to nibble on and and plate full of grilled chicken, penne and sundried tomatoes for me. To add to the decadent dinner we ordered a pitcher of a reserve brewed Black Raspberry Wheat beer...mmm...dinner was heavenly, as was the company.

After dinner as we sipped our beer we talked about wanting to go to Paris someday--see the sights, eat the food...this may be due in part to the fact that we went to Target on Sunday and purchased John a small table lamp that was a teeny tiny replica of the Eiffel Tower...it looks a little like this, but much much cuter, with a far better shade. And then it began...for the next hour I started teaching John little words that I remembered from French classes long ago (see I had to take French and German starting in grade school all the way to high school...so I can remember a little).

He has these body parts down pat: nez, main (droit et gauche), l'oeil, bouche, dent, coeur
He has these verbs down as well: Nager, manger
He has these animals down: chien, chat, grenouille vert
He cannot for the life of himself remember: fenetre or oiseau

He can tell me he loves me, he can ask me to kiss him, he can tell me to shut up, he can tell me that I am his heart and that he gives his life for me...of course he can ask me if I want to sleep with him tonight.

Here and here are some more basics for you to practice Johnny!

Oh and how do I repay him for being such an apt pupil last night. I fall asleep in the bed...he attempts to wake me up with a little amorousness (actually, I kind of remember something being put into my mouth) and I just muttered something and rolled over and promised, "Tomorrow". I suck. But tonight I truly will :)

Throughout our relationship there's always been something a little puzzling about us ( I mean besides the obvious). We have a little trouble putting our arms around each other's waists when walking down the street and we can't do certain things standing up no matter how hard we’ve tried. Lord have we tried! I’ve been bent over mini fridges, bars, kitchen counters, arm chairs, couches---pretty much everything but the kitchen sink. But the other day, the truth was revealed to me, and being the big mouthed know it all that I am...I had to fill John in on my discovery.

It all started with the Eagles' tickets that we had on Monday. I brought John clothes from home so that he could just change at work and we could take the subway to the game. Well, I brought him holey jeans and so we had to make a quick pit stop in Macy's. It was there that I learned the truth...Iam not the stumpy one! (You don't know how happy that makes me to write that sentence). The truth is, I was shocked to see that as we were frantically perusing the aisles/piles of jeans that John kept looking at the 30 inch length jeans. "What?" "What’s this I thought?" I kept my lips pursed and my eyes down until we found the perfect jeans for him...then I unleashed my revelation.
"John," I said ever so sweetly,"are you sure that you a 30 length?I mean, you are 6 foot 1 and all..." I batted my lashes knowing that in a few short seconds the truth would be revealed in a way that Geraldo never could manage (think Al Capone’s empty vault). He responded with a quick, "Yeah" as he hurriedly walked down the streets. I said (knowing that triumph and glory was mine), "I wear 33's or 34's. (deep breath and wide grin) That makes you the stumpy one!!"

And it's true. He's the stumpy one. And now he hates it. He whines while we lie in bed..."I don't wanna be the stumpy one." And I do the best I can when confronted with such a statement. I say, "Too bad--you’re the stumpy one!" and then I cackle myself to sleep. To confirm the longness of my legs we did a very scientific measuring using our forearms (because really cool married couples measure each other using cubits--the old Egyptian form of measurement) to measure from hip to toe. Again I won.. But to be magnanimous I said to him as I rubbed his pouty face, " It's ok, not everyone can be the short chubby version of the supermodel...I just have really, really long legs...whereas you...you have an incredibly long torso. So good night Torso Boy."

It's so good not to be the stumpy one!

Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. That someone was me. I had night class last night (a really fun class, don't get me wrong) and it sucked the life out of me. Consider after working all day that the last thing I wanted to do was hop in the car, sit in traffic and then sit in a classroom all night listening to some good (mostly bad) short stories and workshopping them all night long. Then I get to hop back in the car and drive home ( at the speed of light...I got home in 26 mins last night--the University is about 40 mins away). I just wanted to spend a little time not thinking--and definitely not thinking about all the work that is pileing up for me to do.

John and I decided to watch a tivoed edition of Blind Date. After watching a particularly cringe-worthy episode, John cupped my face and kissed me, "Isn't it awesome that we don't have to date anymore?"

I didn't feel that way when we went up to bed and he unleashed the single foulest gaseous expansion my nose ever had the misfortune of being near.

However, I was more than happy when--to cure me of my sour morning attitude (after slapping the alarm clock like a pesky misquito, grumbling, moaning and sniping)--John undid my work pants that I hastily slapped on after bitching about the lack of hot water (um...who was supposed to call the hotwater heater guy? Oh that would be me...instead, I just decide to go downstairs on a nightly basis and trip the switch so that it resets rather than call for a new thermometer) and with his lovely hands eased a smile back onto my face.

I thought it would be only fair to return the favor...
as long as he didn't mess up my pink work shirt. I can only imagine the mood I would've been in, had we had just a few more minutes to actually strip down.

John and I went to the Eagles game last night, where we got to hang out in the club suites and hobnob with the lucky folks in there all because John has been doing such a good job at work (my man can make a budget, yo), his bosses gave him tickets!! Being productive individuals at work seems to be paying off! It was awesome...a little man came and gave us all the food and drinks that our hearts could've desired (and even packed us a doggy bag to go since we were the only people who stayed until the end).

It'll be such a shame when we have to go back to being the normal pleebs out in the cheap seats, getting rowdy and screaming at players and spectators alike.

I've tasted the good life.

Now it's time to get my tired ass to the grocery store and get ready for night class. Posts MUST follow, I'm just a little sleepy and I need to get back on my game...the work game, the back to night class game, the wifey game...It's such a shame because this weekend, I completely perfected the lay on the couch and vegetate game.

Oh...is it healthy to be jealous of your husband because he gets to read every day on his commute?? Because I'm really jealous.