Tag Archives: batman

Five years down, eternity to go

As I sit here typing this, it’s my five-year wedding anniversary. Added bonus, this year also marks ten years since my husband and I first met.

I know, I know. So what am I doing writing and working on this oh-so-special day? But as I said, it’s been ten years. Using your anniversary to stare all googly-eyed at your significant other while you drink champagne and eat strawberries in bed is for new couples who haven’t yet had the experience of sharing a tiny bathroom while you both have the flu.

But still, this day is a pretty big deal, despite the horrible things that went down in that bathroom that we can never un-see. I mean, even after all these years, my husband is still my best friend. And I’ve only had two fantasies, three tops, of dropping a giant anvil on his head, Wile E. Coyote-style.

In all honesty, though, I love that man with all my…ugh, hang on a sec…what’s that, babe? … Babe? … RYAN! … What did you say? Are you talking to me or the dog? … Oh my god, if you’re talking to me, I can’t hear you. … Still can’t hear you. … Why the hell are you mumbling? … I don’t know, look in the junk drawer. … THE JUNK DRAWER. … Did you find it? … I said DID YOU FIND IT? … I can’t. … CAUSE I’M BUSY, DAMMIT. … I’m writing about how much we love each other. … I SAID HOW MUCH WE LOVE EACH OTHER, GRANDPA! Son of a …

Anyway, as I was saying, I still love that man as much, if not more, than I did on our wedding day. Which, trust me, is a lot considering the beer was flowing like wine at our reception and Momma was a VERY happy girl that day.

And now that we have a baby, we’re closer than ever. A child truly is the ultimate manifestation of love between two people and …ah, hang on…Riker, honey, Mommy can’t play with you right now. She’s writing about what an awesome wife and mother she is. Here, go play with Daddy’s cell phone. Just don’t throw…and you threw it down the stairs. Awesome.

Anyway, starting a family allowed us both to see each other in a new light. And while that new light isn’t always flattering (I haven’t plucked my eyebrows since November), there is this beautiful sense that you have created something that is not only bigger than you, but bigger than the both of you. And that bigger something is full of joy and love and yes, a bit of chaos, but chaos isn’t always a bad thing. Because, as the old saying goes…Oh, come on! What now? … Seriously, dude, you need to speak up. … No, I have no idea where your cell phone is. Now, can I finish this, please? For the love of …

ANYWAY, as I was saying, marriage is what happens when you’re busy making other plans. Wait, is that the saying? Well, it doesn’t matter. It still fits. I remember all the nights we sat around drinking wine, making elaborate plans those first few years. The things we would do. The places we would go. The shiny, shiny things we would buy because hey, it’s not like we’ll be poor forever.

And even though hey, we are going to be poor forever because kids need a lot of stupid, expensive crap, and even though I still haven’t been tapped to replace Tina Fey on SNL and he hasn’t yet turned into Batman, and even though our last vacation was to exotic Costco, what did happen was a decade of a very happy life together (minus one flu-ridden weekend that still gives us daymares).

You know, when it comes down to it, it really is the simple things in life that make it …I swear to all that is holy, if you two keep bugging me while I’m trying to write this, I will throw away both of y’alls toys and comic books, got me? Do not test me. And stop all that screaming. I’m almost done. Just give me a few more minutes.

Ugh.

Anyway…I don’t know. Marriage is great and junk. Blah, blah, blah. You get the gist. Now, if you’ll excuse me, one and/or possibly both of my beloveds is bleeding and it appears the dining room table is on fire.

P.S. While I’ve been busy making fun of my husband to collect some cheap laughs, he cleaned the entire house, arranged for a babysitter so we can go out tonight and took care of our fearless and highly mobile son (all while actually leaving me alone so I could write this). I know. I don’t think I deserve him either. Thanks for putting up with me all these years, Ryan. I love you.

Catwoman loves my hair

You know that old saying, “This is why we can’t have nice things”? Well, my husband and I are the poster children for the phrase “This is why we can’t do nice things.”

We are, to put it nicely, casual people. We’re the Gap of couples. The Olive Garden of lovers. The Netflix of man and wife.

Not that there’s anything wrong with this. In fact, we prefer it this way. There is no shame in our footie pajama Saturday night game. But it does make for several rather interesting “fish out of water” tales from time to time.

For instance, take our recent trip to New York City. See, even typing that previous sentence felt weird. We’re not the kind of people who say “our recent trip to New York City.” We’re the kind of people who say “our recent trip to Target.”

My husband, however, causal though he is, happens to be a very talented artist and designer. On a lark, he had entered into a poster contest for the new FOX show “Gotham” and ended up winning, scoring us a free mini-vacation and tickets to the New York premiere of the show.

And it was going to be fancy. Not fancy-fancy, but fancy enough that Ryan had to borrow a suit and I spent hours scouring my closet, trying on different things and asking him things like “would it be inappropriate to wear a dress to the premiere that has a curse word on it?” Not to mention the fancy driver who was going to pick us up from the airport in his fancy car and the fancy Manhattan hotel with its fancy shower that didn’t have any major clogs (like SOME showers I know) we would be staying in.

All this for two people who don’t know how to tip a doorman or a driver without looking like huge dorks. (In fact, my husband’s preferred method is to just loudly state “Here.” while awkwardly stuffing a fistful of cash into their unsuspecting hands).

Luckily, we clean up pretty good when absolutely forced to, so we made it to the “Gotham” premiere without embarrassing ourselves too horribly. I even made it up the five flights of stairs to the post-premiere party in five-inch heels without stopping halfway through (just lying breathless on a step, telling people to “just leave me here, go on without me, remember me when I’m gone”) like I really, REALLY wanted to.

Now, as far as I can tell, the main goal of a movie or TV premiere party is to skulk around the room until you weasel your way close enough to one of the stars to ask them to take a photo with you. Unfortunately, Ryan and I are those people who like to think we’re above having our photos taken with celebrities. That’s what we tell ourselves, at least. Yeah, we’re way too cool for that. What with our own personal websites and curse word dresses and all. They’re just people, people. How lame.

In reality, however, we are totally those people who want our photos taken with celebrities. We’re just too scared to ever actually ask. So instead we just awkwardly stood around, drinking our fancy drinks that we awkwardly grabbed off some waiter’s tray and awkwardly sipped while trying not to cough because it was a grown-up drink and we’re used to “cocktails” that have pop as one of the main two ingredients.

Even the liquid courage from our fancy, grown-up drinks didn’t help. It did, however, help us come up with an ingenious idea. One that we call “reverse photobombing.” We sat at a table, camera phones at the ready, and when a celebrity (or pretty much anyone with really, REALLY straight teeth) walked into the background, we would take a photo.

Ahem…

catwoman 1

catwoman 3catwoman 6catwoman 2catwoman 5

Needless to say, we were quite proud of our cleverness.

And drunk. We were very, very drunk.

But then, while my husband and I are snapping photos and giggling like a bunch of third-graders who just stumbled upon a stack of nudie magazines, suddenly the young actress who plays Selina Kyle sits down at our tiny table. She’s close enough for us to touch her. Close enough for us to touch her in such a way that we could get slapped with a restraining order. We immediately both give each other “The Look.” The look that only couples who have been together long enough to know each other’s bathroom schedule can give one another. Here was our chance.

He looked at me and with one raised eyebrow silently said “Should we ask her to pose for a photo?”

To which I looked at him and with two raised eyebrows (because I can’t raise just one because it’s a stupid skill I can’t master no matter how much I practice in front of the mirror) silently answered “Nope. I’m still too chicken shit.”

I did, however, work up the nerve (after downing yet another drink) to say, directly into her face, “You were wonderful in the show.”

And then, dear reader, and then, she looked at me, and directly into MY face said, “Thank you so much. I love your hair.”

Naturally, being the mature and sophisticated 30-something woman that I am, I calmly yanked my husband’s arm out of its socket and said “CATWOMAN LOVES MY HAIR!”

To which he lovingly replied, “You’re not being nearly as quiet as you think you are being right now.”

And so, the moral of this long, rambling, semi-pointless story is this:

Catwoman loves my hair. And that’s pretty much all that matters.