Let's do some dream analysis

I woke up this morning anxious because I thought I was late for work (first sour grape moment).

Then I remembered this dream I had right before I was so rudely woken up by my panic attack (sour grape numero dos).

I was coming back to WORK (three) and there was all this construction going on outside, all the roads were one-way roads and I couldn't get to the building at first. Then when I stumbled over some construction barriers and holes in the ground, I made it inside only to find every other flight of stairs inside was missing, so I had to gladiator-it or else find another way up. I found some hidden staircase and went to a meeting because it was 3 p.m. and I was really late. Then someone in the meeting asked me if I could sit in another meeting afterwards and I cried.

So, I think that means I either shouldn't go back, OR work owes me three hours more of vacation for ruining this one.

Gosh.

To: You.

Dear Wisconsin,

The weather is here. Wish going back to you were nicer. Time always goes too fast here in the Eastern time zone. Dave touched a shark yesterday. I pet a horseshoe crab. Will share photos when we return. Big ran a cat up a post, then ran from a 1-year-old child. Lots o' surprises going on. Seven-foot crossword puzzles included. Really.

See you all too soon,
Erin

I feel the need to be nice-slash-apologize for a second

We went to the Oshkosh Verizon Wireless to renew our plans, and we actually didn't get ignored.

A store in the city north of us never treated us like we were the ones paying them for service. More like we were interrupting them having fun, and we clearly weren't invited to the Cool Kids' Table so could we KINDLY move out of their line of sight??!

But this time, I got a cool phone (this silver one). We got a plan from someone who told us how to make it cheaper than the way we thought we wanted to do it and Dave got a new phone to fix the one he smashed without having to pay for a new phone, even though we didn't have insurance.

So. OK, I'm sorry for calling all cell phone companies "a notch above homicidal maniacs on the ethics scale." Maybe that was a little over-the-edge. Most of them are. We just hit them on a good day or something. Ha, ha.

That's how we do Gallery Walk

Dave's Gallery Walk was a success, actually.

I say "actually" because I was kind of nervous about having to stand there while I was tired, hungry and "blech" from all the crackers and cheese, while looking halfways intelligent as Dave talked about his photos and walked around; but actually, we knew people there.

Yes, they were people from work. OK, you got me. But they didn't all come at the same time, so we looked interesting.

Furthermore, people recognized me from my column in The Northwestern -- all good encounters except one. Hey, six out of seven isn't bad.

The "ew"-sayer stood on the other side of the table that was lined with an assortment of wine and cheese, and discreetly pointed at me to her husband while I pretended to be listening to the couple standing to the right of the point-and-whisper couple.

"She's that one," she said in a half-whisper. "She writes about herself and her life and being married." But she didn't say it in a way that meant she used my column for anything short of lining hamster cages and washing windows.

Tough crowd.

Oh. Better news. Dave sold five pieces. Now we can afford to pay the person we had frame and mat the pieces. Ha! He also had a couple "let me have your number"s (not from eligible women, either -- I mean to inquire about the art), and one inquiry from a man who wants him to possibly stage a home on a tour of homes coming up. Tres cool.

Tres glad it's over, so next time I can eat cheese for the enjoyment of it, and not just to keep my hands busy. Blech.

"Rikki, don't lose that number, it's the only one you own."

In preparing for getting this new, hot cell phone, I've been going through my old cell phone's book of names and trying to delete the ones I don't need anymore.

Like this Sara character.

She's got an Ohio number. She's not my cousin. She's not Sarah from work (as duh, it's an Ohio number). She was probably from some class I had in college, but I'm not sure why I'd transfer her number in 2005, after I'd moved to Wisconsin.

I thought about calling the number just to see who it was, but I didn't want one of those "Ooooh, Sara. (Rolling eyes, remembering she's from that women's and gender studies class in college who never did her fair share of work but wrote her name first on the reports and projects we handed in.) Wow. Long time. No talk. I've got to go now, Sara, bye bye."

Deleted it instead.

My husband, the messy artist

Dave's been running around town to make new prints, get photo enlargements and pick out new, artsy (expensive!) frames before the Gallery Walk on Saturday.

He's driving me crazy a bit.

Last week, it was "I saved 20-some photos on your laptop desktop. Can you put them in either the 'yes' folder or the 'no' folder?" and "Why did you put THIS one in the 'no' folder? What's wrong with this one?" and "If you're going to second-guess me, why don't you just pick your favorites in the first place?"

Then it was "this print looked better on the computer screen," he said, holding up this photo.

Now it's "I'vegottogetallthisdonetodayorelseI'mgoingtopanic." So Big and I have been forced out of our own air-conditioned home into the mugginess that is global warming -- oh, I meant October -- because of the mess he's created. A line of photos, frames, framed photos, measuring tape, mat board, backboard, pencils, plastic wrapping, tape, a drill, some wire and hooks, and a cup of coffee stretches from our front door to our back door, enveloping the kitchen table.

It's kind of ridiculous how anal I can be about messes. It's more ridiculous how I pretend that mess doesn't exist! It's just not there! Because behind the back door's curtains, I can't see a thing.

Dear God, it was just a joke. Please don't send lightning.

Since we moved our antenna to the bedroom, we get PBS -- which means, hello, "Antiques Roadshow."

I love that show almost as much as a Ken Burns documentary. I lost sleep over it, actually. Usually I'm out by 11. One o'clock rolls around and Dave and I were still giggling over our own interpretations of the antiques.

"Wow, look at that armoir."

"She doesn't have any teeth."

"Maybe the armoir is worth a bunch and she can buy some ... Come on, look at that fine German craftsmanship -- Mama needs some new molars!"

Bad, bad people.

He's so fun

Instead of just enjoying my ring too, Dave decided that we should really celebrate our anniversary.

See, we're all about celebrating. Gives us a reason to do the things we feel guilty doing otherwise -- eating out at a restaurant that doesn't advertise during Inside Edition.

We're rarely in public together and when we are, we're with people from work, which means Dave's Work Dave and holding hands with someone you plan stories and centerpieces with is about as exciting as it sounds. So when we're alone, out of the house, I savor that moment.

Anyhow, Dave's "mushy" and "cuddly" and all those manly adjectives, more so than me. He's a hand-holder initiator, a random I love you-er and a "You look nice" kind of guy. I'm more of a too person. Yes, let's hold hands. I love you, too. You look nice, too.

Tonight, he initiated a trip to a restaurant in Neenah and we had wine and pasta and laughed and didn't even talk about That One Place once. It was like leaving Oshkosh gave us this sense of leaving everything -- all that stress and life -- and since Dave was the only one I knew (and wanted to know at that moment, to be honest), it was like ... like ... nice.

And yeah, I liked his dish better. His mama raised him to be a gentleman, he said "I'll switch you, if you want." And I wanted. And then I had everything perfect for a good hour-and-a-half.

Then I came home. But whatever. He's still here. That's the best part.

Mushy, everywhere.

Picked last in gym class

So apparently I've been tagged.

The rules:

1. Post these rules before you give you the facts.
2. List eight random facts about yourself.
3. At the end of your post, choose (tag) someone and list their name (linking to their page).
4. Leave them a comment on their blog letting them know they’ve been tagged.

1. I love documentaries. I'm watching Ken Burns' WWII one right now. (Yeah, we moved the antenna to the upstairs TV and, suddenly, we get PBS clear as anything. Choices! My God!) The New York series, the Frank Lloyd Wright one, the Civil War. Nerdy stuff, man. Nerrrd-y.

2. I have a weakness for red wine, but I'm embarrassed when my teeth and lips turn purple because of it.

3. I rock at keeping secrets. I like to hold on to them in my back pocket and come up with comebacks in my head. Saying them out loud cheapens the moment.

4. I like some country music. Le sigh.

5. I'd rather listen to the sound of nails on chalkboards than the sound of whispering. Probably goes back to junior high. I whisper because I know it's annoying.

6. I miss having a close friend who lives close to me (or me to her, if you want to be technical) -- the one who saw me making a jerk of myself at parties in high school and college and liked me anyway, the one I grew up with and still likes me despite my nerdy stages, the ones I can talk on the phone with every so often for an hour-and-a-half and still feel like I didn't miss anything. Sob.

7. I get more angry over how big of Neanderthals people can be rather than what they actually say/ type/ comment on my blog/ say with their eyes/ call me at work to tell me/ do to berate someone else in front of me.

8. The perfect day is watching old movies on the couch when it's chilly and rainy outside. Or, riding in the convertible my stepdad has on a mild summer day with my mama and Dave and Bernie, and eating pizza that night. Hooray for Friday afternoons and vacation.

And I tag Christoph! and Kristen. And posting here's fine, you secret bloggers, Facebookers and onlookers. Or not. Whatever.

Take Me There

I have no shame. Want to hear the most embarrassing thing of Sept. 30-Oct. 1? OK, twist my arm.

I bought the new Rascal Flatts CD.

I know, I know.

Country, yeah. I bought it. And not only did I put money down on the counter (figuratively, who actually uses cash, seriously) and walk out of the store with my first CD in about a year (I heart iTunes), I loaded it on my iPod and listened to it. All day.

When you saw me in the car this morning? I was listening to it. When you saw me laying out pages? That was Rascal Flatting, too.

It's good. Shameless. OK, maybe a little shame.

It's preeeeetty!

I picked this little thing up tonight. Just, you know, thought I'd share. After all, it is my annivers-mas-day-valen-sweetest-ary gift for 2007 and 2008.

It's my blog and I'll write long posts if I want to

I've been married one year, give or take 13 days. And coincidentally, I have been working on this list of items that I like about being married, and there are 13 today. I think it's a sign. I'll post here.

1. During the good times, it's really, really good. It's home-y. Comfortable in a good way; "moring" even. And I like moring. There's wine and laughter and games, movies, books, trips, grocery shopping, cheese omelets, napping, taking walks ... All that. And that stuff's pretty easy with Dave, because he's (grab a bucket) my best friend. Tear, tear.

2. During the bad times, we don't die like I thought I would. Life doesn't stop. There are no dramatic stomps down crummy apartment hallways made in a drunken haze at 3 a.m. with friends holding your hair back as you simultaneously vomit and scream "But I love him! Why does he have to be such a jerk!"

Let the record show, I've not actually been that girl. Right hand. Scout's honor.

Anyhow, I may not see him more than an hour or so some days, he may want to hide my body in the attic when I politely nag him to PLEASE put away the laundry he said he'd put away LAST Sunday. We have had exactly one real stomping-upstairs, "I don't want to talk about it," "Fine, me either," bump-into-each-other-in-the-kitchen-and-scowling argument (which, for the record, I'm blaming it solely on not seeing him*). And after said argument, he went to work, I went to bed, we woke up and kept living. You don't die. It just keeps going.

*See, if he's not here a lot, then I should be really moody when he is here because he's just going to leave again in 45 minutes, right?? Remember that woman? I'm sure you dated her in college. Anyhow, she made a brief appearance a few weeks ago. And remember that "FINE!" guy you dated in college? He was here, too. It was awesome. We were a few teeth too-many for a trailer park fight, unfortunately.

3. I like how we have a new five-year plan every year. And how when we're either really angry or really happy, we make it either a one-year plan or a seven-year plan, respectively. And, no, the plan does not include divorce. Ha. I'm such a planner that I mentally jot these things down and use them to get through the weeks. "It's OK, Erin! Three years, one month and two weeks to go!"

4. He used the B word, the K word and the P word last month, and it wasn't an "as if" joke. Think about it.

5. Sure, I'd give him a kidney. Maybe even one of mine.

6. I like his family, they seem to like me, and mine likes him. That was something new for me.

7. He doesn't make plans and tell me what he is or we are doing. There's no "Oh, Friday, I'm going out with (three guys who can burp the alphabet)." There's "should we call (two people who maybe could burp the alphabet, but stopped doing so in public when they hit 25)?" and "What do you feel like doing?"

8. If someone passes me wearing Dave's aftershave or Axe stuff, I do a mini-gasp because I expect it to be him.

9. When we eventually, someday leave Wisconsin, we can reminisce and say "We'll always have Oshkosh." Not too many people could say that with a straight face.

10. When we're in bad moods, one of us will sing to the other "Lydia, the Tattooed Lady" (Groucho Marx's song). Lydia, oh Lydia, say have you met Lydia? Inside jokes are cool.

11. I think he likes me. I mean, I know he loves me, but I think he likes me, too.

12. I don't really like people. He does. This means when someone needs to make a phone call or order a pizza or talk to a salesperson, he does all the work while I stand off to the side, looking intelligent and aloof. We're a good pair.

13. He's mine.