Wedding Memories - Intro (He Said, She Said)

My wife and I get a lot of questions about our wedding.  I'm not sure if it's because we got married three times, or if it's because we got married on two different continents.  Whatever the reason, we have plenty of stories, and we love to tell them!  However, we don't always tell them the same way.  Usually she thinks I embellish too much, while I think she leaves out all of the good parts!  After all of this time, the truth is probably somewhere in the middle.

So, in honor of my beautiful wife and our wacky wedding experience, I thought I would devote the next series of posts to memories of our wedding.  However, I'm going to attempt to tell them from both of our perspectives, so you can get the full effect of the experiences.  They will be told in no particular order, just whatever pops into my head that day.

So, sit back and imagine you're there with us as we travel from the United States to Greece.  The whirlwind of our two-week adventure is about to begin!

Audible Oops!

We were on the way home today from Thanksgiving, and we decided to stop in Waco for some lunch.  For some reason my wife had a craving for Whataburger; so we pulled in, ordered, and situated ourselves in a booth in the very crowded restaurant. 

The booths at this Whataburger are just ergonomic fiberglass; no padding, no fabric.  I had had an upset stomach all day, which was probably a direct result of the large volume of broccoli and egg nod I had consumed over the last three days, and my stomach was gurgling.  So, after they had brought our food and my wife had started to unwrap it, I took a moment to expel some of the gas that was uncomfortably expanding inside me.

As always, I had hoped to whiff it out like a ninja in the night.  What I got instead was a very loud, very audible tuba note that was only enhanced by the naked fiberglass I was sitting on.  At first I was hoping that the noisy din of conversation in the restaurant had covered up the vulgar noise…that was until I saw my wife’s face.  Her eyebrows were raised in question, her mouth was open in surprise, and her eyes were looking at me like I had just committed the greatest atrocity of man.  I also noticed that the conversation of the family of six in the booth behind me had mysteriously stopped. 

It was at this moment, that I was struck with a thought.  The booth I was sitting on was one of those double booths, where one seat faces one table and the other seat faces the other table.  It was made even worse by the fact that the booth at the table behind me was actually a semi-circle of one solid piece of fiberglass.  So, I was literally connected to the entire family.  And I started to imagine that they had actually felt the vibrations in addition to hearing it.  An image of all six people of varying ages wrinkling their noses and casting me disgusted looks ran through my head, and I lost it.

I started to smile, then chuckle, then full on laugh.  If I was hoping to cover my guilt before, it was lost when I was laughing so hard that I was turning red and crying into my French fries.  The more I thought about the absurdity of the situation and how the fiberglass booth had betrayed me, the harder I laughed.  My wife just continued to look at me like I had lost my mind.

Whether because they were done eating or because they were so appalled by this behavior, the family behind me left soon afterwards.  This only sent me into another fit of laughing, thinking that I had actually run an entire family off with that single, audible oops.  Nobody else seemed to have noticed, and I was eventually able to calm down enough to eat my lunch.

Shelby

I spent thanksgiving with my father and stepmother this year.  I was amazed and saddened at how old their dog Shelby is looking.  He’s fifteen now, my dad having gotten him just before my wife and I got married.  I remember the day my father brought him home, this little black and white fur ball.  He was so skittish and shy at first, not knowing what to make of all of these new people that were suddenly looming up around him.  I remember getting down in the grass with him so he wouldn’t feel so small and scared.  Slowly, slowly he walked towards me, sniffed me, and climbed into my lap.  He curled up in a little ball, chewing on my finger yet still watching everyone with one eye.  

Ever since that moment, we had a bond.  I played with him all the time, trying to wear out his inexhaustible energy.  Whenever we would watch movies on Friday nights, he would lay next to me on the couch...much to my father’s disappointment and irritation.  As much as my father likes to think that Shelby was his dog, he was wrong.  He was always my dog...my boy...from that first moment in the yard.  Even when I got married and moved away, Shelby was my dog.  Whenever I would come home, he would excitedly greet me at the door.  Something he would never do with my father.  Lately, his greetings are less exuberant than they once were, but he still stiffly lifts himself up and comes waddling to the door to greet me.  Nowadays, he has no interest in running around or playing.  He just likes to lean against my leg while I stroke his head and that spot right behind his ears.  He closes his eyes and drifts away into blissful happiness.  For a moment, he doesn’t hurt anymore.  For a moment, he just relaxes into the knowledge that he is totally and completely loved.

He’s still my boy.  Maybe a little skinnier.  Maybe a little grayer around the snout.  But still my dog.  I wish I could see him more, especially as he nears the end.  I want his last moments to be the best, where someone always has time to stroke that spot behind his ears that he loves so much.  I want him to always remember that I love him.  My dog.  My boy.

Life Through the Door

When I was a child, my father worked for the Houston Police Department, first as a patrolman and later in the computer fraud department.  Unfortunately, police pay wasn’t the best, and he found it difficult at times to be the sole bread winner tasked to support a family of four.  So, he took on a lot of extra jobs to supplement his pay; working the prisoner intake desk, security detail, and event protection.  While this significantly increased his income, it meant that my brother and I didn’t see him much throughout our childhood.

When he did come home, he would grab the newspaper, head straight to the bathroom, change clothes, and then shut himself in there for hours until dinner was ready.  He claimed that it was his decompression time, where he finally got to relax and de-stress from the day.  My brother and I were told to leave him alone while he was in there, which we obediently complied with…for 5-10 minutes.  Then, one of us would sneak up to the bathroom door and tap on it.  We were greeted with a sigh and a resigned, “Yes?”  Taking this as an invitation, we would excitedly launch into whatever it was that we wanted to share with our father.

Sometimes, it was as simple as wanting to show him our latest report card or artwork.  Sometimes, especially as we got older, it was wanting to ask for the sports page out of the newspaper.  It was not uncommon for the conversation to be initiated simply by sliding something under the door to him.  We’d push it halfway and wait.  If we saw it disappear, then we knew we had our opening.

Other times, we wanted to ask for his opinion on something or to relate a story about our day.  He would never open the door, so we’re not for certain that he was actually listening to us.  He could have just been reading the newspaper the whole time.  But that didn’t matter to us.  We would prattle on happily in our ignorance.

When I think back, almost all of my entire childhood interactions with my father were through a door.  I don’t remember having much time with him in person.  I have scattered memories here and there.  But I remember our interactions through the bathroom door.  It’s a strange way to grow up, and I guess psychologically speaking, we were looking for more of a relationship with our father.  We craved his attention and time, which was sparse and not freely given.  So, children being resilient like they are, we improvised and interjected ourselves into his life wherever and however we could.

The Best Part of Waking Up

I woke up this morning, looked in the mirror, and was amazed that I had gotten even better looking than yesterday.  This isn’t vanity or conceit, it’s just a fact.  I was struck by how sexy I was, and I was suddenly tempted to become self-gay, if such a thing is possible.  

Of course I could barely see through the sleep that was still clouding my eyes, and I was having to squint at the bathroom light that was blinding my overly-sensitive pupils, so I could have in fact been looking at the swan painting on the wall or the flower arrangement on our sink.  Either way, something in that bathroom was giving off major “How you doin?” vibes.

Only the Best

When I take my wife out on a date, I do it up right.  I know a lot of guys are money-conscious, so they try to steer their date to a less-expensive alternative.  But that’s not me.  I want to lavish my wife.  So, when we go to a really fancy dinner, somewhere like McDonald’s, I let her choose anything off the menu.  None of that dollar menu stuff.  She gets only the best.

Filaki, Filaki, Filaki

My first job out of college was in retail sales in a computer and electronics store named Altex.  It was not a glamorous job.  I spent eight hours a day on my feet, trying to convince people that they needed things that they had no idea that they needed.  As an introvert, that was one of the hardest jobs I have ever had.  I had to approach complete strangers and start conversations with them, sometimes pretending like I knew more than I actually did.

My fiancé liked to call me at work to check on me during my down times.  It wasn’t uncommon for me to take phone calls from new or returning customers, but it was tricky to mislead my manager.  He was always watching us and timing how long we spent on the phone.  My fiancé wanted to end every phone call by sending me kisses, which I obviously couldn’t return with my manager watching.  She understood, but was also hurt by this.  So I had to improvise, and I took to saying, “filaki, filaki, filaki,” which is Greek for “little kisses.”  Now, whenever we’re in a public situation where blowing kisses at each other wouldn’t be appropriate, we simply say, “filaki, filaki, filaki,” and it’s our own private romantic moment.

Blink

I’m so tired today that I’m afraid that if I blink for one second longer than normal that I might not open my eyes again. I have to force myself to keep my eyes open, which means I have been sitting in meetings staring at people all day long. Most people look away uncomfortably, but several people have been defiant enough to stare back. I’m too tired to care, so a long staring contest ensues. I’m not sure if I won or not because I spaced out at some point.

20th High School Reunion

My 20th high school reunions is next week. They thought it would be a good idea to have it the day after Thanksgiving.  I guess they assumed that everyone would be in town visiting family anyway.  The stupid thing is that I only found the announcement by chance.  They posted it on Facebook, which I’m never on.  If I hadn’t happened to log on for the first time all year, I would have missed it.

As I went to the website to purchase tickets, I noticed a list of people that had already signed up.  As I scrolled through the list of a little over 100 people, I realized that while I recognized some of the names, none of them were people that I had ever actually talked to in high school.  They were the outgoing people, the cool people, the popular people.  They were people that had actually been active in high school.  I was not one of those people.  

I was the guy that hung out on the back fields to eat lunch.  I was the guy that was introverted and kept a low profile.  With sadness, I realized that none of them would even recognize my name.  Nobody would care if I went or not.  I slowly closed the webpage without buying a ticket.  I had been waiting 20 years for this moment, and now that it had arrived, I couldn’t figure out what I had been waiting for.  I regret not being more involved.  I can think of so many ways I could have inserted myself in the happenings of the school, but I didn’t.  I just tried to get through it and move on.  I don’t have a lot of fond memories of high school, but I feel that is largely my own fault.  I had the chance and didn’t take it. Now there doesn’t seem like much point in going back.  I kept in touch with the people I cared about back then, so I guess that’ll have to suffice.

To those who do go, happy 20th anniversary, Bellaire HS Class of ‘97, from the anonymous introvert on the football fields.

Hold Your Breath

I hate those suspenseful moments in a game where you’re waiting for something to happen.  Because you sit there not even wanting to blink, because you know that as soon as you do, that crap will get real.

Copy-Cats

I think it’s interesting that every time someone mentions that I have a blog, that I used to write poetry, or that I’m working on writing a novel; that the other person always replies that they’re a writer too.  There’s always a story about how they wrote a poem in high school, or a short story in college, or a postcard on vacation.  Something to try to relate.  I don’t really think it’s the same thing as maintaining a blog for over ten years.  And that’s okay.  We don’t have to be in competition.  I’m sure there are things that they do well that I don’t do.  We can all have our special thing and appreciate the special things in each other.

Dear Blog

CS was asking me about my blog and whether it was like a diary.  I told him that I didn’t start every entry with “Dear Blog” or anything, but that it did contain my thoughts and observations about life. However, I don’t put secrets in it, and it’s open to the public.  So, no I guess it’s not like a diary.  It’s like a…well, a blog.

How are you?

I always hate when someone asks how I’m doing, because I don’t feel like they really want to know how I am.  It’s just a socially-accepted greeting, and really just equates to “Hi.”  But it’s worse than “Hi,” because someone actually expects an answer to that question.  So, any answer I give will then be a lie to appease them without giving the awkward truth that they don’t really want to hear and that I don’t really want to have to explain further. 

My default answer lately has been, “I’m surviving.”  But that usually just makes people uncomfortable, because I insinuated that something might be off in my little universe, but now the burden is on them to either ask about it or chuckle and walk away slowly.  So, I think I’m going to switch to, “I’m in good health.”  That way I am not insinuating or revealing anything, and everyone can feel good about themselves that they asked and escaped without an awkward situation.  I AM in good health, so it won’t be a lie, and I’ll be able to live with myself after the encounter as well.  It’s a win-win.

The Fan That Divides Us – the Revisit

So, we have gone several nights now without the fan, and last night my wife woke me up at 2 a.m. as she not-so-quietly extricated herself from the covers, grabbed her pillow, and huffed her way out of the room.  I stopped her to ask why she was leaving, and she said that I was breathing heavy and it was keeping her awake.  Breathing heavy?  What does that even mean?  I wasn’t snoring.  I was breathing heavy.  I mean, what do I do with that?  Stop breathing?

I laughed at the absurdity of this, because the only reason she heard me breathing heavy was that it was so quiet in the room.  That’s right.  Ironically, the quiet that she so desperately craves is now causing her angst.  The fan that she has so much hatred for was actually covering up these noises all of these years, but she never gave it the respect or credit that it deserved.  Now, I think she wants the fan back, but she can’t bring herself to ask for it after she talked so much smack about it.

So, we shall both be uncomfortable.  I will be holding my breath, and she will have to hear me gasp for air every 30 seconds.  I guess now it will be the silence that divides us.

The Plagues of the Elements

I was watching the “Prince of Egypt” recently, and I was struck by a thought that I had never thought about before.  I was enamored with the 10 Plagues of Egypt and God’s use of all of the elements to accomplish his goals.  Many believe that everything boils down to four basic elements ; that is Air, Water, Fire, and Earth.  In each of the plagues God used one of these elements to create the plague, and each plague affected one of these elements…except the last one.

The last plague was performed by the Angel of the Lord against man himself.  And since man was made in the image of God, it was the fifth element against the fifth element.  The element of Man.

·         Water into blood – Water

o   Take your staff and stretch out your hand over the waters of Egypt, over their rivers, over their streams, and over their pools, and over all their reservoirs of water, that they may become blood; and there will be blood throughout all the land of Egypt, both in vessels of wood and in vessels of stone.  Exodus 7:19

·         Frogs – Water

o   Stretch out your hand with your staff over the rivers, over the streams and over the pools, and make frogs come up on the land of Egypt.  Exodus 8:5

·         Gnats – Earth

o   Stretch out your staff and strike the dust of the earth, that it may become gnats through all the land of Egypt.  Exodus 8:16

·         Flies – Earth

o   Then the Lord did so. And there came great swarms of flies into the house of Pharaoh and the houses of his servants and the land was laid waste because of the swarms of flies in all the land of Egypt.  Exodus 8:24

·         Cattle Die – Earth

o   For if you refuse to let them go and continue to hold them, behold, the hand of the Lord will come with a very severe pestilence on your livestock which are in the field, on the horses, on the donkeys, on the camels, on the herds, and on the flocks.  Exodus 9:2-3

·         Boils – Fire & Air

o   So they took soot from a kiln, and stood before Pharaoh; and Moses threw it toward the sky, and it became boils breaking out with sores on man and beast.  Exodus 9:10

·         Hail – Air & Fire

o   Stretch out your hand toward the sky, that hail may fall on all the land of Egypt, on man and on beast and on every plant of the field, throughout the land of Egypt.  Exodus 9:22

o   So there was hail, and fire flashing continually in the midst of the hail, very severe, such as had not been in all the land of Egypt since it became a nation.  Exodus 9:24

·         Locusts – Earth

o   Stretch out your hand over the land of Egypt for the locusts, that they may come up on the land of Egypt and eat every plant of the land, even all that the hail has left.  Exodus 10:12

·         Darkness - Air

o   Stretch out your hand toward the sky, that there may be darkness over the land of Egypt, even a darkness which may be felt.  Exodus 10:21

·         First Born – Man

o   and all the firstborn in the land of Egypt shall die, from the firstborn of the Pharaoh who sits on his throne, even to the firstborn of the slave girl who is behind the millstones; all the firstborn of the cattle as well.  Exodus 11:5

The Fan That Divides Us

Ever since I was a kid, I have slept with a fan.  I use it mostly to circulate the air in the room, because my nose get stopped up, and I can’t breathe if it gets too stuffy.  However, it has come to have other uses as well, such as cooling me down in the hotter months and covering up the myriad of noises that break the stillness of the night.

When I got married, my wife took an immediate hatred to my fan.  Something about the constant, consistent rhythm of the whirring of the blades…the even cadence of the noise…angers her.  Even though I know it’s a lie, she claims that she can’t sleep when I have the fan on (her snoring would lend credence to my claims).  But after fourteen years of living with the fan, she suddenly  has had enough.  On occasion, we have even taken to sleeping in separate rooms, because she refuses to deal with it anymore.

So, something as stupid and innocent as a fan is tearing our marriage apart.  Who would have thought that the mistress that would one day come between us is made from metal, wire, and an electrical motor.  Well, for the sake of keeping my wife happy and keeping us together, I have taken to turning off the fan on the odd night, so we have a sort of compromising truce.  Of course, she won’t be satisfied until it’s off permanently, but I’m not quite ready to go that far yet.  So for now, we have an uneasy cease fire.

Bye Week

So, the college football playoff committee announced its first rankings for the CFP, and surprisingly it had Georgia ahead of Alabama.  Alabama has held the number one ranking for the entire year, and they have dominated every team they have played so far.  While Georgia also has an impressive resume and has been steadily climbing up the rankings, Alabama has not faltered this year.  So, it’s surprising that a team that has been playing well lost the number one ranking, seemingly for no reason. 

What is even more surprising is that Alabama was on a bye week.  That’s right, they did not play.  So, the committee has deemed that Georgia’s win this week was more impressive than Alabama’s bye week.  Yeah, I can see how if you held the stats up side-by-side that Georgia would come out on top.  Alabama was on a bye!

This same logic amazes me about the Heisman Trophy tracking.  A player will actually lose ground in the race on the week they aren’t playing.  I don’t know how you can penalize a guy for not even being on the field.  How could they have possibly gotten worse, when they weren’t even playing?!