The Knot Gets Tied

Part Six

Well, I've been in parts of Chicago that seemed more like Mexico than Cozumel. You might even say I've been in parts of Northern Wisconsin that seemed more like Mexico. Granted, we stayed in the downtown area of Cozumel and didn't really roam out into the rural parts, but that's because years of living with my parents convinced me that straying from the beaten path would result in some desperate soul knocking me unconscious and stealing my birth certificate, drivers license, and social security card. Thank you once again, Mom and Dad. Mexico was a lot of fun.

At least we didn't eat in the Subway or the Burger King. Instead, we went to a very authentic looking place surely frequented by the locals. I'm not sure what "El Shrimp Bucket" means in Spanish, but I will say that they served one delicious margarita. Plus, it was kind of neat to see a menu in Pesos. Now this is the foreign experience my ignorant American self was hoping for!

I was a little grossed out by the bathroom, which was also fun. I didn't have any wiggle room to take a photo of the toilet, but here's the sink I used to wash my hands. Authentic!

Below is a photo of Chris following a gentleman into his shop in order to procure some completely trade-embargo friendly cigars and some beautiful tanzanite earrings. I'm still not one hundred percent sure what tanzanite is, but it was the talk of the cruise line. Tanzanite this, tanzanite that. People talked more about tanzanite than they did the duty free cigarettes and liquor, which I was also very impressed by.

Anyways, I hope to one day actually go to a foreign country and feel like I'm in a foreign country. The good news is, I left Cozumel with a sore throat, so perhaps I picked up some strange disease. One can only hope.

The Knot Gets Tied

Part Five

I hear Key West is lovely. I suppose I wouldn't really know since I only spent a couple hours there. The thing about cruises is that they don't give you a lot of time to explore the different stops. Also, the thing about me and Chris is that we kind of don't give a fuck. There was only so much to do anyways, and the sun was beating down like a mother.

Of course, the one thing I found interesting is the abundance of roosters in the town square. Roosters, as far as the eye can see. I think the roosters are the main attraction of Key West during the day, unless you have a sail boat or the admission fee to get into Hemingway's house. Key West looked like it would be a rocking good time at night. Too bad we had to set sail by two p.m.
One old man managed to singlehandedly mar all of my newly formed Key West memories. I hate when that happens. We were on the trolley heading into town, and this jackass sitting behind us said "wow" very slowly after every single thing that the trolley driver announced over the speaker. It doesn't sound like much, but I wanted to knock this man in the face with my bag. This is so-and-so's mansion. Wow. This is some famous mile-marker. Wow. This is a big tree. Wow. This is where they sell limes. Wow.

I don't know. Maybe I need to chill out. But after the tenth "wow," I couldn't take it anymore.
We did make a purchase in Key West which will either be the worst thing or the best thing we've ever bought. Key lime coffee. I am definitely looking forward to tomorrow morning.

The Knot Gets Tied

Part Four

I would say we had the most fun at night, when we were drinking and gambling and listening to the live music in one of the lounges on the boat. I would say I had the least amount of fun whenever I had to eat something. The food on the Fun Ship was disgusting. The lobster tasted like a sock, Indian Cuisine Day in the grill was my worst nightmare realized, and the coffee served during breakfast was absolutely horrid.

Even Chris admitted that the Fun Ship did not live up to his expectations. While we did have a good time, there were other low-lights aside from the food. The shows were corny, the boat's decor was right out of 1984 (which might sound awesome but, in reality, was kind of disturbing), and the staff was annoying. I came to discover, much as I had suspected, that I'm not really built for cruises. In fact, I was the only person on the cruise ship who wore a sweater as opposed to a bathing suit.

We spent exactly fifteen minutes out of four days in the pool. The pool deck was downright annoying, and we found that we were much more comfortable at the bars, in the casino, or, for one day, sitting through the excruciatingly long art auction. Who has fifteen thousand dollars to spend on a painting of the Statue of Liberty? Not I, sir. Not I. But thank you for the complimentary champagne.

When we got on the boat, we checked into our cabin and discovered two twin beds instead of one full-sized bed. Despite the fact that we were on our honeymoon, I was perfectly content to sleep in my own twin bed for four nights. Maybe there's something wrong with me, because Chris hit the roof. "We're on our honeymoon!" he exploded when he saw the beds. I shrugged in a "what can be done?" kind of way while Chris pulled out his phone to call our travel agent. Brilliant, Chris, call the travel agent in Palatine, Illinois as opposed to simply inquiring with our steward. In the end, of course, we did get our full sized bed, which I was also okay with.

It was totally a booze cruise for us, which was awesome. We even got to keep the Carnival Fun Ship glasses. I have a feeling that they're not dishwasher safe.

Next up: Key West and Cozumel.

The Knot Gets Tied

Part Three

The coolest part about being on the Fun Ship (although if I had heard the word "fun" one more time, I would have had to beat the shit out of someone) was the view. Let's check to see what kind of view we had from our luxurious suite conveniently located next to the janitor's closet.



Well, the view from our room sucked. I thought it was hysterical that they even bothered putting curtains up, but I suppose that curtains are "fun" while the absence of curtains is not fun. Unfortunately, we actually had to move in order to enjoy the view, but once we got on deck, it was gorgeous.We were in the middle of nowhere, and that was my favorite part of the whole cruise. Middle of nowhere with a bunch of other assholes. It was beautiful, though. The water, although you can't tell here, was a shade of blue I have never seen before in nature. The weather was idyllic all four days. I would almost recommend taking a cruise just to experience that feeling of floating alone (even with the other assholes) in the water, in a place without land, in a place where your cell phone most definitely will not work. That was the best part, for me. Added bonus that I didn't once need to take a dramamine.

But while the view was cool during the day- it was the best at night when there was no view. Just inky blackness. I couldn't even see stars, which I found mildly strange. I just had to trust that there was sky above and water below. I also had to trust that Chris wouldn't try and push me overboard after I started complaining about all the things about the cruise I didn't like.

The Knot Gets Tied

Part Two

We started the first leg of our honeymoon in Miami as houseguests of Chris' friend Dee. For those of you who have never met Dee, let me just describe her as extremely out-going. For those of you who have met her, she needs no description. We hung out in South Beach, mostly, which is the kind of place that makes you extra grateful for home. From what I could gather, South Beach is a pretty big hot spot. And you know how I feel about the kind of people that frequent hot spots. If you don't know, then I don't want to get into it. It was crowded and smelly and riddled with cliches. Most of the people that I saw (not on the beach but along the main drags) were badly in need of a properly fitting t-shirt.

I was not impressed with anything we saw in our short stay in Miami, which probably isn't very fair of me. It was kind of cool seeing the Versace mansion and all of the art deco buildings. I was also morbidly fascinated in all of the hurricane damage. Of course, we'd see more of that in Key West and Cozumel, but in Miami, I was very taken by the headless palm trees and various ramshackled buildings. The apartment that Dee lived in also seemed extremely damaged by the hurricane; of course, that could have been her housekeeping as opposed to any real natural disaster.

I didn't actually get the opportunity to eat any real Cuban food, and for that, I am kicking myself. The best thing about going different places is eating different food. You go to the eastern seaboard, you eat clam chowder. You go to Los Angeles, you eat a bunch of shitty pita things that your boyfriend seems, for some unknown reason, to enjoy. You get New York style pizza in New York, and you get a two dollar steak in Vegas. In Wisconsin, you make yourself sick with string cheese and cubed cheese and cheese wheels. In Miami, I had sub-par faux Italian and Arby's. What a waste.

I'm sure I can get good Cuban food in Chicago. Not that I've been to that many places that often, but I am under the impression that Chicago has the best food in the entire country. That's why we're the fattest city in the nation. See how that makes sense?

Miami, I barely knew ye. And I hope to never go back.

The Knot Gets Tied

Part One

Well, I considered calling the whole thing off. I would say that I woke up on April 21st in perhaps my bitchiest mood yet; however, that would have suggested that I had actually slept. As it stood, I got out of my hotel bed that morning with only five or ten minutes of sleep under my belt. To make matters worse, there was also something else under my belt. Mother Nature, that beastly whore, had paid a visit a few days early. Suffering from exhaustion and crampful ickiness, I tried to calculate how many people would hate my guts if I decided to reschedule the whole affair. I also tried to calculate the cost of an Amtrak ticket to Jersey.

In the end, I really do think it was a wonderful wedding. Once the party itself began, I had a grand old time, dancing and drinking with some of my best friends- and, of course, my new husband. How strange to say the words "my husband." And how heartbreakingly wonderful to begin this stage of my life with my Cheese.

There's not much else to say about the wedding itself, but I suppose I'll try and toss in some high-lights. Chris sang "Johnny B. Goode" not only during the reception but also in the bar afterwards. Carole's dad driving us from the church to the reception was rowdiness at its best. Oh, yes, and the chicken was delicious.

Stay tuned for Part Two, where I discuss all of the details of the honeymoon that are fit to print.

in 48 hours, i'll be married.

I decided to indefinitely loan my lap-top to my friend Will. This is because I am a generous human being who is always looking out for the computing needs of those around me. This is also because I never use it and dislike keeping things around the home that have no use. Just ask Chris; I am constantly throwing things away and then playing dumb when he asks about them.

Chris: Where's our extra alarm clock?
Jackie: (avoiding eye contact) Did you check... the microwave?
Chris: Also, I can't seem to find my 2003 tax papers.
Jackie: Sorry, I can't hear you. I've abruptly started vacuuming for no apparent reason.

However, I just can't hand over the lap-top. I must first go through my various files and start cleaning things up. I haven't touched the lap-top since 2004 (about the last time Chris saw his tax papers), and I for some reason assumed it would only take me a couple short minutes to go through and just delete a few things. How wrong I was.

It was like digging through forensic archives. I've clocked a full hour on my mission to delete anything that will identify me as the owner of this machine, and I've barely scratched the surface. The photos were bad enough as it was, since when I first got my digital camera, I took photos of everything and anything. Feet. Shoes. Food items. Dryer lint. My favorite was the super moldy orange I'd found in the refrigerator. I have never seen that much mold in my entire life, except for the time I went to my friend Bea's house and saw the rice that her mother had made for her two weeks ago still sitting on the counter. That rice had three colors of mold in it. It was almost beautiful, if not completely deadly.

Then there are the Word files. Some of the things I saved were completely ridiculous, such as the one that just had two words in it:

Loogie. Boogie.

Nice. I also had saved another Word file containing the quick note:

Don't forget emissions test.

Isn't that what Post-Its are for? I did, however, find several useful Word files, the kind that rekindle some sort of longing feeling inside of me, the kind that tell me, "Why don't you move to some beachside town and live in a cottage and write novels while drinking expensive tea?" Of course, none of the useful Word files contained endings. I'm bad at endings. And, of course, it's become painfully clear that I'll never have it in me to live in a beachside town, much less have the start-up cash to purchase a cottage. Or expensive tea. I am so disappointed in myself.

So, tonight I will chip away at my lap-top, making it sparkling clean and empty for my good friend Will. I am also giving away (or lending for an indefinite period of time) two out of my four dining room chairs, a pancake griddle, and Chris' 2004 tax papers.

I considered going to Easter Mass this Sunday for the sake of practice. Since we're having a full mass at the wedding, and, since I'll be at the front of the church before not only the eyes of God but also those of one hundred seventy five of my closest friends, I'd like to have all of the standing/kneeling/sitting/sign of the cross/saying "amen" procedures under my belt so I don't look like a total ingrate. However, while going to Easter Mass would be a good idea for a bit of a refresher course, I don't think I'm up for it. First of all, parking at churches on major holidays is like finding a parking space for a Cub's game. Second of all, you can't show up for Easter Mass wearing old jeans and an unwashed T-shirt, my usual Sunday morning uniform. Easter Mass requires a whole new addition to the wardrobe. Some people even wear hats and gloves. I'm not interested in purchasing hats and gloves.

Speaking of considering things, on Wednesday I decided I was going to take the plunge and get HBO. I called my good friends at Comcast and, while I was slightly alarmed to discover that HBO was sixteen bucks per month as opposed to ten, I was still ready to tell her to flip the switch. Then she told me that the cost of flipping the switch was something like five dollars.

"How much work is involved in flipping this switch that you have to charge five dollars for it?" I asked.

"It's a one time fee of five dollars for activation," she repeated, not answering my question.

I'm tired of paying activation and set-up and initiation fees. I'm also tired of paying convenience fees. As a country, haven't we had enough of this nickel and diming? Even though I really want HBO, and even though the five bucks is not a big deal in the grand scheme of my budget, I told the customer service rep that I didn't want HBO after all and hung up. Knowing me, I'll probably call back in a week and tell her to flip that mother-loving switch, but, at this moment in time, it was the principle of the matter.

I watch too much TV anyways.

I'm getting married in exactly one week. Today I feel surprisingly calm about the whole endeavor. Go figure. I guess I've put myself through so much stress recently that now my body is defending itself by saying "fuck it." It's about damn time I got to this point; this feeling was a long time coming.

Moses is the worst name for a child, ever.

Wayne is the second worst.

marriage is:*

- compromise, or what you'd like to call compromise even when it's just one person saying no and praying from a place deep down inside that their partner will find it in their heart to forgive them and not totally resent them.

- trying not to kill each other while planning an event that centers around feeding approximately 200 people, of which only thirty you actually know and are friends with.

- ordering new business cards with your soon to be new name on them and wondering if this strange german last name will ever feel as right as your strange italian last name.

- getting a lot of gifts for no real reason except the fact that when you get married, people throw you parties and give you gifts.

- inheriting a whole new family, which can be both pleasant (sisters-in-law) and disgusting (auntie rosie who kisses everybody on the mouth).

- fielding questions about when you want children while simultaneously swallowing a tiny bit of vomit.

- realizing that this is real. this isn't some boyfriend who you're uncertain about or some dude you have a crush on or some asshole you can just ditch while pretending you have to go find a pay phone. this is what your dad was to your mom, your grandpa to your grandma. thirty years of marriage, fifty years of marriage. it's the weirdest thing in the whole world.

- knowing what kind of shellfish the other person will and will not eat.

*i am not yet married and therefore have no right to say what marriage is.

On Saturday night, I was graced with the company of Jessie and Tara while Chris went out and saw boobies for his bachelor party. Over dinner with Jessie, I mentioned that I really wanted to go to New York this summer to visit Carole. I then said, "I got it- you'll go, too!" Later that night, Tara agreed to go as well, and the above contract was signed. That's Tara's handwriting after a full bottle of wine. I can't imagine how neat it is when she's stone cold sober.

I love my girls.

I found a psychic directory on the internet and decided to call one at random to schedule a reading. This was after I had a long and involved talk with my co-workers about experiences with psychics. Everyone seemed to have a story about that one psychic who was spot on accurate, myself included. When I was 18, I went to the psychic on 159th Street located right between the coffee shop that changed names every four months and that one restaurant that kept burning down. Despite her severe unprofessionalism (I think she was wearing pajamas and nobody bothered to ask if I had allergies to her myriad of slobbery dogs), she really hit the mark on a few things. It wasn't creepy, but it was neat.

I dialed the number for my local psychic, and when a pleasant enough sounding woman answered, I explained that I was interested in a reading.

"Actually," she said, "I don't do readings anymore."

"Oh, okay," I replied, getting ready to hang up.

"Jesus talked to me a month ago, in my ear, and told me that the second coming is going to happen soon," the former psychic explained quickly. "He said that now is the time to repent for our sins and concentrate on preparing for his glorious return."

I hesitated. "Well, that's certainly not what I expected to hear."

"He called on me to do his work," she continued, "And he told me that I should spread his good news to anybody that phones or knocks on my door. Tell me, have you been saved?"

"I don't know," I said, my stomach starting to turn. I felt like I was at a bus station trying not to make contact with the goofballs holding pamphlets and flowers; realizing that, for once, I had initiated the contact with one of these loons was enough to make me doubt my usually good judgement. Who picks a psychic at random off of the internet anyways? That was dumb.

"I'm here to show you the way to Jesus," she was saying. "He'll be here soon, but it's not too late."

"Oh, is it that time already?" I asked hurriedly. "I didn't realize it was so late. Gotta go. Bye." I slammed the phone down and pumped a glob of hand sanitizer into my palm, rubbing it up and down my arms and over my ears.

I decided not to call any more psychics. However, I had a psychic vision later on that night, which I wouldn't realize was a vision until this morning. I was at home reading when I put my book down and thought, "I bet Beatta will get pregnant soon." Beatta's the sweetest bank teller in the whole wide world and is one of those women who you just know would make an excellent mother, if not solely for her skills in making pierogies. Then, this morning, Beatta walked up to me and announced that she had just found out, about twelve hours ago, that she was pregnant. I cried out my congratulations, told her that I had had a "vision" of her, and then proceeded to lecture that I would like to be called AUNT Jackie by any and all children she might have. It is my goal in life to be an honorary aunt to everybody's child, except, of course, any children that happen to be assholes.

Or ugly.

Chris and I decided to try those Crest Whitening Strips as to make our smiles as white and bright as possible for the big day (just a little over two weeks for those of you playing the at home game). Last night, we put on the strips at around eight fifteen in the evening. At eight twenty, my phone rang, and I proceeded to have a five minute long conversation while wearing the strips, which made me sound like I had a vodka-soaked sock stuffed in my mouth.

At eight thirty, Chris and I removed the strips. The instructions stated that you could wear two sets of strips back to back, so Chris, in an effort to get his teeth as bone white as possible, eagerly slapped on a second set. Fifteen minutes later, he started screaming, crying out this his teeth were burning. He ran into the bathroom and tore the strips off, inspecting his teeth for signs of decay as caused by excessive exposure to peroxide. I called him a big baby and proceeded to drink my Bahama Mama.

This morning, I awoke with a horrible pain in my mouth. My gums felt as if they'd been drilled by a team of very tiny construction workers using very tiny jackhammers. I inspected my teeth and gums in the mirror only to find a road map of small red dots, thus confirming my miniature jackhammer theory.

I believe the peroxide ate through my gums, and now I am in the kind of pain experienced only by physically abused, starving orphans in the late 1800s. Except while the orphans experienced a sort of all consuming physical, mental, and emotional pain, my pain is localized just in the upper gum region.

I'm trying to figure out the exact price I will pay for whiter teeth. At first I thought it was just the $17.90 at Target, but now I realize that the price may be much steeper. I think for tonight's whitening procedure, I will dilute the peroxide in the strips with a little bit of coffee.

I think we've made a decision about Los Angeles. I'm not 100% sure in my heart that it's the thing to do, but I'm going to try it, for Chris. This is a really great opportunity for him, and who am I to put the kabosh on it? We can always come back.

I do feel mildly more at ease about the whole thing after making a few phone calls. I called one of the townhome complexes and found out about their availability for their units and how I would go about putting in an application and deposit from 3,000 miles away. Then I called Bank of America and asked if I could interview locally for a non-local position. The answer was a reassuring "yes." God bless national banks.

I know I'm going to miss a million different people and things, but I suppose this could be a really great change for me. I won't be totally friendless, at the very least, and maybe I'll really love it. I could see loving it- the weather, the ocean, the proximity to other fabulous places like Vegas, San Francisco, San Diego, etc- and I know if I didn't go, I' d always wonder "What if?"

However, a few nervous breakdowns will surely take place between now and June- especially with the wedding less than three weeks away. What kind of craziness is happening in my life? I miss when things were insanely dull.

Or do I?