someone buy me a nurse's outfit, stat.

The rumors are true, I have "wifed up" as they are saying on the MTV these days. (Let's be clear for those of you who are not as hip on the lingo as I am- under NO circumstances am I married. It just means I'm only making out with one person now. Clear? Clear.) Now I know you are all panicking right now.
"WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO THE BLOG OF BAD LIFE CHOICES?!"
"HOW WILL BETTER BAD DECISIONS BE DETERMINED?!"
"WHO WILL CARRY ON THE LEGACY?!?"
Well settle the fuck down. I mean christ...I'm in a relationship, not dead. I assure you I am pretty sure I'll still be more than capable of making bad, and better bad, decisions in all the other life categories besides making out with straight girls. Instead of getting drunk and trying to put the moves on unsuspecting randoms (which let's be honest...should totally be moved to the Good Decision category since that's how I ended up in said relationship), I'll just get drunk and fall down a lot. Or pick fights with inanimate objects. Or binge eat mac & cheese at 4am. All viable options.

Moving on.

After a few months of on-the-move courtship, where we used our legs to go places and do things, my newly acquired lady friend has lost the ability to walk. Actually, let's not soften it- the ability to move. Some disk in her spine was all, "F this, I'm out!" But then realized it couldn't exactly leave her body, so instead has decided to set up shop on the prime real estate of her sciatic nerve. Awesome.

When I first met The Cripple, she had a slight limp that I'm pretty sure 80% of the population thought was a swagger attempt. (I would have given it a 7 out of 10 if it had been.) But she rapidly deteriorated until it was a full on hardcore hobble, and then more of just her dragging her limb behind her as she slugged along, and then this happened:

Wheelie! Do a wheelie!

It should be noted that that ER/Wheelchair/Crazy Nurse scenario occurred at approximately 5am on a Monday. After one of my horses had coliced. And I had been sprayed in the face with his stomach contents. As the vet pumped them out at 1am for an hour. Solid night.

So now she's immobile in my house keeping my dog company while I'm at work and giving Amanda something to feel useful about on her days off (pays to have a nurse as a roommate). Next week some specialist is giving her an epidural injection. Which I'm pretty sure is what they give to pregnant ladies who are about to pop watermelons out of their vaginas, so yeah...that's how much pain they think she's in. Until then, these are out date options:

     - Creative pillow adjusting.
     - Stair races (where I make "sshooom!" noises as I fly by her).
     - Board game extravaganza.
     - Sponge baths.
     - Competitive dog petting (Royce really wins with this one).
     - Collaborative Facebook stalking.
     - Watching a movie.
     - Watching a movie.
     - Watching a movie.

Seriously, that list is solid. Even if she wasn't crippled I'd give a big heck yeah to basically all of those. Too bad she's on serious doses of vicodin constantly and probably won't remember any of this. In a few weeks when this injury is all over she's going to get off the painkillers and wonder where she is, what happened to the last month of her life, and how the hell she ended up with a girlfriend. "Oh? You though I was your nurse? No no silly, we are in a relationship now. How about you get me a drink?" Jokes on you, dear.

Bad Decision: Dating a cripple.
Better Bad Decision: Storing up enough massages, flowers, and dinners in care-taking re-payment fees to be good for at least 6 months.

Life Lesson: If you're going to lose the ability to walk soon, you should probably acquire a girlfriend/nurse combo.

You're gonna need it.
-LSLP, Ash.

flowers of death.

A college friend of mine got married last weekend. This marks the second friend I've lost to marriage so far, and I feel like this is just the beginning. They're going to start dropping like flies at any moment. I headed out to the wedding with the fear that I wasn't going to know more than one person there. I had only seen the bride about twice in the past year, and wasn't sure who her circle of friends even was anymore. I couldn't help but think that maybe I should have pregamed for the event.

When I arrived I let myself into the building and looked around. No one was there except the bartender and someone else who was clearly an employee. I approached the bartender and tried to ask where to go.

          ME: Is the...Do I....Where do I sit for the cere....Where is the wedding?
          BARTENDER:  Outside. Through that door.

Could I be more awkward? I'm honestly surprised he didn't just pour me a glass of wine right then. It was clear my social skills were not firing on all cylinders. I went outside and quickly realized that my fears of not knowing anyone were fairly true. I spotted a friend of the bride's I had met once and promptly latched on to her and her husband. Hello friends. I am now part of your relationship for the night. Tell me things.

The ceremony itself was the fastest I have ever seen. It was even done in two languages, and was still finished in just under 20 minutes. Amazingly wonderful. Let this be a lesson to all the brides and grooms of the world- we do not care about hearing the passages from the bible, or poems, or whatever other sappy sources of love declaration you have come up with. We just want to get to the drinking, dancing, and watching your black sheep family members embarrass the rest of the you.

Cocktail hour began and to compensate for the lack of connections to other guests I consumed 6 glasses of wine in an hour.

Bad Decision:  Not following the 2 drinks per hour rule. (Or is that 1 drink? Bad sign that I don't know?)
Better Bad Decision:  Choosing an open bar situation to break this rule.

After I drank my Crate & Barrel gift card's worth of free wine, the bride's mom (or was it the bride? It's all a little hazy) approached me and my one friend and expressed concern that no one was dancing. Let me tell you, when you're on your 8th glass of wine, you don't care if no one is dancing. As soon as someone says the word dance, that's what you want to do. So I grabbed my friend and went to dance. Within 2 minutes, literally 75% of the guests were on the dance floor going nuts. There was a circle of clapping that people kept pulling each other into to show off moves, there was a conga line, there was even a break dancing attempt. At one point my friend and I looked at each other and were like, "We did this. This started because of us." Oh, the power of two girls dancing in dresses.

And then it happened. The inevitable bouquet toss.
Everyone huddled together, giggling, ready to catch that bunch of flowers and have their dreams come true. They clearly were all assuming Prince Charming was waiting outside on his horse. While everyone else was vying for the best spot up front, I was selecting the ideal spot in the back where I would appear to be involved but not really have a chance. Just as the bride was about to throw it, I realized how close the entire group was to her. Dear god. She's going to overthrow the group. The bouquet became airborne, soared over the heads and hands of everyone else and came directly towards me. I had to make a choice:

          Option A) Reach up and grab the damn thing, which I assumed would burn when I touched it.
          Option B) Let it fall to the floor.

While option B was very tempting, I thought maybe that might be a bad omen or something for the bride, so I valiantly reached up, grabbed it, and took one for the team.

Clearly I want that thing as far from me as possible.

But this was not the end. I now had to participate in another wedding ritual (I mean, really, how many do we need?). I took my place center stage on a chair, hammed it up for the crowd, and threw my little leg out there for some Hispanic gentleman to slide the garter onto.

Still clutching my flowers apparently...

Then there were some fairly awkward photographs taken, and before he walked away, the garter man leaned down and whispered in my ear, "My girlfriend is going to KILL me." Poor guy. If he only knew that the more likely scenario of someone killing someone else over me was the reverse of that.

As expected, I was one of the last people dancing, and one of the first people to jump on board for an after party in the city. We shot over to Cambridge and ended up at some dive-y bar where I spent at least 2 hours dancing with old guys who spun me around every 5 minutes or so. I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a blast. It's always refreshing to dance with people who aren't trying to hump you mid-dance and are actually dancing. Another different aspect of this bar was that every time the 60 year old bartenders would walk past me and my friend at the bar, they would place a little chocolate candy down in front of us.

Sweet? Or Creepy?

You decide.

Between the free wine and the friendly chocolate bearing bartenders, I was in a special place by the end of the night. And sadly there were a few fatalities of the evening.

          1)  My license (Later to be found in the dryer. Don't ask.)

          2)  The red flower pin on my dress.  ...Although the shell of the pin remained.

I'll assume the flower flew off during one of my graceful spins on the dance floor. ....Or when I tripped and fell on something. Which was probably also graceful in it's own way.

Life Lesson:  Catching the bouquet doesn't mean you are the next to get married. It means you're the only lesbian in the crowd, and hence the only one who can actually catch.

Go stereotypes, go!

-LSLP, Ash.

my social life is killing me.

Today marks the entrance into my third week of being sick. What began as me coughing approximately every 30-60 seconds, has developed into a constant sore throat, spontaneous coughing, the random nose blow, and a crippling headache that attacks out of nowhere and leaves just as fast. It's the drive-by-shooting of ailments.

Let's start by blaming the Bruins. During their playoff run last month, I had to drink and stay up late about 3 times a week during every game they played. I HAD to. They needed me. So by the time they actually won the playoffs, and the ensuing after game celebrations were over, I was essentially half a human. I woke up the day after the playoffs with the beginning of what would be about a week of the 30-60 second coughing. It's a miracle my boss and co-workers did not club me to death with staplers and corded phones. They did keep telling me to go to the doctor, which at first was endearing because I thought they cared about me, but soon became disconcerting as I realized they were slowly going crazy from my incessant coughing. (Heh, heh. Sorry guys. Why are you holding those scissors like that, guys? Guys?)

My go-to when I'm sick is to not go out on weeknights, drink smoothies, and eat soup. Which is what I've been trying to do for the past 3 weeks, but a hectic schedule of social events has made this close to impossible. Juuuusssst when I start to get better...someone has a bbq and I have to consume a hard iced tea or electric lemonade during the day light hours. This means that I have to keep consuming beverages of this type until the end of the night unless I want to pass out at 7pm. (damn you, day drinking.) None of this is great for recovering your health.

Over the past three weeks, just as my cold/cough/disease has started to improve, I have had to participate in a Beirut tournament, go see Amanda's band play at an outdoor party, and somehow make it through July 4th weekend, which was about 80 hours of drinking and 10 pounds of potato salad into my stomach.

Bad Decision: Drinking your weight in vodka when you've had a sore throat for 3 weeks.
Better Bad Decision:  Using orange juice as a  mixer. You know, for the vitamin C.

During this whole epic battle between me and my body's defense system, I somehow convinced myself it was a good idea go to on a first date with someone. Reschedule? HA. Rescheduling is for the weak. Pull it together, body. Miraculously, through fits of coughing, I managed to get this girl to like me a little (God, I'm such a charmer) and despite the fact that I appear to have the plague, she has continued to make out with me for a month (Win!). Here is where the evidence gets interesting. She has not gotten sick. Either this girl has the immune system of steel, or I do not have a virus. I'm starting to suspect this is all some elaborate torture scheme of my slowly appearing allergies. I haven't had allergies my entire life...until this year. It's like they appeared and waged a war.

          ALLERGY ARMY:  One month of nose running! One month of coughing! One month of swollen throat! YOU OWE US 26 YEARS OF SPRING-THROUGH-SUMMER MISERY, WHORE!
         ME:  NEVER! I am a healthy mother fucker! I. do. not. get. sick.
         ALLERGY ARMY:  Oh really? throws some pollen.
         ME: Yea...:wheeze, wheeze...I'll be fine in..coughcough...please...no...hack.

And then I die.
But really, I think I might be OK if I could end my nights with a little less of this:

Thumbs up, because I'm 4 cocktails deep.

and this:

I can't feel my face! Whooo!

And a little more of this:

A co-worker gave me that "detox" vitamin.

Yeah, that happened.

Basically, if I can keep my leg off Amanda and consume more healthy things, I might be able to get over a cold in less than a month. Maybe.

Now I have been taking it easy this week, and will probably be just about better by Saturday....which is when I have a wedding to go to. Will I survive? That depends on if there is an open bar. For my health's sake, I hope there is not. I am no match for open bar.

Life Lesson:  For every 3 weeks of BBQ's, bonfires, Beirut, and binging, book one week of movies and soup.

Coughcough.

You're gonna need it.

-LSLP, Ash.