Shameless

Tonight I am going to bed early. Tomorrow I will sleep in and then, hopefully, frolic in the five to eight inches of snow that have been forecasted. I love snow. I love how it muffles the sounds, I love how when you shovel it you don't have to go to the gym, I love how you can "accidentally" hit your fiance in the back with a snowball when he's helping you move your car, I love the sledding followed by hot chocolate, I love the snow. This weekend I have absolutely nothing on my calendar that involves leaving the house. I am shamelessly devoted to the snow this weekend. We stocked up on food today, we made sure our sleds were in working order, and took care of all errands. For the snow, of course.

In Garth Brooks' rendition of "Shameless" (originally penned and recorded by the mighty Billy Joel in a not as good as Garth Brooks way), there's a line where he sings/screams "it's outta my hands." For a long time I thought he was saying, "I sat on my hands." And this made sense to me. Because I always sit on my hands. Because they are cold. If I'm driving, I'll catch myself sitting on the hand that isn't being used on the steering wheel. If I'm watching tv, I'll almost always end up with hands under my legs. And when I wake up in the morning, my hands are almost always underneath my body. I can't help it. I am a hand sitter onner.

So when my friend Tammy heard me singing "I sat on my hands," she just shrugged and nodded. "Of course that's how you heard it." But she thought he was saying "favorite flannel gown" instead of "faded flannel gown," so we can't all have perfect song information.

Shameless!

Another Reason to Marry the Boy

"Don't worry if you smell smoke in the kitchen. I may have done a little experiment."

"Ummmm...what kind of experiment?"

"Well, there's a rumor going around that Gibson has stopped making picks out of celluloid. And, you know, celluloid is highly flammable, so to test if a guitar pick is actually made of celluloid, the best way to do that..."

"Is to set it on fire? In our kitchen?"

"Well, I had it in the tweezers on my Swiss army knife and the water was running in the sink. It was safe."

"But smoked?"

"Yep. It went right up. So I think it's just a vicious, nasty rumor. Although the price of celluloid is going up because there are only a couple of suppliers."

"...."

I'll Be Back Soon

We were driving so much. So much. And Wendy's was good to us. Sadly, I'm balancing my checkbook and the use of my debit card looks like gas, Wendy's, Wendy's, Wendy's, gas, gas, Wendy's, gas, Wendy's. So, thank goodness Wendy's has some gluten-free offerings, but if I ever see the inside of one of these restaurants again, I may just heave a side salad and butter and chive potato (no sour cream - that has gluten, silly) through the window.

I am crazy busy for the next two days, but then I'll get back with something far more interesting than the trials and tribulations of our eating habits.

Stranger in a Strange Land

Biker Boy and I are both working from home right now, which is a bit of a rarity. There is much clacking of keyboards and occasional one sentence questions with one word answers bit back. The strangeness of these circumstances reminded me of how awkward Valentine Michael Smith's transition to Earth was and I found myself feeling a bit befuddled by our pseudo-professional relationship for this moment. If I got up from the keyboard and went into the kitchen and called to him from the kitchen "do you want a glass of water?" our relationship would be that of a more intimate relationship once again. I'm both confused and fascinated by this.

Anyway, this is the last real day of work for me for a while. We are doing a whirlwind tour of the Midwest for Thanksgiving, leaving immediately after my class gets out tomorrow afternoon. We'll drive to Iowa for Wednesday and Thursday, drive to Michigan on Friday, and hang in Michigan for Saturday and Sunday, then drive back to the Twin Cities on Monday. Since Biker Boy and I won't be spending Christmas together, this is our way of introducing the idea of our togetherness during holidays to our parents. I think his parents will be much more accepting than my parents.

I probably won't be posting during this week, although hopefully I will gather lots of fun stories to tell. Have a wonderful holiday!

PS Did you know that it is a requirement for me to watch the Lions on Thanksgiving Day? I became irrationally upset that they might not have the Lions on television in Iowa when we were discussing Thanksgiving Day plans. Then, I became even more upset that it might be on, but that Biker Boy's family does something different for Thanksgiving. Oh, my God. What would I do?!?! BB calmed me by telling me that my tradition will trump his family's not having a tradition at all and that the Lions will be on, just like they always are. Whew.

PPS Go Lions!

It Hurts, It Hurts

I have an office mate who loves to go the gym. He loves a good, long workout. He loves the sweat, the pain, and (I'm pretty sure) how his biceps get bigger and bigger every single time I see him. I both admire and loathe him.

I hate working out. I hate the time it takes. I hate the pain. I hate that after years of yoga I am still not flexible enough to do downward dog properly. I hate that my biceps do not get bigger and bigger. But, here's the thing. I love to eat. I love lots of food. Yesterday, I knew I was going to eat lots of food at a party in the evening, so I worked out hardcore. You know, to make up for the calories I knew I was bound to consume when potato chips and brie are placed in front of me. Damn. Potato chips have no chance when I am near them. No chance.

I will workout like a maniac again today, but damn it, my gluts and abs hurt. I'll do my arms today because I sort of slacked on them yesterday. I need sexy, toned arms for my wedding dress!!

Okay, don't get me wrong. I don't hate all kinds of working out. I don't mind dancing, ice skating, or walking around outside. But I dread aerobics, jump roping (OOOOOHHHH...the dreaded jump rope), weight-lifting, and (I sigh as I say this) riding my bike. I love how I feel afterwards. And I love seeing improvement in my abilities and certain muscle areas. I mean, I have pretty sexy calves that I've never had before in my life since I started riding my bike. But, the actual doing is painful and hard and it's a really intense pep talk I have to give myself before doing any of these activities.

I know out-of-shape people don't like to workout because, you know, it sucks to workout when you can't do it well. But, is it just me or do other (relatively speaking) in-shape people hate working out? How do you develop a love for doing it? How do you jump out of bed in the morning, ready to do it? Can you teach me to love it?

The Old Hood

When I first lived in Minneapolis, I lived in a not entirely safe neighborhood because the rent was cheap. And I found a guy who could cut my hair like nobody's business. (For people who have seen my hair recently, you can't hold it against my hair guy - people are so supposed to get haircuts more frequently than every four or five months. Or so I've heard.) And I found a cute little boutique that holds the secret of all my most awesome, non-Baby Gap related purchases.

So this morning I went back to the old hood because I needed something done with my hair. It was starting to look Daria-ish again. And while I am pretty certain that none of my students know who Daria is, I am certain that they were beginning to stare at my flat, lifeless (increasingly gray!! argh!) hair with disgust. And my hair guy was incredulous at the state of pathetic-ness of my hair. Anyway, he said something to the effect of it would only take an inch or two to do the job. And he proceeded to take off like half of my hair, which for those of you keeping score at home, is way more than an inch. Anyway, I don't really care because it looks great and it will grow back (in four or five months time!), but do hair stylists learn in school that they should always tell their clients an inch? Even if it's more like four or five?

Since I was in the neighborhood, I walked the couple of blocks to my little boutique and was disturbed by the tunic trend. Tunics? WTF? How is a girl supposed to wear a tunic? Especially a not entirely flat-stomached girl? Even more disturbing was the overabundance of super short mini dresses. Hello? November? Minnesota? I was hoping for a great long-sleeved, knee length dress or a mid-length dress paired with a little light-weight cardigan. And I got mini dresses. I hightailed it out of there without even going to the back of the store to see the accessories. Bummer.

So shopping was a bust today. But my hair is awesome. If I knew how to take a picture on Biker Boy's digital camera, I would, but I don't, so you'll just have to imagine me with great hair.

Wedding Related Content: Beware

Things checked off the list:

1) Ceremony and reception site. We've chosen a beautiful place and booked the date. Whee. They do catering on site which was pretty much a deal-breaker for us. Control of the food is pretty fundamental, as I would like for Biker Boy to be able to eat everything there. (Yep. And right there is the NGS mentality - I would like him to be able to eat everything - he could care less as long as there's something for him to eat.)

2) Cake. Okay, the reception site couldn't deal with our cake needs. But this place could!! They let me (and a friend) come in for a sampling of their cheesecakes. I ordered a gluten-free cheesecake and we took it to Iowa with us so Biker Boy's family could try it. I honestly could not detect a bit of difference between the GF cheesecake and the regular, so I'm very pleased with this choice. It's not costing any more than a higher priced wedding cake (per slice) and they'll come in and do set up and everything, so yay for Muddy Paws!!

(For anyone remotely curious, I did some early reconnaissance on some local gluten-free bakeries for a more traditional cake. What I really wanted was something that guests would not know was gluten-free if they didn't know about Biker Boy's dietary restrictions. I found none that met this specification. At one point, I got two cupcakes from a certain unnamed bakery and we ended up throwing them out because neither one of us would eat anymore. This led to the discovery of Muddy Paws.)

3) Dress. I ordered my dress a couple of weeks ago from Brides of France. A friend is going to let me borrow her hair piece. My attendants are going to wear whatever the heck they want (as long as it meets my exacting specifications). And, yes, I did have the prerequisite bad experience at the Wedding Shoppe in St. Paul. Do not ever go there if you can help it.

4) Officiant. Whee. Natalie is ordained!! Ted and I are very excited that someone we both know (and love!) is going to do our ceremony. It will be so much more personal and meaningful. And I should be able to get Natalie to include a bit in the vows about how we NEED to have a dog at all times in the household.

5) Photographer. We hired one. He came and took our engagement photos. We haven't actually seen any yet, so I'm reserving judgment on this one. His portfolio is awesome. His demeanor is absolutely wonderful and so far I'm crushing just a bit on this guy. We'll see soon how the engagement pics turned out.

6) Rings. Yay for your friendly local jewelry store! We bought my engagement ring there, as well as the bands. I highly recommend it. The folks there don't work on commission, which memans they don't try to upsell, they are super helpful, the selection is awesome, and there are goldsmiths on the premises. When I first got my engagement ring, it was like a quarter of a size too small. We took it in one evening (I was soooo sad, thinking they would have to take my ring for a couple of days) and one of the goldsmiths did it in an hour. And if you stop in, request my girls Gina and Connie. They were tremendously awesome.

7) Invites. I thought I mentioned this, but I can't find the post, so I guess I'll repeat myself. This was conceivably the most difficult thing ever. We fought over fonts. For over half an hour. But some decisions were made. We may have to rethink some of it to get costs a bit lower, but we have an idea of what we want. Save the dates have been ordered and sent out.

(My mean grandmother sent me a letter soon after the STDs went out. It read something like this: "Dear NGS, I am old. I cannot go to your wedding because I am old. Why didn't you have it closer to me? Why Minnesota? I am old. Your card was interesting. You fiance looks like he has a sense of humor. Will I ever get to meet him? I am old." I'll leave it to you to interpret what all of that means.)

8) DJ. We went with Adagio for reasons that I had nothing to do with. It was left to Biker Boy. He made some appointments. We went. He decided this was best for us. Music is his thing. (But I'm putting Radiohead on the do not play list.)

9) Guest list. This took some doing. And to preserve family peace, that's all I'll say about that.

10) Hotel. We spent a week going from hotel to hotel in St. Paul to find the best place for our guests to stay. For reasons having to do with location, cleanliness, ease of parking, and price, we chose the Hilton Garden Inn. We'll see what happens when people start making reservations.

Things still to do:

1) Figure out flowers. I can't believe how much this would cost to have a professional do it. But I also think it will be a pain in the ass to do it ourselves the day before the wedding. We'll see.

2) Make-up/hair/nails for the girls. The girls are me, my two attendants, and my mom. I don't know where to do it and I don't know exactly how much to budget for it. I also don't know if I'm too late to get bookings for the date. Argh. (Oh, and I don't know how I want any of that done, either. I think I have an idea about hair, but my make-up?! Geez. I just want to look less like an overly made-up bride and more like me. But I kinda want to look like Nicole Kidman in the Chanel ads.)

3) Colors. Look, I found this ribbon. It's the right color. But it's grosgrain and I want satin (and I know I've written about this before, but I can't find the post). Until we find the damn ribbon (and we buy like 100 yards of it), I can't make any decisions related to color. My dilemma is real, people.

4) Suit. Biker Boy hasn't gotten his suit yet. I'm not hassling him yet, but after Christmas, the boy better get his ass over to Saks Off Fifth and get himself a suit. The guys are doing plain black suits (BB hasn't decided if he wants two- or three-button suits and heaven knows I don't have an opinion on that.) and we'll get them red ties and/or pocket squares for the suits. Again, this tie/pocket square thing can't be done until we find the damn ribbon, but that's a whole different number (3!).

5) Gifts. We need gifts for the attendants, our parents, and grandparents. Oh, and quite possibly our awesome officiant. This is quite possibly the most fun, but stressful part for me. I love giving gifts that are appropriate and that the receivers love. But another part of me is stressed because we can't decide on anything until we find the damn ribbon.

6) Everything else. We need to find someplace for the rehearsal dinner. We need to know if we'll be able to use the reception site for a brief rehearsal the night before. We need to decide on a menu and cheesecake flavors. We need to decide on what songs will be played and when. We need to decide on what time everything will start. I need to get alterations for my dress. We need to make reservations for where we'll stay on the wedding night. We need to figure out if we're going to rent a car for that week for picking people up at the airport and whatnot. We need to get our engagement pictures and send them out to the appropriate people and places. We need to ... whatever. I am getting married!!!

Cognitive Dissonance!!

I was driving today along Highway 7, just east of Minneapolis (I just had to look it up on the map to make sure I had the direction - sometimes I wish I were a man and I understood directions. Just sometimes. Most of the time not so much with the wishing of being a man.) when I found myself at a couple of stop lights behind a blue Buick. Now, at first I just ignored it and listened to the radio, cranking up "No One Needs to Know" by Shania Twain:

I want bells to ring, a choir to sing
The white dress the guests the cake the car the whole darn thing
But no one needs to know right now

I'll tell him someday some way somehow
But I'm gonna keep it a secret for now

We'll have a little girl a little boy
A little Benji we call Leroy
But no one needs to know right now.

Yay! Shout out to old skool Shania! Have I mentioned in the last five minutes that I'm getting married soon?! I'm getting married in May!! Whee!!

Then!! I paid attention to the car in front of me. It had three bumper stickers on it.
1) W '04
2) Earl's in the Trunk
3) Free Natalie

Ummmm...how can you be a Bush supporter and a Dixie Chicks supporter? I'm so confused. It makes me head hurt to think about the split personality that drives that car or the people with opposite political views that share it.

No one cares...

...what you ate for lunch.

Seriously, this advice everyone gives, right? Write about interesting things on your blog, not what you ate.

Well, screw it. We made a roast tonight. A freaking fantastic one. With carrots and potatoes and gravy thickened with corn starch (suck, it flour) and wine and allspice berries. What is allspice anyway? It was absolutely delicious and the first roast either one of us has ever made. Doesn't it make you want to shed a tear?

Another reason to marry the boy

"Ummmm...I think I'm losing some weight. Look how much watch slides down my wrist."

"How can you be losing weight? You eat half a pint of ice cream every night."

"I think I'm just not getting enough calories. You know, riding my bike, working out, thinking important thoughts..."

"-------------"

"Man can not live on ice cream alone," he says as he pours a huge heaping spoonful of uber-cheesy risotto onto his plate.

It's an unhealthy addiction

Soooo...I knew I was in trouble when I hurried to beat Biker Boy home so that I could quickly put away the items and throw away the bags they came in.

And then I didn't tell him about it. He might think I want to keep them for the future.

Baby clothes. These jeans and this sweater to be exact. And then some socks from Target!! And maybe some bibs. *whimpers* Because I couldn't help myself. And then I hid them. Under the bed. Where they will stay until the baby is born or the baby shower.

My friend is having a baby girl in late January. She doesn't want to get all pink, frilly crap for her baby and when I saw those clothes, I couldn't stop. I mean, what could be better than lined jeans and a stylish little toggle sweater if you were a baby born in January?! I'll get some onesies and stuff, too. She'll be the sweetest little baby you've ever seen!!

Oh, my God. I am a baby clothes junkie. I literally couldn't stop myself.

Kitty Porn?

If she doesn't stop sending me pictures like this soon, I'm going to run out to PetSmart and buy a kitten soon!! Even against Biker Boy's wishes!!

Bring My Bee Back

Dear NBC,

You may not know this, but Tuesday is my favorite day of the week. Do you know why? Because cute little Joey Fatone comes on and hosts "The Singing Bee." Last week, on Halloween, I watched a great episode filled with scary songs. I was promised (PROMISED) that this week, going along with your "Green Week" theme, I would see a new Bee. You showed previews where the set was all green and cute little Joey Fatone was all dressed in green and I was sooooo excited I could hardly wait.

Even Biker Boy gets into the game. We make popcorn and cuddle together on the couch and talk about how surprising it is that we both actually like cute little Joey Fatone. The first time we watched this show, we were quite prepared to hate him. But, it turns out, we both adore him. He's great on the fly, filled with great ad libs, and he seems to actually like the songs and the contestants on the show. And how adorable is Ray Chew, the band leader? It's not unheard of in our apartment for someone to mimic Ray by "singing" like Ray does. "It's the FINAL COUNTDOWN." And on Tuesday, we get excited starting around 6:00...knowing it is only an hour before the Bee begins!!

So imagine my complete and utter disappointment when I turned on NBC last night, right at 7:00 and the freaking "Biggest Loser" was on!! (FYI - two hours of a bunch of overweight people sweating and whining about it is not my idea of a good time. Especially as a replacement to the Bee. Although Jillian can be my pretend girlfriend.) And imagine my even bigger disappointment when I checked on line and saw this little tag on the Bee's homepage: "Returning soon!" You better be serious. I want my show back next week!!!

Thanks!

Why I Want Kitties

Puppy coat?

We got a crime alert from the administration of the university today. One line read, "The suspect was wearing dark baggy clothes and a gray "puffy" coat."

One time I was home for Christmas and there was an announcement on the radio that the police were looking for a suspect wearing a dark "puffy" coat. I could see my dad's brain start to turn. I had no idea what he was thinking - maybe he'd seen the suspect? - maybe he'd been wearing a similar jacket and wondered if he'd committed a crime without knowing it? - maybe he didn't know what the description "puffy" coat meant? I waited it out, knowing he'd eventually say something.

"What's a puppy coat?"

Keepers

Last night we went to a party (at the house where I lived just three months ago and it was weird - I was a guest, not a host - and the cats ran away from me as if I were a stranger) and a discussion began about what would happen if you lost all your belongings in some sort of catastrophe. Would it be a freeing experience? Releasing you from all ties that bind. Would it be a painful experience? The photographs, the knick knacks, the bed you slept in every night -missing.

Biker Boy kind of likes the idea of being able to start over. I think he's just intrigued by the idea that he could get a new wardrobe and tailor it to a more professional life.

I can't imagine. Just looking around my office right now, I can't imagine life without the mug on my desk. It's a mug holding pens, markers, and two pairs of scissors. It has a Viking on it and says Tri-County Viking Band. It is what you earn at my high school for your six years of work and dedication to band (my clarinet has not been removed from its case in ten years - my clarinet I could live without). This mug is a daily reminder of the hours of work. The years of work. It is also a daily reminder of the best times I had in high school. Running laps around the practice field when we screwed up. Still not knowing the Star Spangled Banner by my senior year. Really. I never memorized it. Silly. That stupid competition at Kenowa Hills with the muddy field where AP lost her shoe in the mud and our uniforms were so filthy they had to go to the dry cleaners twice. The lectures and lectures from our director about how music would make us better at everything else in our lives. LM and RH making out on the bus. They are married now and expecting their third child. It's all in that mug.

I have three wooden blocks on my bookshelf that spell out the first three letters of my name. It's a nickname no one can call me. Except for my Bestest Friend. My first year at grad school, she bought these blocks for me as a birthday present. Everytime I look at these blocks, I think of her. I think of her brand new baby boy. I think of how we lived together that summer of 1999. We bought that gecko. We had no idea how to take care of it. We had that damn jar of grape jelly in the fridge even though we both hated it. We would wait to hear that train go by at 10:30 before we could go to sleep. Putting on dark lipstick and black eyeshadow for a trip to the club. The excitement when she got her first real job. The stab of pain in my heart when I hugged her for the last time before I left for Minnesota. The stab of envy I felt for her husband the day after her wedding when he got to go home with her and I got on a plane to leave her. The happiness when her mom called me to tell me that the baby was born and was perfect and Bestest Friend was a trooper and had made it through. I picture Bestest Friend gleefully going through a box of old blocks looking for those three letters, knowing it would grate my nerves, but knowing I'd put them up anyway, because she is the only one who can call me that. When I look at those blocks, it's all there.

There's a collage on the wall. A collage of pictures my sister made for me before I left for college. It's mostly pictures of our pets. And there's one of my dad sound asleep with his arm around the dog. The only two times I have ever seen my dad cry were at my grandmother's funeral and when he came back from the vet's office after having to put that dog to sleep. There are seven pictures of the dog my sister had to take to the vet's office to put to sleep last week. There are pictures of us in the old house I grew up in. Sometimes the memories of that house are haunted, but sometimes I look at those pictures and I know my parents did the best they could. My sister's senior picture. She took it with the dog. The panic in her face when she came home from school and saw that the dog had been hit by a car. Can you tell we love our dogs? I have moved this collage dozens of times. I've had to replace the frame four times. Once I broke the glass when I moved across state lines. Once I nicked the corner and I was scared the glass would fall out. It was the first thing we put on the wall when we moved in to this apartment. It's all there.

There's a little stuffed dinosaur on my bookshelf. Biker Boy gave this to me when I was sick once. Right when we first started dating. Most people give me pigs. And that's awesome. I love pigs. But the fact that he didn't get me a pig, but felt that this green dinosaur would make feel better, says so much about how much Biker Boy understands me. That dinosaur has two orange ridges on its back and has no nose. I love it. We had just started dating when I got horribly sick. BB brought me Nyquil. He watched Babe with me. He moved my truck during a snow emergency without a shovel or four wheel drive. He put his arm around me when I cried because I just wanted to be well again. He bought me a green dinosaur.

If I was absolutely forced to give these things up, of course I would. I still have those memories. But life would be a little less rich without the daily reminders of all the people who I love and cherish and couldn't live without.

Fun with Magic!!

Ha! Did you think I was going to write more on Harry Potter? Well, not today, although I won’t make the promise of saying it will never come up again.

We cleaned this morning. Apparently we are animals and our apartment was starting to resemble the monkey cage at the zoo. Which is to say, there was lots of dirt on the floor. And dust bunnies. And hair. How do I lose so much hair? I mean, if you look at my head, I don’t appear to be balding (although the same cannot be said for the oh so dapper Biker Boy).

Bike Boy ran the vacuum and since we have a crappy stick vacuum, it took a lot longer than it should have. Meanwhile, I was able to wash the kitchen floor, kitchen sink, and attempt to clean the stove and stove hood. (Yep. All while the boy was still vacuuming. Clearly, we need to invest in a decent vacuum. I am considering taking the KitchenAid mixer off the wedding registry and replacing it with a nice vacuum. However, I think that if I actually get a KitchenAid mixer, I may likely attempt more gluten-free baking and maybe get okay at it. And I’ll never buy a KitchenAid mixer on my own. I just won’t because it's not something one actually NEEDS unless you are a professional baker or you cook for a family of twelve every night. However, we kind of need the vacuum NOW and I WILL someday buy a nice vacuum on my own, free of any guilt associated with it, so maybe I won’t take the mixer off and replace it with a vacuum, but rather just BUY a vacuum now. Do you see how mixed up I am about all this?)

Meanwhile, I am yelping about the kitchen because I somehow made myself bleed. And there were bleach fumes and who knows how high I really was? (I know, I know. Bleach in the kitchen is a no-no. But the sink was really dirty. I rinsed it super well.) Plus, because we are animals, there was soooooo much grease build up on the stove, it really wasn’t coming clean.

I was frustrated that the kitchen cleaner we had (that contained bleach – how weird is that?) wasn’t helping with the stovetop. I scrubbed. I broke a fingernail scratching at the grease. I used the scrubby part of a kitchen sponge. When we moved in together, we combined our cleaning products into two paper bags that reside under the kitchen sink. I reached into one of the paper bags, getting ready to yell at Biker Boy that we should forget about cleaning the stove and just buy a new one when we were going to move out, but in the bag was a MAGIC ERASER. I wet the MAGIC ERASER and then, then, then, the grease was gone.

Yay! Magic erasers rule. I’m a bit concerned because there are no ingredients listed on the magic eraser box (I’m sure it’s a top secret combination of several chemicals that will kill me in fifty years time) and if I ever had to call poison control and say “hey, my dog ate the corner off a magic eraser,” they’d ask what was in the magic eraser and I’d have to tell them that the ingredients just aren’t listed, but it was an amazing miracle of cleanliness.

Now, what should I do about that mixer and vacuum conundrum?

Shut up, JK!!!

So here’s the thing. I love the Harry Potter books. I picked up the first book when I was living in Michigan, working at a stress-filled job where I was on call 24 hours a day, except for Christmas Eve, when I made a quick trip to my mom and dad’s house three hours away. I was at the grocery store, and in between deciding which Hamburger Helper flavor to buy and how to get to the back of the store where the milk was without losing reception on any of the THREE cell phones I had on my person at the time, I threw the book in the cart so that I could have something to do that night as I waited for one of those phones to ring. (I used to have nightmares about all three of them ringing at once. In the year I was there, I never even had more than one ring at once, but I was terrified.)

That night, I fell in love with the series. The next day, I slipped out of work during my lunch break (don’t worry – the three cell phones were still on my person) and bought the next two books. I have loved the books, annotated them, made notes to ask my friend Tammy about what I thought were inconsistencies or questions, scoped out spoilers online before the books were released, and read all of the over 4000 pages of my books at least three or four times. Yes, I know it’s no wonder my dissertation isn’t finished. And before we go on, I’d like to just admit that yes, I know that these characters aren’t REAL. But I’ve spent so, so, so much time with them that they are a part of my life and I reserve the right to talk about them as if they are.

Much virtual and actual ink has been spilled about JK Rowling spilling the beans about Dumbledore being gay. The arguments seem to fall in a few categories. One, good for her for having a strong, gay role models for kids. Two, man, why did she have to go and ruin Dumbledore for us? Gay people have no place in children’s literature. Gay people are going to hell. Between the magic and the gays, these books should be banned and/or burned. Three, eh, it doesn’t really change any plot points, so why should this be news? Sheesh, the books are finished. Stop talking about it. Lastly, why can’t she leave well enough alone? Stop telling us about the magical world. You had your 4000 pages. Now, shut up.

I agree with the first argument. It is good to see a mainstream children’s book with a strong, gay role model. However, the fact that this is NEWS makes me feel that she didn’t do a good enough job of letting readers in on the secret as they were reading the books the first time (or the second or the third, for that matter). I can’t even talk to people who are making the second argument or about them without coming off as a close-minded liberal bitch, which maybe I am.

I disagree strongly with the third argument. I felt like this was really strongly argued by this article in Salon, but I’m not swayed. As I reread the series, with this brand new information about Dumbledore, I feel like many scenes can play differently. When Hagrid gets upset with Vernon Dursley when Dursley calls Dumbledore a crackpot, he gets irrationally upset. And now I think it’s more than just Hagrid’s loyalty towards DD for giving Hagrid a job and a place to live, but that he’s more insulted because of more occluded reasons. Even the matter of how Dumbledore first shows up on Privet Drive wearing high-heeled boots never triggered the DD’s gay idea for me before because previous pages had shown that wizards dress differently than Muggles.

Never in the series does Rowling address racism or homophobia overtly (although of course the Mudbloods/purebloods debate does get to this), but I feel like now I have to reread the books with this whole new side of the magical world and I am sorry, but I DO think it changes the meanings of some scenes and moments. I think it means that Fudge as Minister of Magic stops sending Dumbledore owls all the time isn’t just because Fudge gets full of himself, but because he doesn’t want it to seem as if a gay man is superior to him. I also think it changes a lot of our understanding of why he waited so long to tell Harry anything (I started to hate Dumbledore after the fourth book for never being open with Harry and I felt vindicated that Dumbledore was kind of a crappy person after the last book). Dumbledore couldn’t spend a lot of time alone with Harry or speculation (like we saw in Rita Skeeter’s book in the last book of the series) about their relationship could be suspect. That’s a HUGE plot point. It made me so angry with Dumbledore and I actually despised him by the end of the series. Now I’m a bit more patient with Dumbledore. Maybe that’s unfair of me. But I think some of the decisions he made are more understandable now that I know this information about him.

And, yes, I think JK should shut up. Seriously shut up. I was even upset with the last chapter of the last book. I don’t want to see what things are like many years later. I want it to end with Voldemort’s defeat and I want to imagine what happens to the characters. I am not happy that Ginny and Harry got married and started popping out children immediately. What kind of crap is to tell kids (right? children’s literature?) that it’s a good idea to marry your high school sweetheart and have kids right away? I don’t want to know that Neville teaches Herbology. I want to IMAGINE the ending. But, whatever. I lived with the last chapter. I can always imagine that Harry and Ginny get divorced when the kids are grown and Harry moves to NYC and becomes a Broadway singer.

But all this talking after her over 4000 pages is completely and utterly unnecessary. If we didn’t get it from her books and now she wants to tell us, it’s too late. And it ruins the beauty of fiction. If the story ends happily ever after with evil defeated, then so it goes. Let us imagine what happens next. Don’t tell us. And don’t keep dropping little hints like the way you wanted to end is the only possible way for it to play out. Everyone had their own idea of what should have happened to Harry, Ron, and Hermione and for JK to assume her idea should be everyone else’s is the height of arrogance. If she wants to do another book (she assured us she would never do another HP book again), she should. But in the meantime, she has no business butting in on our imaginary worlds.

Why I Will Marry Him

Last weekend we had to make an unexpected trip to Iowa. Preceding this trip was a flurry of activity, where Biker Boy got a sub for his class, I taught a class, and we packed in less than the time I would ordinarily sleep and pick at my hangnails. In the process, I managed to forget to pack the following items: a toothbrush, my hair mousse, my nighttime facial cream (Biker Boy is inordinately confused by my day and night creams and why is this confusing? my face doesn't need SPF at night, right?), and anything to read while driving for hours except the textbook for my class, which isn't exactly riveting, my friends.

Biker Boy, in a much more mature, slightly less frenzied manner, managed to pack everything he needed for the trip in a bag half the size of mine. I don't think he mentioned to me all weekend that he was missing anything.

Friday morning, I find myself digging around in the kitchen cabinets of my future in-laws for a multi-vitamin because I, of course, had not even CONSIDERED packing said vitamin. In a million years, packing the vitamin I take every morning would never have happened. Biker Boy asked me what I was looking for. I told him about the Great Vitamin Search, he sneered at me (in that oh-so-superior way that people who are good at packing sneer) and said, "oh, I packed your vitamins for you. I knew you'd forget. I'll go upstairs and get them."

And that, my friends, is why I am marrying that boy. Somebody needs to pack my shit for me.

Oh, and, as a side note, everything will be fine in Iowa. There was much crying and time in hospital waiting rooms (and me with only my textbook!), but all seems to be going wonderfully now.