SWF

Sometimes on the really hard days I have to remind myself that I am married and for all intents and purposes this means I never have to be single ever again. Thank. God.

A friend of mine from childhood got married this weekend. We had to bring Bug to the ceremony because it started at 4:00, and our babysitters were not off work until later. Our plan was to just sit toward the back and one of us could make a hasty exit if needed.

Churches always make me a bit uneasy. I know this is a complete double standard because I expect and assume (correction, never think about it) that Matt has no problem going to Temple.

First, I was concerned that I was dressed too skimpy. This makes people (my husband) laugh, because my skimpy is everyone else's librarian, but still. I thought I needed to wear tights. I even had to text a few friends in the car on the way there. They all said I didn't need to, but I kept them on. And then we walked in and there were more than two girls who seemed to have forgotten their pants. OK, so there was clearly CLEARLY nothing to be concerned about.

The sanctuary was very pretty, but hanging from the ceiling was, by far, the largest Jesus on The Cross that I have ever seen. I find the whole image to be disturbing, and generally something that I'd rather not look at, and then Matt reminds me that that's the point. It's Catholicism. Feel bad! Always!

The ceremony begins, and Bug also begins to eat. I figure this is a good way to keep her quiet... except as soon as the priest says "Let us pray," the sanctuary gets absolutely SILENT and all you can hear is my child gulping and grunting at her bottle. The only other child in the room is silent, and unfortunately no one has a cold. Matt tells me later that the first time he went to Temple he found it odd that "the old people talk through everything!" What's wrong with carrying on your own conversation about what Doris wore to Mah Jongg during the silent prayer?

I take her out to the lobby to finish so that no one else has to hear her spectacular belching. We have a few good ones and I figure it's safe to go back in. I give her a toy -- and what idiot brings the toy with the rattle to church? Me. It's kind of a pretty tinkling bell noise so I let her keep it. But then she starts grunting again (hey, when you're concentrating on being excited, it happens) and, surprise surprise, there are no other sounds in the room. Awesome. Even though I know it's my friend getting married, I'm honestly still a little wigged out about all the "obeying" so I take the Bug out to the hallway again. We find some artwork from the Sunday school classes on the wall and lucky us, they have pinned the pictures to gigantic pieces of yellow felt. Bug LOVES YELLOW. Every time I try and walk us closer back to the sanctuary to hear (the service is piped into the lobby) she starts the yell/grunt again, so we go back to the felt. I catch part of the "you may kiss the bride" audio and we head back again, grunts be damned.

We get back just in time to see the two of them doing the happy run up the aisle toward the lobby and there I am grinning like an idiot just in time to see the photographer right behind them and I think to myself OMG, I am totally in that picture. So I run a hasty retreat over to the side and hope to God that someone has their eye closed or the photographer just takes pity on me and it's left out of the proofs.

Because of timing, Bug ends up coming to the reception hall with us. Not ten minutes into us being there, she is a complete mess and Matt takes her home to wait for my parents while I stay at the reception. There is an open bar, but none of the people (all four of them) that I know at the wedding have arrived yet. I realize how easy it is to get drunk by yourself. I sit at the table with my (second? third?) vodka tonic and poke away at my Blackberry.

After fifteen or so minutes, a guy sits down at the table. I must point out a few things: a) I saw this guy at the ceremony and thought to myself, oooh, what a mess and b) he first sits down where someone has already placed their place card (and purse!) and it takes him over five minutes to realize this.

I don't really have any interest in talking to him so I continue reading StarTribune.com as if it's a matter of national security. I know that this is so incredibly rude and I can only keep it up for a few minutes before the Liz Mack in me decides to be social. I reach across the table (he has since moved to an open seat) and introduce myself. I figure the safest and most obvious conversation to have is to ask how he knows the bride and groom. I learn that he is the boyfriend of one of the bridesmaids and essentially has no other connection to them. I ask him who she is, and all he can tell me is, "she has blonde hair?" I'm still trying to be nice so I tell him that I know all of the bridesmaids but one, so I guess that it's probably her. "Yeah," he says.

Whatever, that's fine. It's just that after that I learn that he lives in Coon Rapids, he has a dog, that dog is a "rare white lab," that dog also comes to work with him, and it's OK because he has a "grassy area" to go outside to, and, you know, he's worried because the dog is alone tonight for the first time. And on, and on, and on. Every time that I try and make the conversation a two-way, he just continues on as if I haven't spoken.

Him (in that rambling drunk story-telling voice that most of the time you listen to very briefly because a man has just bought you an uninvited drink and you're too nice to just walk away): "Yeah, but the only thing, you know, the only thing that, like, is too bad about the dog is that he sheds. Like I have to vacuum once a week now."

Me (and I have to tell you that I almost completely lose it here after the vacuum comment): "Oh, that's one thing I love about our dog, he doesn't shed."

Him (completely ignoring what I just said): "You know, I adopted him. And it's just sad. You know, it's just sad, because all he wants is your approval." If I could get up and leave and never see him again, I would. "When I went to pick him up... did you know, the woman told me that she interviewed 42 people? Isn't that amazing? Forty-two people. So I go to pick him up and she has three kids between the ages of 3 and 5, and a cat. So there's three kids, a dog and a cat."

Me: "That's a lot."

Him: "And I see the three year old, she she's just screaming at the top of her lungs, and the dog just walks by. That's when I knew. That's when I knew he was meant for me." I swear to God he is tearing up.

Me: "Wow."

And more crap about the dog. Then: "I love Miller Lite. This is like my fourth drink (note: it's 7:00). The lime makes it tolerable."

Me: "You know, I actually really like Miller Lite."

Him: "I'm actually more of a wine guy myself. Did you know I make my own wine?" I say nothing. "I get a bucket from work, and you know those grape juice concentrates? You can get them at the store. I just put like 20 of them in there. And some water. And then you know what makes it ferment? Just some yeast. Not like a whole package. Just a portion. And then I put a spigot on and I put a balloon on the end so the fruit flies don't get in. That ruins it, you know. So it's a balloon, and then I poke holes in it."

I give him the disinterested nod. I can't believe he's still going. At this point I've started texting again.

All of a sudden I see Erica walk in the room. Saved! She comes to sit down and I give her the "this guy is so weird" look and she says she needs to go to the bathroom. I get up and she asks me to clarify. "This guy who sat dow-" and all of a sudden I stop because he's walking right toward us (I seriously didn't even notice that he left) and he takes one look at Erica and says, "I really, really like your hair. It looks really good. Really." And we walk away. Erica says, "I met that guy last night and he must have overheard me talking about getting my hair done today?"

He proceeds to tell Erica that he likes her hair no less than six more times in the next hour. CREEPERS. There is no other point to this story other than I am so glad that I never have to go to a bar and be subjected to a similar situation ever again. And then Matt showed up and Mr. Creeper re-focused his attention on the monstrous boobies seated to his right that, I might add, did not belong to his girlfriend.

My other favorite part of the night was this: As Matt and I were leaving (it was maybe 10:30 and it felt like 2AM) he said to me, "didn't you hear how everyone thought you looked so good? That must have made you feel good."

Me: "It's because I was fat in high school."

Him: "Well I would agree that you've gotten better with age." Awesome, thanks.

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Is there some kind of cure for wanting to buy baby crap all the time other than perhaps a lobotomy?

We made spritz cookies last night (at Matt's request), and I dyed them orange. And added some black sprinkles. They ended up looking like sweet potato-flavored cookies covered in ants. Not exactly the effect I was going for. If you close your eyes they taste the same.

Bug slept almost 12 hours last night and tonight was sleeping by 7:20. Tomorrow she will be six inches taller. We added mango to the diet this week and it was met with success. I wonder if I will ever get over the fear of her throat closing up from anaphylactic shock every time I give her a new food.

Where the hell was this six months ago?!?!:

Aaaaaah!!!!!! This far out-shines the bouncy chair for travel sleeping (which we have completely outgrown anyway). They had one at Babies R Us when we went to look at high chairs this weekend and we put Bug in it and it was PERFECT. My fears about what the hell she's going to sleep in when we go to MKE for Thanksgiving have been quieted. The angle is perfect... pretty much the same as the sling in her crib. I wish we would have known about this so long ago. The best part is that it's super long (i.e. she fits in it) and it can hold up to 25 pounds, which will probably take us another year to get to (although hopefully by then she can sleep flat anyway). So we bought it... online. My husband is such a shopping buzz-kill. The new high chair and this thing should arrive some time next week. Matt: 1, My instant gratification: 0.

Brett Favre needs to stop throwing interceptions.